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Rex
Andrews
£1000
Winner!
Anchor
Anchor
Books
-
Animal
Antics
2006 Buy
this book
Anchor
Anchor
Books
-
The
Best
of
Animal
Antics
Buy
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Anchor
Books -
Animal Antics 2004
Volumes More
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Animal
Antics
Winners
Rex
Andrews
is
our
£1000
I
have
always
enjoyed
writing
poetry.
Words
fascinate
me
with
their
ambiguities,
their
colour,
depth
and
resonance.
At
first
I
used
to
write
'occasional
verse'
to
celebrate
friends'
birthdays,
outings
and
other
such
events.
But
in
recent
years
I've
been
lucky
enough
to
have
time
to
give
more
thought
to
serious
poetry
about
the
human
predicament,
society
and
international
politics
-
though
I
still
enjoy
tackling
lighter
themes.
As
a
cat-lover
and
owner,
I
particularly
enjoyed
the
challenge
of
the
'Animal
Antics'
competition.
An
eleven-plus
failure,
I
left
school
at
14
just
after
the
end
of
WW2
and
began
studying
Malay
and
Latin
during
National
Service
in
Singapore.
Further
part-time
study
on
my
return
got
me
to
university
where
I
encountered
the
great
poets
-
Donne,
Shakespeare,
Keats,
Arnold,
Wilfred
Owen
etc.
Later
I
taught
in
schools,
colleges
and
university,
my
main
interests
being
in
English
language
and
literature
and
peace
education.
I
am
naturally
delighted
to
win
the
£1,000
prize
for
my
recent
poem
Confessions
of
a
Kitten
(for
which
my
engaging
cat,
Toby,
should
really
take
the
credit).
I
shall
enjoy
spending
the
prize:
first,
on
a
small
donation
to
the
Department
of
Peace
Studies
at
the
University
of
Bradford,
and
secondly
(I
confess
the
major
part)
towards
self-publishing
my
first
childrens'
novel
'Printer's
Devil'
to
come
out
later
this
year.
Rex
Andrews
Here
is
the
Winning
Poem
Confessions
of
a
Kitten
The
world’s
my
jungle,
I’m
the
king
in
full
command
of
everything.
Your
table
legs
are
trees
to
me;
your
goldfish
pond’s
my
open
sea;
your
backdoor’s
where
I
hone
my
claws;
your
sideboard’s
where
I
wash
my
paws;
your
shoe
box
is
my
hideaway
where,
should
a
mouse
or
lizard
stray,
I’m
on
it
like
a
flash
of
light
to
prove
my
case
that
‘might
is
right’.
I
like
to
delve
in
curious
places,
like
leather
boots
with
dangly
laces;
sewing
baskets,
when
they’re
full
of
cotton
threads
and
strands
of
wool;
a
waste
bin
packed
with
crumpled
paper,
bits
of
string
and
Sellotape;
a
pair
of
socks;
an
unmade
bed;
a
window
box;
the
garden
shed
...
I
don’t
care
what
these
things
are
for,
they’re
simply
something
to
explore.
To
humans
I’m
a
cuddly
pet,
as
sweet
a
kitten
as
you’d
get
From
John
o’
Groats
to
Timbuktu.
That’s
just
the
side
I
show
to
you:
-
my
superego
in
control,
I
seem
a
pure
and
gentle
soul:
I
come
in
purring
when
I’m
bid.
But
underneath
the
mask,
my
id
is
fierce
and
bloody
if
unchecked
-
so
kindly
treat
me
with
respect.
Rex
Andrews
|
And
Here are
the Nine
Runners-Up
Poems
Squirrel
His lithe and liquid body
pours and curls and sweeps
in a slither of propulsion -
in his flying, wingless leaps
from fence to tallest treetop
with one agile, nimble bound,
tail curling round the branches
as he winds his way to ground
where he forages his larders
to retrieve his winter stores
then streaks along fence edges
on fleet tightrope-walking claws.
Mercurial in motion
with his bushy tail behind,
he picks up bread for bird food
and sits down like humankind
to hand to mouth each morsel
in the way we humans eat
while I watch in fascination
for he looks so small and sweet;
then off he runs meandering
the way a river flows,
oblivious of enthralment
of spectators of his shows.
Joy Saunders
Top
A Cat’s Life
Reclining in a draped repose
With paw curled half across her nose,
Our cat seems constantly resigned
To sleep - and always disinclined
Towards exertion, though she’d be
Like lightning up the nearest tree
If from those partially closed eyes
She focused on new enterprise!
It seems to me she has life made
As most cats do - quite unafraid
To seek respect with graceful charm
Before she gently twists your arm
Towards whatever satisfies -
Then suddenly will scrutinise
Your every move - and patronise
With penetrating saucer eyes
But slowly I’m beginning to
Respect the feline point of view
Except, of course, I can’t foresee
Myself curled on our lounge settee
For hours on end just marking time
Until I’m served with food and wine
To get away with things like that
I’ll have to come back as a cat!
Jo Lewis
Top
Senses
of Darkness
Drapes drawn to a close
The doors locked and secure
The black Persian’s curled up
Eyes closed and demure
The old lady sighs
As she strokes his soft fur
The clock ticks in time
To his rhythmical purr
Rain pounds on the windows
Strong gales lash the door
The cat skits off her knee
His pads slip on the floor
The blind lady gets up
From where she was sitting
Chastises the cat who is
Clawing and spitting
Her senses become tuned
To the sounds of the house
The commotion she feels
Has been caused by a mouse
The cat brushes her ankles
Then nuzzles her hand
His rough tongue assures her
He does understand
Joyce Graham
Top
Misty
(For Bryony and Ben)
Her shepherd’s lantern leads us in the dark,
A white-tipped tail that sweeps a steady arc.
Her nose tracks scents in deepest autumn leaves,
Her eyes miss nothing when the night deceives.
And when November mornings dawn, she roves
The frosty fields and chases rooks in droves;
They flap their wings with supercilious stare,
Then tease her from their stronghold in the air.
In wintertime, with snowflakes on her nose,
She jumps the ice where her reflection shows.
In summer, surfs green waves of meadow grass,
And nips at bees and butterflies that pass.
She is the quietest creature, makes no noise.
She waits so patiently and sits with poise
To watch us fill her bowl. Then, once set down,
A pad of paws and gentlest crunching sound.
A connoisseur of puddles after rain,
She’ll sip the water as we would champagne!
And with her thirst and hunger satisfied,
Flops down to dream, with brown eyes open wide.
Roger Kendall
Top
Lyt,
a Faithful Friend
A faithful friend,
With a heart of gold,
Reflects on time,
Growing old.
Eyes once keen,
With life and fun,
See only shadows,
Despite the sun.
A body once light
And full of vigour,
Now feels the cold,
Showing signs of rigour.
The passing days
That flow into years,
Old age descends,
Despite the fears.
Always there,
By my side,
Down through the years,
Her place of pride.
A faithful friend,
In role traditional,
Constant companion,
Love unconditional.
Twilight years,
Our time now measured,
A life fulfilled,
And memories treasured.
Stephen Humphries
Top
Bailey
All the way across the town to see your little face
I fell in love immediately and took your owner’s place
So small and sweet and innocent - a tiny little pup
Who knew what a little monstrous dog you would end up
Now he warned me you were bad and troublesome
But the smooth white coat and cheeky face were wholesome
The first time you wet the floor I shrugged, you’re a pup
Then you barked, bit and chased and tore the place up
But something in that naughty face held onto my heart
Every naughty, evil, silly thing was just all your parts
For loyal, sweet and loving you could be when at rest
From tormenting the world with evil; what you loved best
I cried, I shouted, I pointed and I tore my hair out
But when a few weeks passed by, I couldn’t give a clout
I laughed at your barking, and ignored all your growls
For a ‘Bailey, shut up’ sent you from naughty old howls
To licking and kissing and cuddling right up
To becoming my baby, my best friend, my pup!
Leanne Marshall
Top
Narcissus
at
the Pool
Sleek phantom shapes streak silver in the pool;
Gilded gauze-meshed fins flicker lazily
In that half-lit world; green, leaf-patterned, cool,
Where tendrils weave a grotto fantasy.
He slinks out from the shadow of the shed,
Peers down, tail twitching, readying every claw.
The water mirrors and reflects his head.
Narcissus preens and then extends a paw.
About to strike, he halts, his eyes meet mine
And seek approval. He will kill for me.
Fish on my pillow - this the token sign,
Like mice on mats - mutual dependency.
He strikes a pose, just waiting for my nod
To compliment him for his sinuous grace.
Worship, as for some Nile, ancestral god,
He thinks he’s due. Slit pupils read my face.
I stamp and shout. He stares, then darts away.
But not too far. He crouches and looks up high
To where the birds perch round the feeding tray,
Forgets the pool. There’re other fish to fry.
D Nixon
Top
Gossamer Child
Soft and sleek, so stealthily,
She slips into the night.
On velvet pads, with silent tread,
She’ll vanish out of sight.
Blacker than black her satin coat,
Big golden eyes to see
All the night-time dwellers
In the shrubbery.
I stoop to give her supper,
But as I put down the plate,
Like quicksilver, like mercury,
She’s out the garden gate.
Gossamer child, my lovely girl,
At moonrise out you go -
Child of the night, a fairy child,
You’re free as air, I know.
She’s always been a little wild,
Though she adopted me,
And how I love my gossamer child -
Dainty, lovely, free. D
Price
Top
Ember
My Pointer
I wonder as you rest
Nose twitching, paws outstretched
Deep in slumber,
What memories haunt your dreams?
Early in the morning mist
We walked through frosty fields,
Breathing steam
Across peaceful solitude.
You frolicked in the garden,
Shadow dancing in the sun
Tail unhinged -
Ecstatic in your game.
Languidly at midday
You lay and watched me work.
Adoring eyes
Followed my every move.
Later, we strode through woodland.
You leapt over logs and streams
Chasing the breeze
With graceful agility.
And now you lie exhausted.
Your glossy coat reflects the light.
All mischief spent -
I marvel at your being.
Brenda Artingstall
Top
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£1,000