I received some wonderful poems that I have thoroughly enjoyed reading. The standard was generally high and there was a wonderful variety of different styles and subjects.
Here are the results:
A very well deserved first goes to Seamus Harrington with his wonderful, atmospheric poem , White- Out
Runner up – Simon Jackson: Action Art
Next 3 –
David Baggott: A Cat for the Kids
Keith Draper: The Taking of Mary Lou
K S Deasley : Masters Of The Air
Shortlisted ( next 15 – not in any particular order)
Sue Benwell: Font-y-Gary Bay
John O’Malley: You Get Your Chance
Joanne Feltham: Waiting
Betina Kerstin Lundholt: Sea Of Tranquility
Diane Jackman: Mystery
Caroline Zarlengo Sposto: Perpetuity
K S Dearsley : DNA
Linda Mills: The Night Canal
Sam Robinson: Loss of your Happy Story
Celia Palmer: Back in the UK
Gemma Fox : Summerfield
Fiore Ramacciotti: Honeyonion
John Morato: The Garden is Made
Kathy Cakebread: Financial Woes
Hilary Roper Newman: Evening Fishing on the River Ribble
WHITE-OUT – Seamus Harrington
The deep blue horizon alters to cobalt
closer, the cloudscape is frozen
unbolted sheets of cotton blend
like crumpled layers
of snow-flurried-white down.
Captain Scott! Your
dogged determination, ponies!
Through the snow-blinding glare
A blurred sign of fissure – danger
How Amundsen or Crean would skirt this
silent abyss with their packs.
Who in the name of the King
would claim this heavenly plateau?
Slow wisping Genies swirl silver-grey fingers
briefly concealing hushed plains
which secretly preserve unflagged food dumps
of scurvy ridding plenitude?
Hypnotic drone of engines…A ragged hole opens
There! In astonishing clarity, a flat ocean of indigo.
An upper case W as a pair
of powerboats in line abreast, unzip two wakes
cavitated gashes angling out
from the coastline seven miles below.
And away offshore –
the bulbous bow of a tanker bruises
her sluggish furrow
to dislocate thousands of tons of jade turmoil.
Speared on the latticed mast
a bear-shaped shadow,
spanning a ribbon of summit road.
As the cloud thins out, suspended below us
at an oblique angle
a faithful reproduction of this silhouette,
a polar-bear-skin duvet –
still as a Frank Hurley shot.
Without warning, redrawn over all
by furtive Mother Nature,
the covert veil of white lace.
Seamus Harrington; has won prizes and has had poems published in the UK, the US and in Ireland. He has read his verse in Lake Orta, in Strokestown and contributed also to the Radio Programme “Seascapes.” He has a piece accepted by the Caird Library at the National Maritime Museum in Greenwich (He believes the muse frequents lighthouses, especially at night.)
Action Art – Simon Jackson
I done that. The vermillion brush stroke, violent red,
smeared across the canvas, black. That’s mine that is.
Look how they stand around, admiring, they’re dead
chuffed. Sweet as. Can’t even peel their eyes off it.
And this one. Antlers raised in polished chrome,
majestic body, dented, torn, striated, scarred.
A fallen stag in sculpted metal, melded rubber, leather, foam.
A beauty. Mine. A work of bleeding art.
And that’s me. Right dead centre, see?
Like some ballet dancer, frozen mid-bound,
foot flexed at a peculiar angle, stretched away
for the impossible, unforeseeable touch-down.
It’s modern art that is, worth lorry-loads of cash.
A title? I call it motorcycle crash.