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Poetry Competitions UK
04 Apr 2016

Top Five Poems for March 2016


That night, your lips felt like butterflies
You looked at me, I saw the spark of love
Awaken in your eyes.
I saw supernova there.
I saw the reddish tint in your lustrous hair.
I leant forward and fell upon your chest
Until we were breast to breast.
I felt our twin hearts beating,
Like the charge of the light brigade.
Your skin was albaster.
Matching mine, for both of us were borne of a celtic maid.

I memorised every freckle that night –
How your lashes were thick, but the tips were light.
I slept not a wink
Didn't want to miss a blink
Yet we had only kissed.
The nape of my neck,my throat,
My closed eyelids, my inner wrist…

If you had made advances,
I would not resist – but,
We were both only children, just 16.
In that beautiful night, we were loves young dream.
Sharing a sleeping bag, but no, nothing went on.
“You look like an Angel” he said, and was gone.

For sleep had ruined what might have come next
For our shyness has created a friendly pretence.
And in the morning, the moment had passed
We got on with the cleaning, emptied trays of their ash
You looked at me with a meaningful glance
Which hailed the begining of a stormy romance.

You always smelled of pine, and I still pine for you.
But it's 20 years later
So what can I do.
Just know that nightly
I still dream of you.
And I've heard through the grapevine,
That you still love me too.

© MesayersPoet of the Month

A Different Song

I heard this night a different song,
A blackbird whistling words of welcome,
To the shift in season's bricks.

A triumphant fanfare,
Played on yellow beak trumpet,
He watched,
(Just as I watched),
The sun burn out,
Dynamic saffron cradles.

Like a candle snuffed,
The black seeped in,

He stood tall as any eagle,
Wings held wide,
His voice stretched taut
For he was calling in the spring,
His feathers fluffed,
Suited and booted in blue black feather breast,

Calling for his long lost lover.

For this night he felt something in the air,
I feel it too,
As darkness falls and night sets in,

Winter will soon be gone.

© Ulysses

Baggy Shirt

Lilt cornfields danced in summers breeze
Rattling melodic serpent tails
I smiled appeased by his memory
Soft crops of hair in golden bales

A snap shot from our time long past
Mourned days of old when he was mine
And love seemed would eternal last
Yet slipped away through hands of time

And I'd have given all to stay
Within those realms of yesterday
The Mu'allaqät inside my mind
The rope, your neck, my heart entwined

Warm summer days by lavender crop
The Vicarage walls innate with vice
Your golden hair and troubled mind
Our love, the loss, my sacrifice

Withal the pain was lost this day
His ghost took mercy 'pon sad lips
And raised a smile to yesterday
To memories, love, and he so missed

Two souls once one, do still connect
And knowledge his doth gentle rest
Like baggy shirt or favourite dress
Ameliorate and pain divest

Appears enough to right this wrong;
With sanguine wisdom for a time
We lived and loved an epic tale
Nostalgia stays forever mine

Aye wise Saint-Exupéry certain knew
Though love shall end with broken heart
Sweet memories at last prevail
And burdens over time depart

© Helenmatherrogers

The Thing That Cannot Be Found

I blew on the clock of a dandelion,
Time dispersed through fields of gold.
Moving the sky to one side, I reached out,
Onto wings of eternity I caught hold.
I emerge flying through a pinprick of light
Why am I here, on this floating cloud,
Torch in hand I search for my home,
The darkness shouts my name out loud.
In the deep midnight hum of the universe,
The world of phantoms continues to beat,
Minds in the window-glass echo and reflect,
As I chase the wind through empty streets.
I see ice smothering roses and violets,
Old fruit trees in an abandoned meadow,
Cobwebs and whispers are overgrown
In this place I see my metaphor flow.
I set myself down by the place I call home
I am not sure how I got here or why,
I had searched for the thing that cannot be found,
Yet inside myself I hear it's cry.

© Madeira

The Bench

Walking along a path I come to a bench,
Nothing special,
Just a wooden bench,
Sometimes with somebody sitting on it,
More often not.
I have known this bench for many years,
It has been there
Long before I first knew it.
Just overlooking the hill
Into the valley below.
The faded, and rubbed plaque
Is still there,
But all you can see is a date,
Nineteen thirty four,
And the name Fred.
Who was Fred?
Was this his place of contemplation
So many years ago?
Dreaming his dreams,
Thinking his thoughts,
Sitting and watching his life,
As it meandered past,
Like the stream in the valley below.

I wonder what life it has seen
In all those years?
People of all ages,
Just sitting here thinking.
Couples together in a loving embrace,
Others drinking and eating.
People laughing.
Others crying.
So much of human life
Will have been seen by the bench,
Even mine.
As I sit on it,
I am lost in my own and natures world.
Sometimes writing words,
As these words are being written,
While sitting on the bench.

© Goldfinch

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