It is National Poetry Day, so, dear readers, let’s have a frivolous competition. There’s a bottle of Pol Roger for the person who composes the best poem on the theme of this year’s NPD: “games”. As this is a blog and things ought to be snappy, entries should be in the form of limericks, sonnets and so forth – an epic on the misadventures of Mike Tindall will, reluctantly, be disqualified on grounds of length. Please leave your contributions in the comments section below. The competition will close on Sunday 9th October at 23.59. Good luck.
If you’re looking for inspiration, what better place to start than John Betjeman’s Seaside Golf.
‘How straight it flew, how long it flew,
It clear’d the rutty track
And soaring, disappeared from view
Beyond the bunker’s back –
A glorious, sailing, bounding drive
That made me glad I was alive.
And down the fairway, far along
It glowed a lonely white;
I played an iron sure and strong
And clipp’d it out of sight,
And spite of grassy banks between
I knew I’d find it on the green.
And so I did. It lay content
Two paces from the pin;
A steady putt and then it went
Oh, most surely in.
The very turf rejoiced to see
That quite unprecedented three.
Ah! Seaweed smells from sandy caves
And thyme and mist in whiffs,
In-coming tide, Atlantic waves
Slapping the sunny cliffs,
Lark song and sea sounds in the air
And splendour, splendour everywhere.
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