Saturday 27 October 2012

Missing Laureate

October 27th, 2012

I am delighted to say that reports of my disappearance have been blown out of all proportion, not that it is the fault of anyone in particular (except maybe a certain photographer who lured, yes lured, me up the Malvern Hills on a very misty morning).  However, it has given poets in Worcester a few giggles and inspired a couple of poems. Originally, I was supposed to be the first poet encountered as people hiked, marched, clawed and gasped their way around a set trail last Sunday.  Unfortunately, a keen photographer thought the mist would clear higher up !!! and would thus be able to get a few good photos of the event.  Alas, wet and cobwebbed grass, sack loads of various animal droppings and silhouttes of trees were all that we encountered.  Having hi-jacked a couple of "willing" victims to incorporate in a couple of photos, the photographer gamely headed back for the carpark passing the bench where I should have been sitting in residence. However, all ended well and all participating poets spent a most enjoyable afternoon together.  Another "poetic journey" is planned for next year but, hopefully, in sunshine this time!


A Trip to the Malvern Hills

I am the Lady Laureate a sitting on this bench
I won’t attempt to climb them hills, I’m quite a comely wench
But I do take in those special views, different greens and trees and things
And it makes an interesting change from sandpits and the swings.

I usually take my grand-daughter to the park on sunny days
And she rides on her pink bicycle and very seldom strays
From the gravel paths and cycle routes  and around the great big pond
As the wind blows round her smiling face and tugs at hair so blonde.

I don’t know what she’d make of this, giant rolling hills
Well I couldn’t take her to the top 'cos my poor back kills
It’s years of high heeled fashion and that really nasty trip when
I fell up a step, nearly broke my neck, and heard my disc go “rip”

I’ve  tried that acupuncture, I even had warm jars
The needles didn’t hurt at all but the heat treatment left scars
I don’t complain about the pain but I couldn’t climb those hills
So I’m composing in the car park , me and some pink pills

I’d planned a little picnic but I didn’t have a hamper
Or a rucksack or a duffle back but you see I’m not a camper
So these kind of things are not to hand,  it’s sandwiches in foil
And a packet of those baby wipes in case they drop on soil

I thought I’d get an audience as people start their climb
But they don’t seem to notice me, or haven’t got the time
To stop and hang upon my words so eloquent and true
About these wondrous rolling hills and skies of perfect blue

So I’ll sit here with my sarnies and my glass of Adam’s Ale
Though the crusts are curling at the ends, the bread is going stale
I’ll pace myself for biscuits, I’ve a ginger snap or three
For when the wind gets really chill and arthritis hits my knee

But you go off and have your stroll, don’t worry about me
I’ll be just fine maybe write a line about this car park and a tree
I’m sure I’ll be creative well it’s such a lovely place
Don’t dally now, move on and walk while I stare into Space

 

 

 

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