Friday, 6 October 2017

POEM - The Tattoo


Last week, I was delighted to have one of my poems shortlisted for a poetry competition over in Beeston.

Lovely local magazine the Beestonian were on the look-out for a poem to represent the town, so I thought I'd have a crack at writing something and sending it in.

Beeston, looking all lovely in the sunshine

In the end, my poem ended up a bit maudlin, and the competition for the top spot was pretty fierce, so I'm actually just really pleased to have been shortlisted.

I'm also pretty happy to have written a villanelle that doesn't suck (after having written plenty that did) so that nice.

The winning poems in the adult and under 16s categories (written by Cathy Grindrod and Ava Waring respectively) have been published in the Beestonian magazine, and all the top poems in the competition will be exhibited in the town soon.

Anyway, here's my poem. I'm pretty happy with it. I hope you like it!

The Tattoo
If I could paint this town onto my skin
I'd load my brush with countless memories.
I'd struggle to decide where to begin.

After all, it's hard to place a pin
into a state of mind: a reverie.
If I could paint this town onto my skin

it would take courage and some discipline;
a bravery not seen for centuries.
I'd struggle to decide where to begin.

You see, nostalgia breeds the saccharin,
and true reflection comes through lack of ease.
If I could paint this town onto my skin –

contemplating all that we have been;
the fleeting glance of all that we could be?
I'd struggle to decide where to begin.

Excuses wearing tracing-paper thin
I guess I'm just not one for artistry.
If I could paint this town onto my skin
I'd struggle to decide where to begin.

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