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On the pounce…

July 7, 2013

What a gorgeous Sunday morning!  Doves calling.  Swifts performing high-speed aerobatics against a clear blue sky.  A white cat prowling leafy shadows in the hope of a sparrow for breakfast.  Fortunately Domino, with her one green eye and one blue, is rarely quick enough on the pounce.

Writing poetry sometimes seems to me a bit like being a cat on the pounce.  We have to be quick enough to snatch a juicy idea before it escapes!


Here are two of my recent poetry postings on Linkedin.  Have a nice day.


Firstly, the surreal.  I’m in contact with a lady poet of the Far East, as pure in heart as she is beautiful and gifted.  She often uses plant imagery in her delightful poems.  Here I’ve adopted the perspective of a flower in her garden… 




Is it wrong for a peony to bloom,

to bloom with petals red, stamen gold,

is it wrong?


Is it wrong for a peony to dream,

to dream of a poet so special, so fair,

is it wrong?


Is it wrong for a peony to love,

to love a dainty step, a silken verse,

is it wrong?


Is it wrong for a peony to mourn,

to mourn its own perennial passing, unfulfilled,

is it wrong?



This second one, a triolet, was inspired by a brother’s visit and a distant view of St John the Evangelist’s Church, Winsford, across the Weaver Valley from here.

One hundred and fifty years old and built of Runcorn sandstone, a Grade II Listed Building, St John’s has an imposing steeple…




Landmark, lifemark, the steeple of St John’s.

Pausing, we hear the bells faintly in snow.

Down the chill river, destiny beckons.

Landmark, lifemark, the steeple of St John’s.

Pals all our lives, we’re the lucky ones,

Tramping the valley top, me and my Bro.

Landmark, lifemark, the steeple of St John’s.

Pausing, we hear the bells faintly in snow…



Copyright © Paul Beech 2013

From → Poetry

  1. Your poetry is beautifully penned with such feeling. To think a plant, flower, tree even a blade of grass can have thought and feeling. When I think about that my heart and soul bounce back at me, why not? You do.

    I can hear the bell tolling from St. John’s muffled by he fallen snow and the crunch of the boots making their marks, yet the steeple still echo’s the toll.

    Thank you for your word again Paul. They always bring a smile with them. :o)

    • Gosh, Pat, how it sends me spinning back through time, rereading this old post from 2013. It’s only been three years really, but that Sunday morning in Moulton with doves calling and Domino on the prowl seems a lifetime ago. It would be another twelve months before I started getting together with my precious Maureen, with whom I now live happily over the Welsh border in an estuary town with gulls calling up the High Street.

      The post – written on my old, clapped out, “steam powered” computer – attracted little notice at the time, so it’s heartening you’ve found it now and like my poems ‘Peony Wrongs’ and ‘Steeple’ so much. The latter was about St. John’s Church, Winsford, and I’ve just been writing about St. John’s Church, Burwardsley: quite a coincidence!

      Enjoy your colourful autumn and take care,


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