I don’t claim to be a good poet but I appreciate poetry and find it thrilling to write it if I have the inspiration to do so. Last year I took a masterclass with a mixed group of poets, some published, some talented and original, some, like me, were just there to learn. Each week we were given an assignment and a poem hopefully emerged. To a novelist to write one poem a week didn’t sound much but the task demanded all my energy which meant other writing projects fell away. My results were interesting.
A poem I wrote for my grandson germinated in that class and I worked hard to complete it for his second birthday last week.
I didn’t realise that writing a poem for a loved one could be so difficult and yet so satisfying. I transcribed it onto an ornamental scroll and handed it over to his mother. She read it with a tear in her eye before carefully storing it in his memory box for later.