They are four large, double-sided poems that are being towed around the north on the back of trailers in conjunction with its staging of the ongoing Rugby League World Cup.

The broad title for the enterprise is Power of Poetry, and the intention is, according to the organisers, "to bring art and sport together, and celebrate all cultures that are part of Rugby League World Cup."

Accordingly these four poems - collaborative efforts - "explore themes of inclusivity, the sound of the stadium, the joy of reconnecting through sports post-lockdowns and the dynamic nature of rugby league."

The collaboration has included poets from the cities involved, with the orchestration coming from British contemporary artist Robert Montgomery.

He describes how he got the idea thus: "I was listening to the Rolling Stones and asking myself what makes the magic, thinking about how the band have a magical electricity together, an elevated energy they don’t have as solo artists, but how writing together makes magic happen. And I suddenly thought - why don’t poets ever try to write together?"

One could reply that poetry is something which arrives within individuals and is most often enjoyed by individuals.

But one could also reflect that, as TS Eliot remarked, "all art aspires to the condition of music."

And if so, why can’t poets jam together?

Well now they have, and the results are on tour, in lights.

It’s one of many things to love about the current Rugby League World Cup, along with the fact that for the first time, the men’s competition is being run in conjunction with the women's and men’s wheelchair version - and all are playing for the same level of pecuniary reward.

The Power of Poetry is the latest manifestation of a link that has existed since the Ancient Olympics - and perhaps even before them in Minoan culture. That is, the link between the spiritual and sporting aspects of human life.

Those first Olympics, for which recorded evidence begins in 776BC, were at heart a religious occurrence, dedicated to Zeus and lesser gods, rooted in mythology and providing a potent draw for pilgrims from within Greece and beyond.

As well as being a religious celebration the ancient Games regularly featured artistic expression, with sculptors, poets and painters using them to display their works.

Poets would be commissioned to write poems in praise of the Olympic victors. Such victory songs or epinicians, were passed on from generation to generation.

So it was unsurprising that when, in the late 19^th century, Baron Pierre de Coubertin set about realising his vision of the modern Olympics he did so with a model that included artistic as well as sporting competition.

"There is only one difference between our Olympiads and plain sporting championships," he wrote, "and it is precisely the contests of art as they existed in the Olympiads of Ancient Greece, where sport exhibitions walked in equality with artistic exhibitions."

The first modern Games were duly held at Athens in 1896 - but the artistic sidelines, well it took a little longer to convince organisers more intent on the sporting aspect of the Games. Not until the 1912 Stockholm Olympics, in fact, did the cultural activity and competitions originally envisaged by de Coubertin take their place in the quadrennial global event.

Awkwardly, he became one of the first gold medallists himself through his contribution to the literature/poetry section, Ode to Sport, under the pseudonyms of George Hohrod and Martin Eschbach. Apparently he was concerned that the new competition wouldn’t draw enough entrants…

Shortly after the 1948 London Olympics the place of artists at the Games was challenged within Olympic circles on the grounds that the majority of those involved were professionals.

There was a shift from competition to exhibitions, and the Olympic Charter requires organisers of the Games to incorporate a programme of cultural events to "serve to promote harmonious relations, mutual understanding and friendship among the participants and others attending the Olympic Games."

Ultimately, just as poetry creates its own internal music, so sport creates its own poetry.

We all find it at various moments, through the actions of teams or individuals. If we can’t - why are we bothering?

It might be Usain Bolt running the 200 metres bend. It might be Lionel Messi finding magic pathways through thickets of defenders. It might be Lyudmila Tourischeva combining power and grace on the balance beam.

Or it might be Phil Bennett giving his impression of a piece of phosphorus in water on the rugby field.

While we’re on the subject of poetic description, here is an appreciation of Bennett’s genius written - and later spoken - for the BBC shortly after the great fly-half’s death on June 12 this year, by my erstwhile colleague Eddie Butler, the former Pontypool and Welsh captain who has adorned coverage of the game in recent years as a commentator and analyst, and who so sadly and suddenly died last month.

"His sidestep was jagged, his acceleration startling, his pace sustained.  He was a tiny man, dancing his way in and out of the clutches of giants who would do him harm if only they could get near him.

"When he kicked, he left the right leg balletically hanging, the sweet spot found again.

"For Llanelli, for Wales, for the Barbarians, the Lions…

"And it was all done without boastfulness. Done with almost an apology for being so good, for leaving so many flailing in his wake."

That’s the very stuff Eddie.