A38 fore and Dartmoor aft, this ancient Stannary town as was, on this Saturday afternoon Heralds the summer with batik, brown shoulders and Banners proclaiming, of all things, the weighing of bread, Under which shy-proud urchins tout tiny homebakes and a Redheaded minstrel sears the air with a voice of pure flame; This we heard and saw, bought and tasted and breathed, until Our atoms wallowed and swallowed in the balmy memory, that Now, in the chilly nights, we unwrap for remembered warmth.
I submitted this poem to Places of Poetry, an interactive site that let you pin your piece to the relevant spot on the UK map. It’s read-only now, but the poems are still there.
Have you ever tried writing an acrostic poem? You get the idea from this one – the first letter of each line spells the subject of the poem. Share yours in the comments!
