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A piece of bespoke poetry is absolutely unique to you and yours. Celebrating a birthday, a wedding, a life, with a bespoke piece of work is a special way to mark an occasion whether profoundly, humorously, or both. Commissioned pieces can often distill what has always been there into something memorable and lasting. The process of commissioning is easy, there is, however, time needed from you to invest in briefing the poet about the event and person you wish to celebrate. Poets differ in the speed at which they work, but most who specialise in bespoke work can deliver in under 2 weeks. Below are some sample pieces from Poets registered with City of Poets, reproduced here with kind permission of ©Anne Sikking, 2022 and 2023.
An 80th Birthday Celebration
Four score, (forget 'and ten'!)
Is more life than many men.
It's measured out, by weeks by days,
Years celebrate the many ways
You have long campaigned.
You've marched in sun, and when it rained,
Leaflets, yellow bag in hand,
Envelopes in elastic bands.
Thrashing streets, (the Napiers!),
Marshalling the volunteers.
To build freedom and a nation
Is more than self-determination.
It's keeping on, keeping on,
(When few are singing your same song.)
It's many a cake-fest led by Ann,
Thronged with your fellow man.
Burns nights, slow fund-raising,
Ever hopeful, wild, star-gazing,
Endless effort for little praise,
Spirits (and bars) to raise,
Your belief in Scotland
Has no end.
This idea, living in our hearts,
This hope, to challenge all false starts,
Is resilient, as members come and go,
Because you are rooted in what you know.
The past, in its purest sense,
Is what informs the present tense.
Because of you, in all your stages,
This dream's alive, well down the ages.
To you, now eighty, no more a swain,
We praise our convenor's name:
Hamish.
Recording an Event
There's something magic in Govan.
Perhaps it's the Samba band -
the least likely smiling members
bash bang with a joy unplanned.
Or it could be the children's choirs,
kindling new hope in our chest,
their clothes dishevelled from playtime,
yet singing out their best.
It could be men and bagpipes,
their drone-beat matching blood.
Scots, stamping along with 'foreigners',
nurture harmony's tender bud.
Perchance it is that angel voice
soaring on scales of the Middle East,
lamenting times, now far from home,
when they longed to be released.
It's possible filmed memories mingle,
like ingredients for a cake,
and the result (in a church!) is unexpected,
so we do a double take.
Or maybe smells of cooking
wafting through the air,
remind us we are all hungry
for peace and a chance to share.
The many chefs' hard labours,
the music, the swelling voices,
all finery and hairstyles,
make a pattern from our choices.
There's something magic in Govan,
amidst deprivation and neglect.
The spirit of its people
is determined to connect.
It's easy to say it's dirty,
to spot rubbish in the streets,
to never find the glass half-full,
to merely see defeats.
But magic is what we cannot see,
what moves our hidden parts.
Ultimately it's a sort of magic
that changes people's hearts.
After all, organisations are just people
who unite to act and discuss.
The 2023 World Cultural & Diversity Day
showed the best of us.
Thank you.
A Reading for a Funeral
Yvonne. Yvonne. Yvonne.
gone too soon –
Daughter, lost to a life
that caught her unready
for its provocation.
Sister, who felt the sun
that kissed her,
loved creatures great and small,
dreamt of colour, music, souls,
had vision for it all.
Partner, from so young an age.
Part martyr to the endless scores
of early mornings, sleepless nights.
But amongst the rhythm of daily chores
still keen to keep hope in sight.
Mother, of four rising stars,
who stir now to make their mark,
who are already strong, able, loyal, kind,
who know their way, who calm their minds,
who have their spirit guides.
So. Yvonne.
Child of your time.
You, who has left behind
such wreckage, such loss.
What will we always have of you that's true?
Your love of those who cared is not forgotten,
just because the net of life snared you in its mesh.
Your bright enthusiasms, your determination
in the teeth of vast chasms of despair leave us a meditation.
How sweet is life.
How sweet your precious view.
How sweet our sorrow.
How sweet, once baby girl, were you.