A few months ago I wrote a poem that I did actually manage to submit somewhere. It was for the Places of Poetry project, where anyone could pin a poem about a place on a digital map of England and Wales. Check it out here https://www.placesofpoetry.org.uk/
My poem, pinned to Seaham on the coast of County Durham, was called Sea Glass. Here it is:
Sea Glass
We ate our sandwiches on the grass
up by the Seaham coastal path
backs to the carpark, wave watching
over the cliffs as the tide splashed in.
Then, down the concrete steps,
nettles reaching for our fingertips,
across the line of sea-turned stones
to the surging water’s edge beyond.
We picked up sea glass from the sand,
frosted white, green, honey-amber,
one small speck of electric blue,
one with rusted wire running through.
We stepped, scanning the length of shore,
and carried home a treasure hoard.
This poem has bothered me a bit with questions about truth. Although the description is literally 'true' - there are concrete steps edged by stinging nettles going down to the beach at Seaham - for me, this poem doesn't communicate the reality of the experience. It is devoid of emotive language, which was perhaps my way of dealing with what had been a difficult day struggling with depression and anxiety. The trip to the beach, at my husband's suggestion, was a welcome break from the darkness I had been inflicting on the family, and turned a bleak day into a happy memory. My poem doesn't really communicate any of this. So today I tried again, drafting a poem called 'The Truth about Sea Glass'. I'm not sure if it's finished yet, and if I do get it to a refined state, I may want to submit it somewhere else, which means I can't post it here (a sad truth about submitting poems for publication). The new one doesn't really rhyme or have a set metrical form (which may make it technically worse?) But, I already like it more, though, perhaps because it seems more 'true'.
