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Poetry Competitions UK
20 Jan 2012

Top 5 Poems for February 2012

Better Than Clockwork

It flows and spins,
smoother than clockwork.
It flows and spins,
smoother than flowing water.
It has not been built by any man,
it flows and spins without a battery.
The Earth flows and spins
better than clockwork.

© Aqeel Ali


The Healing Powers Of Nature

Over the hilltops a long way away,
I look up at the sky and watch eagles at play.
They're soaring here and soaring there,
High in the sky they don’t have a care.

They float on the thermals gliding any which way
Sometimes I wish I was an eagle at play.
It’s fantastic to watch as the sun goes down
They are kings of the sky and deserve their crown.

I’ve walked up those hilltops and looked out at the land.
And sat down in amazement, it was too hard to stand,
I saw the wonders of nature a joy to behold,
The wonders of life as it began to unfold.
The valleys were green and the trees in full bloom
The rivers lit up by the light of the moon.
I lie down on that hilltop and look up at the stars,
And wonder if there’s life on Jupiter or Mars,
It don’t seem right that we’re the only ones here,
Then my dream becomes shattered by the grunt of a deer.

I watch him take flight in the dimly lit night,
Back to his herd he moves out of sight.
The night becomes cold so I wrap up warm
And sit on my hilltop and wait for the dawn.

Dawn soon arrives as I open my eyes
And the dimly lit night soon becomes bright
And the rabbits come out to play.
“It’s fantastic this nature,” I say to myself,
And look forward to a brand new day.

It’s mid-afternoon when I get off my hill
Still full of the joys that I had
I now walk through the fields with the sun at my heels
Thinking back when my days were so sad.

“It’s onwards and upwards,” I say to myself,
Because life’s not too bad after all,
When I think of the beauty, I saw last night
It will help me bounce back when I fall.

© Dave Gallivan



Honey glazed pockets of puff pastry skies,
Cotton candy streamers weave their trail,
Airborne convulsions of matted grey,
Irregular patterns, melting and frail.
North winds buffet the swirling mass,
Voluminous fusion of untamed pressure,
Contortions of the celestial palette,
Enigmatic savagery of nature.

Lamenting a poignant frozen sigh,
Crumbling in the leafless hedge,
Unspoken fleece of glistening white,
Dissolves the empty spiderwebs.
From burgeoning boughs peeks Christmas holly,
Ruby red clusters in evergreen nests,
Glossy swatches, armed and proud,
Braving the gelid wintry breath.

© Jill Pisani



Machine! I love your tender metal heart
And see the steel is shattering like glass.
What softens us in growing apart!
What nylon soul bears all of us!

You're a machine with lubrication-honey.
Lend me a drop of it for honey-pie
To be presented for my life as funny
As if you'd say for what I live and why!

Please, count all mistakes I've ever done,
Tick off the names that I've already loved,
But let me have the very thing of fun:
Love seems to be enough for being stuffed.

Machine! Your heart is locked without keys.
All gaze at you but nothing is to talk,
You only need a single cold kiss
To give an access to your metal lock.

© Natalia Gorodova


Happily Ever After Is Not The End

Little minds linger upon the
Last words of a faery tale

Brave knights; courageous princes; troubled queens; beautiful princesses
All flood the mind of a child

As childhood ebbs towards adolescence
Bedtime stories cease to be a frequency

The realms of troubled busied minds
Are flooded with careers; puberty and sweethearts

Fantasy is long forgotten
Imagination is pushed to the very back

Yet a young working lady
Remains a damsel in distress emotionally

And waits upon a dreamy-eyed competent male
To embody her social life saving knight in shining armour

Middle aged women still peep at young damsels
From the tiniest corner of their eyes

Searching to find a decent lady
To be the home’s succeeding queen

Troubled elderly men
Still scour their thirteen storey high kingdoms

For a fitting heir
The next-in-line

Bedtime stories narrated at 8pm
By a weary parent to an eager child

Gradually sink far back into the realms of their psyches
But foremost to their emotional needs

It ebbs into an eye roll or sarcasm
Along with maturing years

Until that very same child
Narrates a ‘Happily Ever After’ to their own

© Shiksha Dheda


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