(This is an excerpt from my poetry book, 'The Moon is Made of Green Cheese')

... I landed with a bump in a most unusual environ

And before me stood the Bard from in Stratford-upon-Avon.

‘Shakespeare,’ I exclaimed. ‘What an honour!’

‘Pray,’ spake the Bard. ‘Just call me “Bill”.

And I faith thou hasn’t broken skin or bone

For, here, thou art unlikely to find a blood donor!’

The laughter that ensued brought my attention

To the rest of the distinguished congregation.

All the great, late, poets were present –

From Homer to Yeats – what a variety!

Bill smiled and said, ‘Welcome to the dead poets' society’.

He noticed my thinly veiled consternation

And comfortingly placed a hand on my shoulder.

‘No, my son,’ he assured me. ‘Thou art no apparition.

But though thou art yet to shuffle off the mortal coil,

I have spied you burning the midnight oil

Trying to write but lacking inspiration.’

And on that reassuring note, ‘the grand tour’ began.

First, I met S.T. Coleridge who gave us “Kubla Khan”.

‘Well, hello, Ancient Mariner!’ I crooned.

He began to tell me about a ship that was marooned

But Bill cut him off and introduced Dylan.

Being blind, Milton explored my face with his fingers.

I helped: ‘I’m young, slim, average height, Black –’

‘Ah! It matters not if you’re Black or White

As long as you can think with all the colours that be

And let your imagination soar like a kite:

I was blind but I still saw in the dark!’

More pearls of wisdom came from William Blake

Who still had the suit he wore, for decency’s sake,

To the Marriage of Heaven and Hell:

‘A single grain of sand can contain Heaven,’ he spake,

‘And eternity can be compressed into an hour.

Use words as pictures – show, don’t tell...'