Butterflies flash mob thistles, uncaring
of the lurking poetry paparazzi.
They pretend they don’t want to be snapped
but land close to brandished phones
flirtatiously flapping scarlet wings,
flitting from plant to leaf always
making sure their best side is showing.
Briefly famous for a day.
I went to a great poetry workshop walking around Walsall Arboretum led by David Calcutt, where not only was I lucky enough to snap the photo above but I also managed a poem out of it!
Under his jacket he always has holstered
two poetry books loaded with verse.
Then at high noon
or whenever he fancies,
he fires from the lips,
quick draw poetry.
With rhyme in his heart, nothing stands in his way.
The sun has melted all of my poetry
Which now drips and runs
into misshapen puddles.
While I contemplate the idea of
reaching for my pen.
Then decide the
sweaty trickle of an idea
isn’t worth the effort today.
Solitary concrete guardian of Walsall,
unmoving in your eternal vigil.
Never sleeping day or night,
uncaring what the elements throw at you.
The town’s stone Mona Lisa,
smiling enigmatically at passers-by.
Patiently posing for visitor selfies,
never complaining about pigeons.
I sat on your back when I was young,
now I bring my daughter to perch on you.
Hoping that in the future,
You’ll be here to help keep up this tradition.