Poet

Poet

I’m a poet I am.

I lurk in pubs taking mental notes

Or wander about on moorland

During thunderstorms

Or sit beside rivers in summertime

Observing ducklings under yon tree

As mellifluous water burbles 

On its journey to the sea.

When I am feeling bored

I wield my quill like a sword.

Yes, I’m a poet I am -

Seeking inspiration

Wherever I might find it

See me in the throbbing city

Or in the flattened streets of Gaza

Or in the throes of love

Or drawing images

From the well of memory.

Meticulously, I polish my lines

Occasionally making rhymes.

And when my poems are done

I bury them in moorland hollows.

Yes, my precious treasure

Is hidden midst the heather.

Words like these together.

Folk say I seldom show it

But I’m a bona fide poet.