The Day a Fellow Poet Squashed My Inspiration!

Creative juices stimulated
By a Pen-nine course by Arvon,
1 slowly trudged the moor side roadway
Struggling to find inspiration,
Talking with a fellow writer,
Seeking, searching and discussing,
Challenging the straight conventions
Of flower and field,
Life, love and heartache,
Looking outside customs’ boundaries,
Reaching for the unconventional,
Saw a common, mundane creature,
Rejected recourse to revulsion,
Looked instead for style and beauty,
Saw it there in slow, slow motion,
Waving sensory antennae,
Golden brown with orange skirting,
Glistening in the summer sunlight,
Methodically crossing tarmac,
Brown on grey, topaz on pewter,
Made a note to make immortal
This most elegant of creatures,
Write a lovely verse in tribute,
To its style and grace, and beauty.
Climbed the hill up to the Tavern
To say farewell to other wordsmiths,
Then return to mundane living,
Embrace the tedious and the normal
Enhanced by learnèd words of wisdom,
Sheathed in literary beauty,
Met another bard called Simon,
Told him of the brief encounter
With the glorious, gleaming creature,
Told of my intent to honour
This invertebrate in verses,
Told him it was huge and shiny,
Graceful, elegant and stately,
Quite deserving of the rhythm
Rhyme and metre I would use to
Make immortal all its glory,
To celebrate our fateful meeting.
Pensively he hesitated,
Mumbled, stumbled, seemed evasive,
Then prompted by insistent questions,
He declared it was no longer
Quite as lovely as I’d stated,
That he’d seen it as he’d driven
Up the self same road to meet us,
But, trapped as he was by convention,
Never paused to see its beauty,
Did not think it worth a moment’s
Pause for thought or hesitation,
Instead, in haste, had driven onwards,
Then had heard a great explosion,
Panicked, thought he’d had a blow out,
Screeched and skidded to a standstill,
Leaped out, looked round, found he’d driven
Over the monumental mollusc,
Found the squashed, exploded corpse of
My poetic inspiration!

I never forgave him for annihilating my slug!

Lynne Joyce, started 1993, revisited 1997.