Blackpool Inspired Poetry

The Council promoted a poetry competition on the theme of Identity last year.  I submitted the following attempt (anonymously of course ! ), but my efforts went unrecognised - probably for the very good reason that they weren't good enough ...... big ones, circuses and sands... your opinion ?


IDENTITY PARADE INITIALLY IN THREE VIGNETTES

The Big One

In gleeful measure winds the growing queue,
    Determined in its purpose, slightly scared,
Eyes stretched skywards, listening for every clue
    Now drifting their way, as distantly heard,
The earlier travellers in the far-off blue
    Indicate excitement with the moment shared.

The shuffling feet uncertainly go through
    Yet more warnings - at the barrier, prepared !

Press hard your nerves as the ascent begins,
    Allow your friend a little squeeze of palms,
Rise up the towering gantry, who dares wins !
    And be ready singing out your psalms,

Deliriously watching the Irish Sea appear,
Ecstatic, ambitious, conquering the fear.


Tower Circus

Island of joy, in tearful laughter bathed,
    Demonstrate your passion for delights untold,
    Enterprise that nestles within that iron fold,
Nights emblazoned with lighting ever lathed.

Tiny, concrete O, encircled from the world,
    Insists on animation, says yes to warm accord.
Today it tells of happiness to everyone unfurled,
    Young and old united, enthusiastically applaud.

Peopled with expectations for over a hundred years
And glowing with satisfaction from all its envious peers
Reaches out with energy to all the watching tiers.

Awash with dimpling fountains, as showtime nears its end,
Drowning a treasured footfall, glitteringly to send
Every mother's child away, magically a friend.


Golden Sands

Indolence invited by the beckoning strand,
    Days of fun are offered to every vacant mind,
Endless miles of promenade outwardly expand.
    Near enough the ocean temptingly you find

Transforms the westward vision twice each watchful day.
    Iridescence gleaming into the seagull's eye
Tempts  the yearning onlooker with many thoughts of play,
    Yellowing the eager limbs of makers of sand pie.

Presently rattles by a seventy years old tram
    Attempting a wayward race with a venerable landau cab.
    Riots of braying donkeys nervously eye a crab
And shoulder still their charges at the scram.

Darkling eve takes home young playmates to their rest,
Energised and healthy, their parents richly blest.