Sparks

by Tom Wyre

Staffordshire, a county creative in more than name,
A mote of lunar flame, a spark that triggers an aim,
An inkling of heat scrawled to dance in the brain.
Thoughts that spin and fold from one’s dream,
Wrinkled then ironed out for a technological newborn.
Light bulbs going off and on with rainbows inside,
Nurtured transient ideas, grown into shapes,
Pink and white elephants aside,
Cerebral revelations carried forward in quantum strides,
Tooting their horns with revolutionary pride.

A genie escaping a bottle of clouds,
Ingenuity wisping into tangible forms,
Crisp shades that sparkle inside the twinkle,
The glint of a mind’s eye.
Those taking form, hues and corners,
Crinkled sparks jumping synapses,
Climbing the mental mountain,
In time waiting for the page to be turned,
As ink is not quite dry, at least on some,
So the dreams still come,
Into focus from lucid eurekas.

Manifested inspiration, prods perspiration,
Invented necessity through Johnson,
Woven words defined meaning and reason.
Swirls in dreams morphed from an underbelly,
Stoking the cinders and flashes of phoenix red.
Blackness mined and clay morphed in creative touch,
Rainbows fired in imagination from brick bottles,
Spinning on the wheels of dreams.
Erasmus with enlightened thoughts lit
By full moons evolved through his seeds,

To children inspired to challenge with creativity,
Throughout the midlands and our nation’s beyond.

Then and now, cloud weavers gather with ideas,
Ingenuity and innovation,
Excavations that continue to dig for progress,
With whirring claws and trundling tracks,
Path finding future days through steel and glaze.

Dorman’s heart still beating within an engine,
Never dormant, the giants of diesel roar and no longer sleep,
Through wars and now peace and in our times through memories,
Still here somewhere, their pride we’ll still seek to keep.

Birds, butterflies and flowers to decorate innovation;
A reservoir of inspiration flows from Blithfield,
Across Staffordshire dancing and sowing life’s waters.
Recycled raindrops course through ploughed veins,
Refreshing and bathing seeds strewn by tree and field.

Quirky but oft loved plastic pigs,
Albeit ones that didn’t fly despite their name,
Trustful, tested Tamworth icons all the same.
I spy i54 South Staffs and B.I.C with wonderment and hope.
A big cat leaps into action and a colossus spans the networks,
Attracting the global view for enterprise,
Reprised red carpets aired and prized flagships invest for more.
On to the new at St George’s Park,
Burton’s local source of pride close by,
Its saplings rising to the highest stars,
Growing the bough of achievement,
To perchance to dream, to touch the sky,
To scoop the silvered moon and behold its gold.

 

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