National Poetry Anthology 2006

 

MESSAGES

Your empty house took a breath
as I opened windows and
wandered through to the garden;
the lawn, uncut and coarse
as your pepper and salt
hospital stubble; the

seeds you had planted now posthumous tulips and
primroses - clusters of
colour-coded messages
sent by your careful hand.
I stood where your deckchair

would have been on this warm,
wood-pigeon afternoon
and, in my attempt at
teasing out a meaning,
came as near to you as
I can hope to get.

Peter Button, Lancaster, Lancashire


The above is Peter Button's winning poem, Messages. Below you can read some of the poems penned by the regional winners of the National Poetry Anthology 2006.


BIRD WORLD

I am haunted
by the eagle trapped
in a cage too small
for wingspan.

A world filled with noise
Clatter of parrots, songbirds keening
peacocks shrieking
raucous children.

Consumed with rage, pity,
impotence I smell
and taste
the stench of despair.

All I see,
lifeless plumage,
black leaden eyes
a creature born to fly.

Rosemarie Morton, New Milton, Hampshire

 

THOUGHTS ON A TROPIC NIGHT

Thick, and warm, the air, as a limpid pool submerging the land,
Cloying and scented.
Out in the buzzing night, the mango trees crouch,
Black, and still, with stars aglow between the leaves.

The night is never dark.
Lightning flickers in the luminous warmth.
Not is it ever silent of clattering frogs,
And multitudinous screeching things, and dogs.

Beneath this net, believe me, it is even warmer yet;
I lie with senses dulled,
And follow the strumming beetles' flight around the stifling room.

Now, ever and again, I think with longing of cool nights
Stirred by an English breeze that brings the distant call of owls
Beneath an English moon.

John Flanagan, Bristol, Avon

 

SWEET PERFUME

Her silken robes
were lying stretched out
so I folded them up
so carefully.
They still smelled
so warmly of her,
she was still in the room
and still part of me.

Whenever she wore them
I liked it so much
I promised myself
that I'd never touch,
I'd not want to crease
a life so fair.
Of sweet perfume
And scented hair.

Richard Youngman, Yaxley, Suffolk

 

MR ETTERINI'S PHILOSOPHIES

Mr Etterini always said this:
He doesn't know fabrics,
Can't melt cotton in his fingers,
Is shy about silk,
Wool wilts his will.

Mr Etterini always said this:
Good cloth was good cloth, irrespective.
Linen slacks, a navy grade, was right
On a yacht, especially
When anchored at Corsica.

Mr Etterini always said this:
Satin maps a woman's contours,
Tweeds are Mr Richard Hannay,
Galloping through Scottish heather
One step ahead of the rest.

Mr Etterini always said this:
Synthetics are pathetic.
Would Coco Chanel have
Grown a million roses
If she'd wanted us to wear vinegar?

Phil Fox, Leicester, Leicestershire

 

MY GREY WORLD

Would that I see things in colour
Said the old man
Once it was all yellows and reds
And I laughed and was warm
But then, she was here

Now she's gone
And my world is grey and dark
Laughter is rare and I am always cold
I would like to follow
Where she has gone
But I am not brave
And the time is not right

So I walk my grey world
And clutch at fading memories
Which grow dimmer every year
Time is my enemy, my foe
To be resented
As each waking hour is dreaded

Audrey Drynan, Cramlington, Northumberland

 

THE VISITOR

Angels proclaim from long silent skies
To humble shepherds in surprise,
A visitor to God's ancient land,
From heaven's celestial strand.
Entering nature's darkest night,
Conquering with His everlasting light.

From a lowly stable birth
To reclaim our fallen earth.
Entrusted to a virgin's womb,
Destined for a rich man's tomb.
Clothed in human form,
Christ our saviour born.

Martin Graty, Anglesey, Wales