poetrypulse poetry competitions uk

free monthly competition - November 2018 
(15 entries)
Running
I ran as if a hurricane blew me along, so swift my journey,
I did not stop to admire hill nor mountain, my breath laboured,
Finally, I could run no more and stopped.

I heard as my pursuer gathered pace and neared me,
I ran again as if a hurricane blew me along, such danger gave me wings,
Finally, I stopped and turned to face my demon.

I sat waiting on a rock subdued, my lungs ached from exhaustion,
I saw the sun setting over the mountains, slowly dusk approached,
Finally, I saw his approach and my heart beat loudly in my chest.

I had not asked for love and sought not to find it, it found me,
Love chased me and would not be stopped however fast I ran from it,
Finally, I saw the face of love and was captured.

© JULIE ACHILLES 2018  England

Waste Ground Play Ground
A common sight when I was small,
the tiger-striped larvae of the cinnabar
moth; that diurnal harlequin of
allura red.

Gold black maws churn weeds to
their advantage. Inmate alchemists
transmute wort into
life.

A habitual sight when I was poor,
the burn-bright grubs of the cinnabar
moth. Shock yellow flowers; a posy
for my
ragdoll.

© Georgina Titmus 2018  England

My Mum's War Memories
My Grandmother was pregnant with my Mum when the war broke out
and my Mum was pregnant with a life of fear and privation
that shouldn't belong to any child.

Fear from being killed by the enemy without knowing why....
absence of a father who was at the front to fight....
poor food which wasn't enough.....!

It was not easy for a little girl to hear her Mum crying of hunger
at night to save the last slice of bread for her children.
She felt guilty for many years.... but what could she do at her age,
but pray to the good God?

The air raid warning rang many times and it had become
a sort of game for her and her older brother....
they ran as fast as they could together with their dog to hide under
their bed, trusting as only children can do to survive for the umpteenth time.

An American soldier who lived in a camp nearby
made sense of those years.
His paper rabbits gave my Mum moments of pure joy
making her dream of a Father she had never met.
Their last hug was the sweetest and saddest of all her life.
This man whose love and kindness gave my Mum
new hope for the future.

© Dina Palermo 2018  England

Detritus
Decaying leaf matter gathers under my windscreen,
Brown and dead detritus,
As autumn falls,
Drizzle and dread,
As winter loiters just ahead,
The grimness and bleakness clouds my head,
The deceased foliage a sad recall,
Of summer dreams too quickly sped,
Decaying leaf matter gathers under my windscreen,
Perhaps I should get my car cleaned.

© Paul Christian 2018  England

Rise and speak ( A poem against fgm)
I was just a child ,
A mere girl of seven .
How could you do this to me ?
So vile and so evil .

I had believed that my tears
Would melt you whole .
But even my heart wrenching screams
Failed to shake your soul.

Why did you seal your lips ?
And do what was unjust .
You knew it was wrong ,
But you were silent all along.

Were you blinded by faith?
Or were you threatened with hate ?
Were you so full of fear ?
That you couldnt feel my despair .

I'm not sure if my mental wounds will ever heal ,
But I certainly know how my daughter would feel .
So I have found my voice , my courage , my strength .
I will not let history repeat again.

Mother , won't you atone and stand by me ,
To end this crime against humanity ?
Maybe , then you were ignorant , scared or weak ,
But now won't you rise and speak ?

© Tahera Jadhav 2018  India

Another Trip to A&E
My friend said she tripped over the cat. She trips
over that cat a lot. Walks into doors, falls down
stairs, burns herself with the iron, the stove, the fire.
My friend is clumsy. Accident-prone. Or so
she claims. Who does she think she’s kidding?
She doesn’t fool me, or the hospital staff who all
know her name, or the police who try their best
over and over to convince her to press charges.

He plays his part well, should have been on stage.
He looks all innocence, the concerned boyfriend,
his beautiful blue eyes widen in confusion.
No, he doesn’t know how she got those bruises,
that broken wrist, that fractured rib and punctured
lung, those dislocated fingers, another blackened eye...

© Tracy Davidson 2018  England

Paris
It is raining in the woods
Above Paris and it is raining

In the woods where Corot
Would go it is raining on the

Steps of the Elysee palace
And on the slow flowing Seine

Fine soft drops falling whispers
Splashes of remembrance dearest

It is raining on the coat of lonely
Verlaine wise drunkard wizard

And on the faces of statutes
In the Tuileries and on the stone

Wings of cherubs beside Venus
With arrows of love it is raining

On the sidewalks of Montparnasse
Where you and I went walking

In the cemetery it is raining softly
On the church spires and chairs

In parks we visited and left behind
To the night the rain of flowers

© Robert Jansen 2018  England

insomniac
a god crawled out of the crack in my ceiling
at three am
and told me that he hated me

dark eyes that watch constantly.
Sickening.
you are not a good person alone

you are not a good person in the early hours
gritty eyed
fantasies keeping you awake

the ceiling god whispers to me
maliciously,
turning the minutes over in his palm

he promises to give time back for a price.
Sickening.
bile rises in my throat. I will pay.

© Abby Green 2018  England

A haiku
Autumn night, sparkling lights.
People on the streets & balconies.
Whispers of joy spread.

© Mahesh Mayanglambam 2018  India

Midnight in Paris
MIDNIGHT IN PARIS

Its midnight in Paris but I cannot sleep
For my mind is busy searching for what I seek
I know I’m happy yet there’s a drop of sadness within
I can’t help but wonder if he thinks of me the way I think of him
Yet I think about how small this feeling will become
One day when I’m lying with true love underneath the sun
My head is on his shoulder and rays of sun peak through the leaves on the tree
And suddenly this feeling is a dot on a piece of paper as he draws circles on my knee

It’s midnight in Paris and I feel as though I’m falling down
It’s not hard to fall in this cold, cold town
I chase my dreams of happiness and success
Yet it seems to me the worlds a mess and the people in this town couldn’t care less
Yet I know I’m living in just one act of life’s great play,
The next ones comes with a job and a house furnished with a picture of my wedding day
Yes, this new act will bring new problems and new trials
Yet I’ll be wiser then, having walked more of life’s strange miles

It’s midnight in Paris and I’m finding it hard to breathe
I can’t help but wonder what this all means
I look into the darkness and ask where to go
Sometimes I wonder if I will never know
Yet I think to fifty years on from here
When these questions will be unimportant and mere
When I’m sat in a chair watching my grandchildren play
And my husband takes my hand and says ‘look at what we made’

It’s midnight in Paris and I turn off the light
I close my eyes and let the unknown win the fight
These fears and questions still linger in the night
Yet I’ve chosen to believe that everything will be alright

© Francesca Woodman 2018  England

I KNOW
I know the sun has set and its a dark,
but I don't know how to flaunt all my scary marks;

I know the wind has stopped and city is silent,
but I don't know why I'm awake with my dreams so vibrant;

I know the world is betrayal and stuff of hungry thrust,
but I don't know why after all this time I get some part with a faithful trust;

I know the people are people and they have there bounds of limits,
but I don't know how I meet some legends having smile which don't permits;

I know the ideas have differences and it goes through criticized arguments,
but I don't know how I get some conversations giving me an immense encouragement;

I know the survival is the game and everyone is fighting a race like a bull,
but I don't know whether loosing with the smart is good or wining with the fool;

I know the life is indefinite and full of seeking and questioning it,
but I don't know why some moments of happiness are enough to overcome it;

i know light is symbolize as brighter side and achievement,
but I don't know how I can see a glimpse of brightness in darker pavement;

SHALAKA S

© SHALAKA SAPATE 2018  India

I KNOW
I know the sun has set and its a dark,
but I don't know how to flaunt all my scary marks;

I know the wind has stopped and city is silent,
but I don't know why I'm awake with my dreams so vibrant;

I know the world is betrayal and stuff of hungry thrust,
but I don't know why after all this time I get some part with a faithful trust;

I know the people are people and they have there bounds of limits,
but I don't know how I meet some legends having smile which don't permits;

I know the ideas have differences and it goes through criticized arguments,
but I don't know how I get some conversations giving me an immense encouragement;

I know the survival is the game and everyone is fighting a race like a bull,
but I don't know whether loosing with the smart is good or wining with the fool;

I know the life is indefinite and full of seeking and questioning it,
but I don't know why some moments of happiness are enough to overcome it;

i know light is symbolize as brighter side and achievement,
but I don't know how I can see a glimpse of brightness in darker pavement;

SHALAKA S

© SHALAKA SAPATE 2018  India

A Warm Sup of Milk
I see him still
An old Neanderthal weaving his way
Amongst the stony fields
That he loved…
Working his way up the hill
To mend the fence
To keep out the deer, the sheep,
The sunlight!

He once killed a sheep, I recall
Broke its neck by twisting it round until it snapped
Left it lying
On the neighbour’s side of the ditch
As a reminder
Of trespass!

And once, when the old dog neared its end
In a hessian sack
Tied tightly at the neck with quarry stone
Cast over the bridge when the tide was out
I can still hear its cries…

Like my sisters
Invisible
In my father’s world of sons
I grew
Not unwanted or unloved
Yet unimportant, unnoticed, undervalued
Never good enough, no matter
Leftover, underspent, left out
Even in the will…

Gone four years now…
Sometimes in my dreams
Still wrestling his angst at night
Still fighting the fierce battle of words
I still feel the sear of the belt, the other side of love
Still crave the hug, the warm word,
the gentle touch
But nowhere does it show
Until the end.

But yet there is something.
Memories…
Like a fragile piece of old lace
Yellowed but exquisitely beautiful…
My little tiny feet
Planted firmly on top of his
Clinging tightly
As he danced with big steps round and round
To the rhythmic sound of Tennessee Waltz
Like in the movies…
And the stale stench of beer and brylcreem,
With my mother watching on, smiling.

And later
Old feeble hands
That gave me a “warm cup of milk…”

Maggie Persson 2018

© Maggie Persson 2018  Portugal

Life
I wish I had met you sooner
When we were both still young
Took too long to meet my soul mate

Heart aching to wear your ring
Band of gold wrapped around my finger
Engagement will have to suffice

Feelings deep within me
My ocean - cascades through my veins
Reaching every nerve

I wonder what the future holds
Will you ever propose
Set free my troubled mind

© SARAH LICHY 2018  England

Clay
I won't be able to take another fall
Don't stick me in the attic
Where creepy crawlies crawl
I'm here to serve you I'm a gift
A bowl the warmest clay
Settled snugly in your palm
At the beginning
The middle
The end of everyday
I'll keep you safe
Catch the leaks
Fill me with treats
Never throw me away

© Liz Atzori 2018  Not Listed

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