Paul Brookes’ chosen poetic form last week was the golden shovel. I’ve seen the name before but never understood from reading the poems what it was. Well, now I know and I’ve dutifully persevered and written some. The form is supposed to be more than just an exercise, but to demand creativity from the poet (aren’t all forms supposed to do that?), but I’m obviously stuck at the contortionist exercise stage because I’m not seeing much poetry in my attempts. Here is the poem I sent to Paul’s challenge. It’s based (pretty obviously) on the first line of Byron’s She walks in beauty.

Tree beauty

There are old men trees and some I call she,
wild women trees, shelter where the hind walks.
Breathe out and breathe in.
Tree-breath is powerful, and tree-beauty,
the powerful beauty of nature, like
mountains and rivers, ice-caps, the
lungs of the world, pumping…