Finally – Proof that I move in exalted circles

I was chatting to the Poet Laureate the other day, as you do… Okay I’ll fess up, I didn’t even realise until recently that my young writer friend Ide Crawford was a poet laureate – she was probably too modest to tell me. But I did know she had won a prestigious poetry prize towards the end of last year and I was so pleased for her that I did a posting about it on here. It is the annual Betjeman Poetry Prize which is held at St Pancras Station and marks National Poetry Day (which as we all know is 4 November) and you can read more about it here (but not much more, since I’ve pinched most of their article for this posting). As well as her winning poem, selected from out of 3,000 entries, her role as the St Pancras laureate means she is commissioned to write three more poems during the course of her year-long tenure. I look forward to seeing them!

Her winning poem is called The Moors:

These hills that rise and roll and ripple

Like a dream or a tune or a turning-tide

These hundreds and thousands of burring bees

These thousands and millions and billions of bells

These honey clouds of pollen and scent

All rolled by the land to an imperial robe

Of purple, slow and sweet and sweeping

Purple like sundown summer skies

Purple like a peacock butterfly’s eye

Purple like dye from a murex shell

A robe for the high-throned sun-crowned summer hills

Whose bee-filled bell-rung empire cannot fall

These purple bells that peal together

From sky to moor and moor to sky

They ring and echo and tremble and sing

Not for one or two or twelve’o clock

But they ring for all time

For never and forever

They ring for the rise and the roll and the ripple

Of tens and hundreds and thousands of years

They ring for the heather heavy hills


About ramblesofawriter

Writer, thinker, tea drinker.
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