Well, it's poetry, too. In the equally glamorous world of local poetry, it's all to play for in Portsmouth Poetry Society's annual competition. This year the prescibed theme was 'Door'. It took me a couple of weeks to come up with anything to write. I thought I really ought to take part, to be sociable, but didn't want to put in anything too sub-standard. Eventually, once the idea came, the poem followed easily. I thought it stood a chance, bearing in mind that one doesn't know what the judge will like and the standard of the opposition is good.
But my runner was tight, fit to race, accessible and did the things that poems are usually expected to do.The judge did a marvellous job, her comments detailed, showing that she'd given everything due consideration and also said that in a close decision, my poem had been placed second.
So, what can you do. Congratulations to everybody on some fine poems. And small consolation that I don't have responsibility for the cup for the next twelve months.
Door
Time
was I’d look behind a door
To
investigate what was there
On
the off-chance of adventure.
Intrepid,
then, I didn’t care.
Later
if I saw one ajar
I’d
glance through the inviting gap
And
weigh up what the chances were
Of
opportunity, or trap.
But
now I’m glad to leave it closed
For
fear of what there is to find.
My
attitude’s metamorphosed.
I’m
not prepared to gamble blind.
