Richard Westcott's poetry

He embraces the sheep an ungainly bundle unusually tilted now leaning back against the man who bowed over, grasps with his knees and left hand, to perform. Like a cellist he knows how to play. Fingertips splayed to tension the skin right hand guiding across the bridge a gleam of blades to separate fleece – music from silence, wrapped up in wool. The animal listens accepting the prospect of resolution ahead, resigned to his practised hands, grip of the thighs the charm of the music and caressing of steel. He stretches his arm out to reach high notes in third position. Lanolined leather feet shift softly beneath. The sheep tips back more to enable the soar of melody heard only by them. He lets fall the burden accustomedly righting the sheep. He arises to bow for a moment as if in acknowledgement then straightens – the fleece being lifted and folded, like music. The performer resumes with no pause for applause. He turns to the next – there are more

I enjoyed re-encountering this poem which I wrote quite a long time ago – it feels appropriate, with its retrospective feelings, mingled with vague thoughts about the future, at this time of year. It’s quite simple, telling the story of an experience, but I hope it adds up to more just description.  Keys are evocative, each with their personal story, like individuals in their own right. At the same time though, they can be grouped into sets, well families almost… But this is to tell the poem in prose, which undermines the whole point of writing the poem in the first place, so I’ll stop now, and give you the poem. Though I did also want to say that sometime after I’d written it, I came across another poem about keys.  I thought that was a very good poem; it started in a similar vein, but moved on into a very different area – you may well know it? It made me feel uncomfortable, because I thought other people might think I’d got the idea from her.  But keys – heavy of course with

Thank you for dropping in.  What an amazing thing it is, that I can talk to you, and to myself, like this! Well, welcome to you – and to me, this being my first blog. I thought it’d be interesting – for me anyway – each month to print out a poem of mine, and to review it; to gather a few of my thoughts and perhaps gather some of yours? I’d love to hear what you think. Here’s a poem which I’m fond of. Does everyone have favourite poems of their own – I mean, that they’ve written? Of course, an acceptance by a magazine, a placing in a competition, commendation, short or long listing – any sort of mention in despatches – has to generate a warm feeling about that particular piece.  Which is what happened here. But sometimes – even when, to tell the truth, it’s not what I’d think is one of my best – I just feel warm towards it.  Maybe if this one hadn’t done very well in the big wide world, I’d still be fond of it. Why might that be? Well, I love dogs –