Letting the compost clot of thoughts manifest,
this is what you earth-tied blinks are.
I’ll inflict upon you the two extremities,
to make you see God’s work. But it’s no
lie to say I’m not one of his winged triumphs.
Because I’ll give you purity and you’ll do as you will,
disappoint, drilling holes in bridges. Time is no one’s enemy
living as a hermit, try to understand, but it
will clasp you in its claws, purring you to the edge of
capability. I’m the apple tree nourishing you
yet buds only taste a few. Each shot I’ll kill
a little piece, but catalyse them too.
Without me there would be no pain, that itself
too horror filled to comprehend - the stillness of the moon.
Its not a question of should, I do exist, accept.
Biology would scream without arrows supporting its three legs.
It’s up to me, and only I, to make this land flood.
I am the salt, I am the water, I am the ultra violet,
I am the words sucked dry in voice, your years of hammering on.
And like the Beatles harmonized, I’m all there is to hear.
Thursday 16 October 2008
Sunday 12 October 2008
Newbury Schools' Poetry Competition 2008
I'm writing after our awards evening for the 2008 Newbury Schools Poetry Competition. If you were one of our guests up at Borders, I hope you enjoyed it. I certainly did - how often do you get the chance to listen to new writing, of that quality, for free...
Enormous thanks to Borders Newbury, first of all. I make no apologies for commercial plugging - on this occasion! John O'Connor's been really supportive with the competition and the awards evening, and hopefully this can be the start of a series of events. Thanks also to my colleagues at Park House and Trinity, Helen Viney and Nat Weight, who gathered together some really high-quality writing. And I really appreciate Keston Sutherland judging and commenting on the Sixth Form entries for us.
I'm also going to plug The Download website - if you're a young writer in West Berkshire, that's your space. Do something with it. A number of the entries for the competition will appear there over the next few weeks.
And there'll be new stuff here, too. As I have time, I'll post material. Subscribe to the page for updates. The top three Sixth Form poems, as selected by Keston, are now here. I started off with Chris Brown's winning Sixth Form entry, which is now joined by Melissa Chandler and Peter Estdale's pieces.
By the way. Check out the music links too.
Enormous thanks to Borders Newbury, first of all. I make no apologies for commercial plugging - on this occasion! John O'Connor's been really supportive with the competition and the awards evening, and hopefully this can be the start of a series of events. Thanks also to my colleagues at Park House and Trinity, Helen Viney and Nat Weight, who gathered together some really high-quality writing. And I really appreciate Keston Sutherland judging and commenting on the Sixth Form entries for us.
I'm also going to plug The Download website - if you're a young writer in West Berkshire, that's your space. Do something with it. A number of the entries for the competition will appear there over the next few weeks.
And there'll be new stuff here, too. As I have time, I'll post material. Subscribe to the page for updates. The top three Sixth Form poems, as selected by Keston, are now here. I started off with Chris Brown's winning Sixth Form entry, which is now joined by Melissa Chandler and Peter Estdale's pieces.
By the way. Check out the music links too.
Application For A Muse - Peter Estdale
Young, budding poet: seeks muse.
Duties include
Dealing with requests
For information by e-mails:
The very thing to break
The pylon-punctured landscape.
It’s not necessary
To be dynamic or flexible,
Nor hair like the dark summer
(Though they are a plus)
Any age is pref’rable,
As are enthusiasm
Willingness
And initiative.
Oh and no thieves:
The last holder left
With a bit of me
Sewn in the lining
of her jacket pocket,
Never to be returned.
Duties include
Dealing with requests
For information by e-mails:
The very thing to break
The pylon-punctured landscape.
It’s not necessary
To be dynamic or flexible,
Nor hair like the dark summer
(Though they are a plus)
Any age is pref’rable,
As are enthusiasm
Willingness
And initiative.
Oh and no thieves:
The last holder left
With a bit of me
Sewn in the lining
of her jacket pocket,
Never to be returned.
Saturday 11 October 2008
Untitled - Melissa Chandler
Among this early field of emerald eyes,
Where a silent sigh embraces all,
And double glazed trees do tickle the skies,
Awakens unweeded a well-known brawl.
Where all at once the leaves aren’t fresh,
And the darkness comes, yet shadows still lie,
The green is black and it poisons flesh,
Inside the remains of the passer-by.
The black blood seeps through the hollow snakes,
Entangling ghosts of grey around air,
The concrete trees capture prey as they wake,
And drains their mind, as they work in despair.
But soon after the quiet essence of morning
Is evaporated from the overgrown field,
She returns to her slumber in the mist of work’s warning,
Because now all is busy, rush hour has spilled.
Where a silent sigh embraces all,
And double glazed trees do tickle the skies,
Awakens unweeded a well-known brawl.
Where all at once the leaves aren’t fresh,
And the darkness comes, yet shadows still lie,
The green is black and it poisons flesh,
Inside the remains of the passer-by.
The black blood seeps through the hollow snakes,
Entangling ghosts of grey around air,
The concrete trees capture prey as they wake,
And drains their mind, as they work in despair.
But soon after the quiet essence of morning
Is evaporated from the overgrown field,
She returns to her slumber in the mist of work’s warning,
Because now all is busy, rush hour has spilled.
Friday 10 October 2008
Words to a Winding Key (Once) - Chris Brown
Wind, you, this oak grandfather clock;
That clicked and knocked in Nature’s wind;
That grew and leafed and once housed things
More and less than clockwork. I grew
Once in the sweet season scents,
Ignorant of axe-men and axe-wounds,
Who, sent on their rounds sent
Me to be wound. Slung to the
Round, conforming blade
That confined me to box. And yet
This age would be young were I but
Livelier wood. Hands
I may have, but my rings are now lost,
And my boughs and roots, once strong to climb,
And my new-leaf shoots, gone now for chimes
(Do they comfort your nights, my new-life screams?)
That are of a gold less precious than green.
My youth was the joy of each wind’s breath on my branches –
Before your deep breaths in the chore of your winding.
Now we have purpose, but once I had meaning –
In whispering and twisting and creaking and leaning.
That clicked and knocked in Nature’s wind;
That grew and leafed and once housed things
More and less than clockwork. I grew
Once in the sweet season scents,
Ignorant of axe-men and axe-wounds,
Who, sent on their rounds sent
Me to be wound. Slung to the
Round, conforming blade
That confined me to box. And yet
This age would be young were I but
Livelier wood. Hands
I may have, but my rings are now lost,
And my boughs and roots, once strong to climb,
And my new-leaf shoots, gone now for chimes
(Do they comfort your nights, my new-life screams?)
That are of a gold less precious than green.
My youth was the joy of each wind’s breath on my branches –
Before your deep breaths in the chore of your winding.
Now we have purpose, but once I had meaning –
In whispering and twisting and creaking and leaning.
Tuesday 22 July 2008
The re-birth of clouds and the air after rain - Roseanna Freiburghaus
The re-birth of clouds and the air after rain.
it started with a glance. just one glance that's all it took.
it grew, flourished
laughed. cha cha cha dancing
the ha ha ha. one step forward, sideways glance now
FOUR STEPS BACK.
The ha ha ha only came from you.
One night just one
night that's all it took for hopes to soar
burning
with the stars. But that only made their fall all…the worse. From
the stars to the earth = that great deal of space.
The ha ha ha turned to hate. i hated you and
was glad.
For that night. That night where time stopped.
Stole time i should be with now.
And so it died. That snarling twisting beast
i stabbed. Beloved loathing replaced its stage. me,
my own audience clapped as it took its last breath in its cage.
It started with a wave. Just one wave that's all it took.
i hated you for that too. Your ha ha ha ringing
from that wave many more flushed over my cheeks
there
You’d done it. It was born once more. Painful week of labour.
Alive again
Refused to surrender
Could not conquer.
Trapped in this ha ha ha
i want the last laugh. To stand on a scaffold and spit it
Out but do not worry…yours
truly. For if
You have noticed the air-
Clouds compress it
heavy.
It pours. But after the rain the air is fresh.
ALIVE.
New. As it was before. If you’ve noticed that – there’s nothing to
fear
To smell the air after the rain.
Sunday 20 July 2008
Robbie Taylor
Tall stands a nettle
by the edge of a large mound
A mound of gravel
None is forlorner
than a cow in a field
one leg per corner
by the edge of a large mound
A mound of gravel
None is forlorner
than a cow in a field
one leg per corner
Charlotte Summers
Swaying in the wind
The trees tower over you
They reach at the sky
Grass does not cover all
Some parts are green, some are not
It goes poke, poke, poke
The trees tower over you
They reach at the sky
Grass does not cover all
Some parts are green, some are not
It goes poke, poke, poke
Sam Randall
A miniature world
split into darkness and light
Shadows are looming
Similarity
Sky likened to sea
Above or below
split into darkness and light
Shadows are looming
Similarity
Sky likened to sea
Above or below
Apple - Maria-Giulia Albanese
Apple is the earth
It's bright, darkness all around
Stars fly by the apple
It's bright, darkness all around
Stars fly by the apple
Sunday 6 July 2008
Ashley Beaver
As the guards fly overhead
we hear the shrieks of the prisoners
The only escape, impossible
we hear the shrieks of the prisoners
The only escape, impossible
Saturday 2 February 2008
Reflection - L A Ransom
Reflection so pure
Upon still Lake,
But when Pebble falls
The Waters do shake,
And Reflection so pure
At once does it break,
A thousand many pieces
Such a Wave will make,
Then the Pond stills
So far from opaque,
The River does give,
Entrance and then take,
Calm it may seem
Yet all this is fake,
A side not often seen
Only a Pebble can awake.
Upon still Lake,
But when Pebble falls
The Waters do shake,
And Reflection so pure
At once does it break,
A thousand many pieces
Such a Wave will make,
Then the Pond stills
So far from opaque,
The River does give,
Entrance and then take,
Calm it may seem
Yet all this is fake,
A side not often seen
Only a Pebble can awake.
FRaGMeNTED wOrDs - L A Ransom
A WHOLE
A TOTAL
A PERFECTION
A FLAWLESS MASTERPIECE INTACT
THEN
FRaGMeNTED
A BREAK
A SUNDER
A REMAINDER
A PIECE OF SOMETHING ONCE COMPLETE
BROKEN
A CHUNK
A FRACTURE
A DIVISION
A PART NOW LEFT TO DECOMPOSE
DIVIDED
A THIRD
A PORTION
A COMPONENT
A DELICATE BEING PULVERISED
HELPLESS
A LINK
A VISION
A MEMORY
A THING NOW OUT OF REACH AND GRASP
FLEETING
A CLUE
AN EXCERPT
A MYSTERY
A PUZZLE PIECE LOST AND SHATTERED
SEPARATED
AN END
A TROPHY
A TROCIOUS ACT
AN ALTER TO A DEMOLISHED SHARD
FINISHED
A TOTAL
A PERFECTION
A FLAWLESS MASTERPIECE INTACT
THEN
FRaGMeNTED
A BREAK
A SUNDER
A REMAINDER
A PIECE OF SOMETHING ONCE COMPLETE
BROKEN
A CHUNK
A FRACTURE
A DIVISION
A PART NOW LEFT TO DECOMPOSE
DIVIDED
A THIRD
A PORTION
A COMPONENT
A DELICATE BEING PULVERISED
HELPLESS
A LINK
A VISION
A MEMORY
A THING NOW OUT OF REACH AND GRASP
FLEETING
A CLUE
AN EXCERPT
A MYSTERY
A PUZZLE PIECE LOST AND SHATTERED
SEPARATED
AN END
A TROPHY
A TROCIOUS ACT
AN ALTER TO A DEMOLISHED SHARD
FINISHED
(Untitled) - Roseanna Freiburghaus
An old man sits at home
Bound to his chair
With wide eyes blazing
At the world in a box
The soothing voice cries out
Splintered by what’s behind words
Sending his heart to despair
The screams of a babe
Sink his legs to jelly
The cackles of the blaze
Shake his foundations
Anger wrenching their minds
The tribe attack
His heart stops
Questions reel
Images show everything yet nothing
At the same time,
How can this be done?
Why? Why? Why? Why?
Sickening to admit that
We’re made of the same
The pit of hatred
Stronger than instinct
Innocence devoured by flames
Ripped from arms
Into the teeth of politics
Shredded to dust once more
The old man weeps
Each tear 50 stones of
Weight that can never be lifted.
Storms of the past forgotten
The rain of today
Forms the lakes of tomorrow
Like tribes on tribes
Like Nazis on London
Like London on Germany
Like Lancasters on Dresden
Around in circles
Until everyone drowns in vomit
Because he flew above
Does that make all the difference?
That he was not the one
To see the flames lick their eyes
That he was not the one
To throw them to dust
That he rode aboveIs that all the difference?
Bound to his chair
With wide eyes blazing
At the world in a box
The soothing voice cries out
Splintered by what’s behind words
Sending his heart to despair
The screams of a babe
Sink his legs to jelly
The cackles of the blaze
Shake his foundations
Anger wrenching their minds
The tribe attack
His heart stops
Questions reel
Images show everything yet nothing
At the same time,
How can this be done?
Why? Why? Why? Why?
Sickening to admit that
We’re made of the same
The pit of hatred
Stronger than instinct
Innocence devoured by flames
Ripped from arms
Into the teeth of politics
Shredded to dust once more
The old man weeps
Each tear 50 stones of
Weight that can never be lifted.
Storms of the past forgotten
The rain of today
Forms the lakes of tomorrow
Like tribes on tribes
Like Nazis on London
Like London on Germany
Like Lancasters on Dresden
Around in circles
Until everyone drowns in vomit
Because he flew above
Does that make all the difference?
That he was not the one
To see the flames lick their eyes
That he was not the one
To throw them to dust
That he rode aboveIs that all the difference?
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