To celebrate National Poetry Day, Blackpool Social Club launches Poetic License, a new series to bring you poetry about Blackpool and written by Blackpool poets
It’s National Poetry Day today, 5th October, and to mark the occasion BSC is bringing you some of the poetry that sprung from a place-inspired poetry writing workshop. As part of the Heritage Action Zone (HAZ) Cultural Programme, in July this year local writers came together at the new home of the community arts organisation Aunty Social on Topping Street, seeking their poetic muse in a workshop hosted by local writer and published author, Linda Hampton.
Participants spent time talking about their memories of Blackpool past and what they love about Blackpool in the 21st century. They looked at photographs of some of the special features in the HAZ such as the Winter Gardens, Grand Theatre, Abingdon Street Market and the old Post Office building, and also discovered some lesser-known corners of the town along Edward Street and Cedar Square.
They were introduced to a variety of poetic forms and different ways to approach writing a poem before live poetry-writing took place during the workshop, some of which was shared with the group.
But poetry cannot (necessarily) be written in a day. Participants took their ideas and inspiration back to their respective creative nooks to develop and hone. Today we share some of the fruits of that workshop.
Rachael Leitch’s Smoker’s Choice recalls a memorable shop on Church Street, now long gone, that she visited regularly as a young teenager; Kieron Green, in his prose poem Promenade, takes us high above the Golden Mile and shares his thoughts on the famous sights; Neal Sandwell’s poem, A Grand Time tells a personal story of his love for Blackpool’s Grand Theatre and the way his connections with it have changed through circumstance; Linda Hampton’s Ghosts at the Cafe Continental evokes memories of a love affair from long ago; and Susan Berry’s Winter Gardens is a wistful personal reverie on another of Blackpool’s important venues.
We hope you enjoy reading their poetry, memories and thoughts inspired by Blackpool.
Smoker’s Choice
Rachael Leitch
Behind the Promenade there lies,
A cocktail of colours,
A packet of delights.
For a shiny silver ten pence,
The adult world awaits,
Which colour will it be today?
And what mischief can I make?
If it’s pink, then it’s candy floss,
Before nicking on the Big Wheel,
If it’s green, then it’s Stanley Park,
And its familiar appeal,
If it’s yellow it’s sun and cider,
Once we have coppered up,
If it’s lilac it’s the hue of the evening sky,
When we know we’re out of luck,
If it’s coral it’s the lipstick,
Bought with last week’s tips,
Worn with the same old dress,
But feeling like new tricks,
One day I’ll buy the whole pack,
And hand them out with pride,
But for now I’ll stick to singles,
And take things in my stride.
Rachael Leitch is a lecturer in English Language and Literature at the University Centre, Blackpool and the Fylde College. In her spare time she enjoys writing.
Promenade
Kieron Green 
In front of me, as far as the eye can see is blue/green like your veins.
The horizon is a grey line. The sky is cracked crystal with many winged dinosaurs disturbing its regular smooth contours.
I lean against the railings, feel the sea calling me, want to fly over it, and hunt with the yellowed-eyed ones.
To my right; steel girders lifting the wooden walkway from the sand. It has many flashing neon lights and from it emits the sound of a mechanical riot.
My head is full of light; I know this feeling well.
I call to the seabirds, take me now, I am no longer afraid.
Behind me is the scene of many a hometown farewell kiss.
It’s metallic and changes colour like a chameleon.
I fly between its many interlocking diagonal supports; in and out until I reach its tapering cap stone.
Swooping down again to my right and returning to my human form.
Inside a building, where I’m a guest at some ancient pagan ritual; taking place no longer in a place of worship but in a gilded palace of pleasure.
The sea air always does this to me, opening and clearing my mind so much that anything could jump right in.
I return to the place where my shamanic journey began, leaning against the railing, looking at the sea again and remember as a child how everything was so much visually bigger then.
In my body and grounded, feeling a direct line of energy from the earth to the crown of my head.
I feel as though I’ve always been here, through many contrasting times and countless incarnations.
I walk briefly northwards and into the wooden and steel jetty, remembering how I used to love the smell of this place, as sweet as candyfloss; funny how your taste changes, preferring now something less artificial, patchouli oil and sandalwood.
I leave and head east, staring up at the great architecture, changing now red, now blue, yellow, purple and many other colours from outer space after that.
Having the gift of flight for a day was great but I much prefer the here and now.
Kieron Green is a student of English Language and Literature at the University Centre, Blackpool and Fylde College who writes haiku, and tales of the weird and wonderful.
A Grand Old Time
Neal Sandwell
A cherished Blackpool oasis
An escape from any sadness
With performance at its basis
That sits alongside the madness.
Where for over a hundred years
Be it music, farce or drama,
Old troupers bowed to claps and cheers
Forgetting their real-life trauma.
It’s crowded outside the stage door.
Everyone’s waiting for the stars
Who appear to a great uproar
As they try to get to their cars.
Now that I am in a wheelchair
The stage door no more can beckon
Unfit to feel the footlights glare
Performer no more, they reckon.
Once, I was part of the magic
Though now I just sit there and watch.
Please don’t think that I am tragic
I’ll dial my resolve up a notch.
From performing, I won’t abstain.
Although I cannot kick my heels
I will make it onstage again
I’ll just simply do it on wheels.
Neal Sandwell is a Blackpool based poet, short story writer and playwright whose play, Old Furniture, was performed in summer 2023 by Trinity Players.
Ghosts at the Cafe Continental
Linda Hampton
Years go by;
Then once again
I’m back on Topping Street.
An invisible force makes me halt mid step,
Stare through a veil of time,
The street out of focus
As the old movie starts to play superimposed over the live show.
Scurrying passers-by on mute,
Know nothing of my time travelling.
That familiar lettering above the door,
And there we are,
Us, you and me,
Smiling in photograph pose.
Our translucent forms half dissolve into the
Pastel yellow of the window frames
Where once were grubby nets.
Gone the greyish peeling paint,
The scalloped shabby green and white striped awning.
Bright-washed walls have painted us out,
a streamlined canopy pays homage to the candy stripes
But crisp and clean now, all memories erased.
Only I see our outlines, rough sketches,
Scribbled graffiti that’s hard to remove.
A young couple startle me with their laughter,
like ghosts would never do,
Pass through us, through the door,
Take a window table,
Slip off coats,
Pick up menu,
Settle without guilt
or fear of being discovered.
Our love was not for keeps
At the Cafe Continental.
Just tenderly borrowed-
a summer season rental.
Linda Hampton is the author of Wish You Were Here Seaside Stories for children, and The Art Worms on Imagination Street, a quirky absurdist take on art and artists. She is a creative writing coach, writes poetry, plays and is (still) working on her first novel.
Winter Gardens
Susan Berry
Over a decade ago
Strange how time flows
Live a river through your mind.
And time winds relentlessly
Like the ticking of a clock
And memory rewinds it the same way
Until I am stood here once more.
In the same place, in a different time.
The Winter Gardens. A building so grand and iconic
And the home of many a gin and tonic
I am wrapped once more in shiny metallic fabric.
My jet-black hair styled into a geometric shape.
I am a fake.
Like a knock off Andy Warhol
A pastiche within a pastiche.
I am a spectator of another kind of religion.
A star shaped counter cultural phenomenon
that has captured both my mind and heart.
I am swooning and drenched in a magical lust.
Tiptoeing through a glittery dust.
I am transformed by this musical creation.
Dancing alone with an abandoned elation.
But it all proved to be some kind of illusion.
A shiny veneer that would mask a tear.
A smooth-tongued lover
That lied with such a lexical smoothness.
That I am destroyed by its deception.
The recollections capture me.
They catapult me into the sea.
They smother me with a tidal wave of regret.
And so here it still stands, the Winter Gardens.
Weaving its web of memories.
And here I am captivated and once more.
Stood in my silver splendour dreaming of a love.
That will never be mine.
Susan Berry is a mature student studying creative writing at Blackpool & the Fylde College. She loves all things creative, green spaces and animals.
If you would like to have a go yourself…
We know there is a wealth of poetry-writing talent in Blackpool that BSC would love to showcase. That’s why we are launching what will be an occasional series titled Poetic License in which we will invite the poets of Blackpool to submit their poetry to us so we can bring their words to a wider audience. Poems can be in any form – rhyming, free verse, villanelle or any other form that you might be drawn to.
If you are a local poet, or perhaps you have never written before but would like to have a go, please email your poetry alongside a few details about yourself and your connections to Blackpool to [email protected]
All poems submitted will remain the intellectual property of the writer. Please give your work a title and make sure you check it for typos, spelling etc before you submit.
We hope you enjoy National Poetry Day and are inspired to write some poetry of your own. We look forward to receiving your submissions for our next feature.
Show Comments (1)
Nick
Brilliant !!! More please !!