Shag Tobacco

In my wee poem below I try to convey a certain feeling that comes over me sometimes, wandering the banks of the River Weaver.

Best Wishes to you all for 2015.




A wisp of shag tobacco, perhaps?

A balloon adrift in the valley,

self-esteem a snapped mooring.


So the willowed water’s edge I wander,

sun glaring from plankton depths,

brain percolating,

florescent fungus twitching with broom.


Humble I connect.

Proud and the poetry eludes me.

A wisp of shag tobacco, perhaps?


Paul Beech


Copyright © Paul Beech 2015

[First published on the author’s blog, Grandy’s Landing.]