The Self-Proclaimed Bard of Bardsey

A couple of years back, in an attempt to increase the versatility of my work, I set myself a challenge of penning poetry, as an aside to my daily blog. Deliberately quilled in an enigmatic, cryptic and pretentious style, these sonnets provoked the reader into their own challenge of unravelling the meaning of the locutions.

I must have written around fifty of these poems in the summer of 2017. Prose which took me out of the comfort zone I ordinarily reside when chronicling the daily essays on A break from the status quo, embarked upon to test my creative ability when confronted by an alternative style of penmanship. A self-imposed project which I enjoyed a great deal more than I’d anticipated.

One of the sonnets was addressed to my two adult children, Jonathon and Rachel. Me expressing the pride and love I hold for my offspring in a format I’d never previous used. To clarify, I’m referring to never previously writing them a poem, not I was expressing pride and love for the first time!

Also within the prose was some fatherly advice for Jonathon and Rachel’s futures now they’ve fled the nest and aren’t flipping sponging off me anymore!

After reading the reverential poem I’d written about them, Jon and Rachel both expressed gratitude I’d taken time to pen the tribute. However, couldn’t comment on my advice pertained within the wording as they didn’t have a clue what any of the poem was attempting to convey…… As one of the cryptic pieces of advice was for them not to take advice from idiots, I felt there was a hint of irony at my offspring’s lack of interpretation.

If you want to read the words I wrote for my kids they can be found in the sonnet titled ‘The Stork & The Rooster’ within poems available via the link Prose In Repose.

The reason I’m raising the subject of my short-lived tenure as the Bard of Bardsey*** is yesterday evening, while sitting in my garden, I was reminded of another of my poems written in the summer of 2017. Prose penned that summer at the same patio table, journaling the cathartic qualities of my kaleidoscopic sanctuary.

*** – I don’t live in the north Leeds village of Bardsey. However, as I reside fairly close to the domain on Wetherby Road, and Bard of Bardsey sounds much better than the Bard of Colton, I’m vain gloriously borrowing the nom de plume.

This three verse sonnet acknowledging the large part nature plays in easing the troubled mind. It’s bequeathal of chromatic flora and fauna a calming influence, providing a perfect ambience for reflective thought and inspirational epiphanies.

Lots of people aren’t keen on reading poetry, myself included. Regardless of that, though, please bear in mind when reading Prose In Repose that the only other poem I’d written prior to summer 2017 was a limerick which started ‘There was a young lady from Cleaver…’


Sanctuaire de kaleidoscopique

Deciduous trees in backdrop, gossiping in mumble, volition breeze

Jardin norn bloke’s zone o’ comfort; pyracantha’s unforgiving spikes his sole nemesis

Beauty horticultural is fete accompli

Sweat, doggedness drivers of colour cornucopia

Unforgiving rainstorm forecast, flora and flora pray no mirage.


Hirsute man’s perspiration, spouse’s garden design of aspiration

Sweat worth unequivocal outcome of charm

Hydrangeas exhibit vain gloriously, lilies dwindle as petals spent; hibernation presently

Lavender’s fragrant frond diminishing, anthophila’s work nature’s perennial legacy

Begonia’s low maintenance appreciated, No requirement for begonia’s to be gone with ya

Matured shrubs of scale, conceal immature weeds of scale.


Spectrum of colour, spectrum of delight

Nine months thy gestate akin to embryo’s tenancy

Norn man oft awestruck at nature’s refinement,

Situ of comfort thine heartwarming bosom, toilsome not.

Situ of therapy toilsome neither, bosom thine counselling

Dusk arrives, a lighting inertia detracts not from pulchritude.


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