If you wander not lonely but content   in vacant thought and pensive mood a faded rose is a Summer spent. Drift in Mercia’s Kank or Sutton woods Hear vales seep their ancient tales Bluebell choirs ring for Winter’s broods A sprightly breeze will light a fire-dust sky Meander down Anker, Tame or Trent A rippled trout will play you one last fly. If you are a word entrepreneur Oak and earth drip rust and gold Vertical thoughts form echo chambers Troubadours roaming in metaphordown Anker, Tame or Tren, Drift in   Wrap blue-sky words in mist Spring enlightenment from bottom lines Poems shared are rare commodities Trade in an economy of words Cut the chaff for sentiment's core. Become a poetry fan-tasist   a crouching bear in cultural commerce   find peak performance of written verse.  

YouTube link Begin with a kingdom called Mercia. Knead in a warrior princess - twist the gold braid of her gown into three loops to form a knot that binds you to your borders. Stretch moorlands across limestone valleys called Dove, Churnet and Trent,  form pockets of sandstone through the centre to house hermits and hold forest roots. To prepare your filling   chop lush green land  into pastures,   orchards and vineyards -   add a pinch of precious wildlife. Stir in just enough market towns and spired cities to ensure you can still taste their flavours, spread the efforts of industrialists,   miners, brewers and bakers across steam-filled skies drizzle lakes, rivers and canals in thin blue lines linking north to south, east to west, then bake sun-kissed ideas from   writers, musicians and artists until there are burnt umber horizons. Invite strangers to your table to share your feast, promise they will find someone they know,   and that you will b...

  It was foretold in the cobbles, in the knowing clatter of pigs’ trotters   stumbling in the gaps between   the watchful eye of the bobby and bobble-hatted boys   wielding power in sticks   before they drove double-deckers   between trestles and traders on headscarved patterned pavements   before Joan’s Cafeteria where order and ordered are reflected in  tiered cakes and  overall stripes   before these marketeers bantered over the size of sausages with someone that could be my nana.   before the Coffee Pot café where my Stokie oatcakes arrive   cheese oozing from crinkled layers   towards the gold-bordered edge of this white china plate ritually flipped for a makers mark.