(for people who say they could never attempt writing a poem).
‘Poetry is for everyone not just the chosen few’ Charles Causley.
Write down a colour that represents love to you. Try to pin it down to more than just saying ‘red’. If love were a song which one? A fruit, a piece of furniture, a memory, a person, a flower, a vegetable, a book, a place, an animal, you get the general idea?
Now take any unnecessary words. Juggle the lines about, remove any that jar. Hey presto done! Here are some we wrote in The Open Art Cafe in Rottingdean last week, they won’t win prizes, but we had fun writing them!
Ann’s
Love is
Pink and purple fuschias
Edith Piaf’s ‘Non je ne regrette rien’
A freshly baked victoria sponge
my grandmother’s open arms
‘What a Wonderful World’
played by dad on his baby grand
Deep blue lavender fields
that summer in Provence
Layers of an artichoke
hiding it’s heart
Alice in Wonderland
and a tired white knight
A cottage down an unmade road
a tree-house in the shrubbery
A tortoise crawling out of hibernation
into the warm summer sun.
Ann Perrin
Penny’s
Love is
A scarlet flame
The sound of a songbird
The ripest of fruits
A favourite armchair
Love is for those I knew in my youth
Those who changed me forever
Love’s in my garden
the scent of full roses
And oversized pumpkins
Love’s in the worlds
I go to when reading
Love lies in the land
In ancient stone circles
Love is the memory
Of my old ginger cat.
He loved me too.
by Penny Barham
Ruth’s
Love is
Love is the heart chakra
A generous shade of green.
Love is like biting into
a luscious mango
or sitting on a
well worn favourite chair.
Love is a lilting rhythm
invoking long ago embraces
by a fountain in a foreign city.
Love is forget-me-nots in May
The face of a friend
A book that opens to your favourite poem
A battered dog eared bear
You’ve kept since childhood.
Love is all you need and all you know.
by Ruth Oliver
Karen’s
Love is.
A yellow gold crocus
pushing up through the snow,
A friend from childhood taking time to call,
The sharp tang of newly pulled rhubarb,
Richard Thompson singing Beeswing,
Curling up on the sofa
reading the Gruffalo.
The aroma of Lily of the valley that clings to your shawl,
I still keep in the bottom drawer.
The sweet song of a Blackbird calling from the highest tree,
My Nephew’s hand reaching out for mine.
by Karen Kempson
Karen is a special friend I once met on an Arvon course who sent me her poem.
All above published with author’s permission.
Now why not write your poem on a piece of card, decorate it, send to someone or just enjoy it yourself.
‘Poetry is for everyone not just the chosen few’ Charles Causley.
An award winning blog 
for a ‘blog that brightens our day’
——————————————
Ann Perrin 