April 2018 poems

April 2018

Here are the last poems received in our year long poetry competition, a couple on the theme of Poetry, then some others…


Poetry

Poetry can be found in everything,
A dance though a short but wonderous life.
The colours of a sunset, energetic storm,
Poetry in joy, poetry in strife.

Play out this game, live every second,
Find the images, enjoy your time.
Make the connections in your soul,
Words will flow, words will rhyme.

– PJ


The poet is a baker

Poetry is like making bread,
An idea ferments in your head,
Let it warm, let it grow,
And the words begin to flow.

Phrases fill the space and rise,
Bubbles, doubles under your eyes.
Then your fingers carefully knead it
’fore ever a soul gets to read it.

Season it with metaphor,
Imagery to flour and score.
Shape it, make it,
In the oven slowly bake it.

Watch it gently turn to gold
As the verse starts to unfold.
Quietly savour the heavenly scent
When you have said what you meant.

A poem is a loaf of bread
Sustenance for the heart and head.
The poet is a baker,
Story-teller. Song-maker.

– M. Fish


April

Winter’s passed, away the grey!
The world’s very yellow and blue today.
Speedwells, violets, forget-me-nots
Shelter snugly in sunny spots
Primroses and some daffodils, still
Make bright splashes in the shadowy chill.
Daisies and dandelions spot the grass
Into dapple as the clouds make their pass.
Early buttercups and celandine
Make little suns on earth to shine.
Blue tits feed, then off they fly
Away into the sapphire sky.
Winter’s passed, away the grey!
The world’s very yellow and blue today.

– Jo Crouch


Spring misery

I love our trees, more than most people,
My favourite, the beautiful Silver Birch.
But my love for this Lady is unrequited,
Cos now she’s left me in the lurch!

My eyes are stinging, my head is aching,
Tears are flowing and my nose does run.
A cloud of pollen is the cause of my misery,
Ruining enjoyment of a long awaited sun.

Life at present ruled by Hayfever,
My companions tissues and dark glass.
Worse still is there’s more to come,
Thank you Ma Nature for this ultimate farce!

– Paul Johnson


Dishwasher

I must not load the dishwasher,
I never pack it right.
And if I try to do it,
It ends up with a fight.
The plates must stand in tidy rows,
With cups placed in between.
Greasy pans go at the bottom,
Essential to get them clean.
The cutlery tray is quite an art,
Forks must stand upright.
Knives point down for safety’s sake,
Spoons are placed apart.
Before the door is finally shut,
A check list must be ticked,
Does the spinner, spin with ease?
What programme should be picked.
And when the cycle’s finished,
I have the final say.
If I cannot load the wretched thing,
He can put the stuff away!

– Valerie Mighall


Summer in Barbados

Palm trees, ocean breeze,
Salty air, sunkissed hair,
Endless summer… take me there.

The soft sand slipping in between my toes,
While a river nearby gently flows.
The satisfying noise of the flip and the flop
As we walk in to the tourist shop.

Palm trees, ocean breeze,
Salty air, sunkissed hair,
Endless summer, take me there.

As we relaxed in the sun loungers getting a tan I thought,
I don’t know why but we should’ve taken our caravan.
As I looked up at the sky so blue,
I realised we didn’t actually need to.

Barbados was quite a thrill.
Although I’ve never been there.
I’ve been to Bexhill.

– Hannah Massey (age 12)


Shakespeare’s primrose

A Rose by any other name,
Was Juliet’s conversation stopper.
But our lovely woodland flower,
Is very prim and proper!

– Touchwood


The Dorset cycle

Poem 1. 29th December 2017

Why dream of mountains amongst the trees?
Sometimes, memories are thieves.
Words can’t do this; there is too much beauty,
When winter’s sun makes giants of us all.
This gentle lake mirrors the trees,
On her serene and upturned face,
While the busy world of rush and traffic hurries by,
Somewhere near,
But oh-so far and barely noticed,
Heard but not seen,
Like naughty children.
A lightening sky, a darkening land.
Sparks of yellow gorse, alder buds,
The changing half-moon,
Scolding birds and pockets of frost,
Speak of things now and to come.
Despite all this,
It is not beauty but words that stop me seeing.

Poem 2. 30th December 2017.

This day I am marching mindfully,
To see a distance,
To feel the stretch,
Into a slicing, westerly gale.
If I look and look,
Am quiet and listen,
I feel all things will speak,
And maybe I’ll hear?
Tonight the waxing moon is caught in the witching fingers of three sister oaks.
For a moment, I stand here with them.

Poem 3. 31st December 2017

Speaking plainly and seeing clearly,
Wind-spoke chimes of open hearts,
Combing truth from some of life’s chaos,
Weaving calm and hope and clarity,
Into the first hints of this night.
Out with the old and in with the new,
May our hearts’ wishes carry us all into the New Year.

Poem 4. 1st January 2018

Wolf moon rising on New Year’s Day,
Full wind blasting on New Year’s Day.
So trite, but really,
The first day of the rest of our lives;
Each and every one,
A New Life Day.

Poem 5. 2nd January 2018

Give me a Cedar of Lebanon any day,
For majesty!
(But you can’t make rubbings of their bark with a biro.)
And here I write on the carcass of a great oak,
Felled and dismembered,
Dead itself,
Yet teeming with life.
All I want is to see as far as I can.
To feel connected.
That’s all.

Poem 6. 3rd January 2018

Under the darkening trees,
Sharing secrets.
With tenderness and fieriness,
Stripping bare the myths that from girlhood haunt our lives.
Acknowledging the pain of old ways dying,
Giving solace and succour to new possibilities,
New beginnings,
When we shared our secrets,
Beneath the darkening trees.

 – Laura Cecil

 

Shortlisted poems March 2018 poems

 

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