Smeatons Bridge

in Perth. I've taken this blip as today my poem 'Trick performed on Smeaton's Bridge' won me a fifty pound book token as the local winner in the William Soutar Prize. Not the same as winning the main prize but not to be sniffed at either. The lady councillor from Perth was handing the prizes out at the presentation and rather shocked me by saying that she thought, when she heard the title of my poem, that it was going to be about a different type of trick ( offered by women of a certain profession) Perish the thought! No, as you can see from the poem it is more of a love poem.

Trick performed on Smeaton’s Bridge.

Pick a day, any day,
now, hold it in your head,
and let me guess.

Is it August?
had the river trapped the sun
beneath its skin and spun it
to a shining golden thread?

Or that cold evening, late December,
when the skyline, coral sharp,
spawned its moon egg
to drift amidst a milt
of winter stars?

And am I with you on the bridge,
watching as the blackened
water snags like stocking silk
against the piers?

Is it here? Is it now?

Strangely, the poet who was placed second was from Oldham, like me. It's obviously a hot bed of poetic talent...