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    • Veronica Caperon
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    • John Killick
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Portraits of Poets - Veronica Caperon


​

Veronica was a multi-talented woman who moved to the village of Lawkland in Bowland in 2009 with her husband Richard and daughter Lizzie. She wrote poetry and plays and was also a photographer and publicity consultant. She took a course of creative writing at Keele University. She was a founder member of Settle Sessions and chaired the poetry group for a number of years.
 
Her first publication was Two Left Boots in 2016, and it quickly sold out. In a review by Helena Nelson published in Sphinx magazine she wrote:
        A few of the poems are expertly disciplined and have
        precisely the right shape and sound for themselves.
        Anybody can format lines into a shape. Few poets can
        do it in a way that startles the reader into unexpected
        vividness – as happens here.

The poem below is one that she particularly praised.
Picture
Veronica died of cancer in December 2017. She is much missed by the group. Fisherrow Press brought out her posthumous pamphlet Dancing to Another Tune in March 2019.
                                           LAWKLAND
 
                                It’s the ewe calling her lamb
                                        and high-pitched reply,
                                it’s the faint smell of manure
                                        hanging in the air,
                                it’s the chaos of swallows
                                        playing tag,
                                the drone of the tractor
                                        as if sleeves rolled up,
 
                                a silent hot air balloon
                                        in early morning,
                                a hare stretching its legs,
                                        sunbathing midday.
                                It’s a deer eating roses
                                        in late afternoon,
                                then the roar of fighter planes
                                        ripping through the peace.
 
                                It’s the ‘paper delivered
                                        by the Postman
                                on his eighty-four-mile round
                                        six days a week,
                                horizontal rain,
                                        home-made woodsmoke,
                                the queue for the oil-tanker,
                                        snail-speed broadband.
 
                                It’s waiting for snow to stop
                                        in a Breugel scene,
                                then, splintered by four-by-fours,
                                        melting into mud.
                                It’s how heavy dark can be
                                        or light midsummer,
                                and the bite of winter nights.
                                        And it’s the stars.

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  • home
  • News and Reviews
  • Events
  • Poetry Competitions
  • Contact us
  • Portraits of Poets
    • Veronica Caperon
    • Jean Stevens
    • Ann Pilling
    • Jean Harrison
    • Joan Butler
    • Richard Morwood
    • John Killick
  • Link to old website