My poetry (Long post)

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After seeing Frandrake's pictures of the steam rally, I got onto facebook and went through my poems looking for this one Image

The Showground

It's the week before the show begins and the steam engines get their boilers lit
Drivers wait patiently for them to reach operating temperature
All the time keen to get them out on the open road
Tonne after tonne of coal is fed into the ever hungry belly of the machine
All the while drivers behind toot horns impatiently as mile after mile is devoured.
Eventually the field becomes a spot on the horizon that looms closer and closer.
As soon as they arrive, they bank up the boiler - it cannot go out.
The engine driver turns on a tap on the front of his engine and fills his kettle with boiling water.
Cups, teabags, coffee and sugar are all found and a drink drunk as they await the arrival of the caravan.
The caravan is pitched up and drivers bed down to chill a few days - all the time keeping the belly of the beast full.
After an eternal wait, more and more steam engines and caravans arrive and barbeques and chimineas are erected alongside the lonely caravan
Petrol generators add their hum to the clankity clank of the idling engines and the wait continues.
Ropes mark out a huge square of the field and cars, motorbikes and busses arrive, all with a caravan, tent or motorhome of their own.
Tractors come and the roar gets louder.
Food vans, barrel organs and stationary engines come to contribute
Fairground rides tag along for the fun of it and stalls are erected.
On Friday night, the trucks, and Tanks arrive and the field bustles with activity.
Vehicles are placed in rows, caravans pitched up, tents built, portaloos are sited, generators roar louder and louder as night draws in.
Then... Silence as bedtime arrives
At 8am on Saturday, the doors open to the public and everything seems to start all at once.
Smell the coal of the steam engines, the diesel and paraffin of the tractors, the petrol of the cars - and listen to that din.
Off in the distance, a faint voice talks over the tannoy and the tractors make their way down to the roped square like a long metal snake as the barrel organs and fairground rides jump into life.
Later on, we'll head down to the stalls and smell the candy floss and pork cobs. We'll buy gifts for family and friends, all the time enjoying the sights and sounds of the showground.
At midnight everything goes silent again before starting at 8am on Sunday. This time, it ends at 5pm and the trucks, cars, stationary engines, tanks, motorbikes and tractors are all placed back onto trailers, caravans, tents, stalls and food vans are all packed away and removed from the field. Peace is restored and you hear "See you again, Next year"
Finally, the steam engines are all alone again. He'll wait a few days before he heads off to a new steam rally and does it all over again.
Always a pleasure to read your poetry. The Showground is not what I usually expect from a poem but the picture is painted so vividly that it captivates my imagination Image
All the fun of the fair

Every year, I go through this charade
I act excited as I read the road closures
I wonder if I'll see any loaded trucks or even a caravan
Perhaps I'll even see Chaos

As the days tick away
Fair men race to get the build done
Dread begins to loom on the horizon
At last, the final ride is finished

The long familiar search lights scan the sky
Visible from right across town
And the music carries on late into the night
Laughter and screams echo all around

The time has come
I can't delay my punishment any longer
I'll venture up to the fair
My eyes see nothing

My nose is overpowered
So many smells nothing is identifiable any more
In my heart are my 2 lovely daughters
My mind silently utters a prayer

That they should know I loved them so
On what should be
Their 8th and 12th fair

So please leave me be
As I take my precious angels through your fair
Let me look glum as you race to and fro
I'll look forward to it all going away until next year
Bertie, I guess you could say that "The Showground" isn't actually a poem per se... just more of a list of experiences I've had on the showground.

I've included it because I felt that it'd give a good taste of steam rallies for those who have never been Image
Thanks for your latest Beck. You write so well and really craft a feeling for the reader to come away with. I hope that makes sense. I know what I mean, not sure how to say it.
I understand, Bertie... and thank you Image