Today is National Poetry Day, there are events all over the UK so try to get involved. More details can be found on the National Poetry Day website.
For my own part a memory of another piece of my history.
It’s cold on the exposed skin,
and it looks cold, from the snow banked
around to the solid puddles, slippery ideas
of water from yesterdays helicopter exhaust.
The wind and its needles, drill for moisture
against everything while we watch
for signs in the sky, before the sound
that reaches us so we turn and look.
Brace, ready for the downwash and noise.
Watching as the machine slides down on wind,
before slowing rotors, and the slide of the door.
People first, led away clear, careful, to the warm.
And the real reason we wait. The blue canvas bags
get dropped on the pan, carried down to the section,
to be sorted ready, and the tannoy breaks out,
mail call. Home on a blue slip of paper.