Poetry and Creative Writing for All

The Top 5 Poems of the Month

October 2003

Our winning poet for October is Paul Dawson.
Read Paul Dawson's biography and more of his poems

Six Feet Below

Let me wallow in the darkness,
Or my hand to reach beyond this grave
Give me strength to break the harness,
That's bound around my heart so brave

I fly inside an eagle's mind,
As I glide the cemetery under moonlight
Sometimes down here I wish I was blind,
But at times my coffin is bold and bright

I wish I could dream of summer's beaches,
Sometimes I hear sand trickle in here
But I only know of where the eagle reaches,
For I am only passenger I cannot steer

I hear the muffled footsteps six feet away,
Some are very gentle, while some can jump
Sometimes they wake me from my sleep in the day,
And sometimes they must fall with a thump

My coffin must be made of cheap plywood,
Or the construction shoddy and impure
For the creeks and cracks one day should,
Make the soil above me fall

I would write a letter of thanks,
If I knew that letter could reach the shore,
To thank the people in high ranks
Who made my life down here a bore

A television would have been a nice touch,
Or perhaps a puzzle to pass the time
A telephone so I could keep in touch,
Or a typewriter so I could keep in rhyme

But I guess I make the most of what I've got,
Who knows how long before my coffin cracks
It will be a little while before I start to rot,
So I'll just lie here until my coffin cracks.

Paul Dawson

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Here are the other four poems chosen by our imprint editors as winning poems for October. All other poems submitted for the Top 5 Poems of the Month for October are being considered for various anthologies.

The Tide of Change

Today I felt the changing tide
Which swept the summer days aside
The bluster of a sudden breeze
Play havoc with the rustic leaves
Moody clouds that pass on by
Deprive me of a clear blue sky
Under bough of sapping light
The squirrels scurry out of sight
Emptiness lies all around
Birds have flown to warmer ground
The sound of silence fills my heart
To see the summer now depart
I watched the daylight dim then fade
Withdraw my eyes and pull the shade
Today I rid myself of strife
To face the autumn of my life

Joyce Graham

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Moorland Mists

High on the moors the mist sweeps across,
Two figures seen, both seem to be lost.
Arm in arm this couple to travel,
A mystery for them to unravel.

Is it past or future, as they go into the mist?
Could time stand still? To this story a twist?
A track they follow, trodden by the score,
Across this barren desolate moor.

This path they tread has no beginning or end,
Just fresh visions as they round each bend.
For fleeting moments the sun they see,
But they know they must go on, if to be free.

This Moorland is but a speck in life,
As this couple tackle the smooth with the strife.
Like us, they journey and seek the light,
Hoping their path is glowing bright.

Like that fleeting brightness of the sun,
We all know if we look, more will come.
So, as you walk your own Moorland track.
Remember, to go forward, and never turn back.

Spirit of Kahn (Alan)

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Recharging Hope from a Sticky Grain of Sand

Nothing left in my Sea of Hope,
but the damp sand
mushed like dried out oatmeal.
I crawl toward the greatest depth,
as walls of sand curl upward
creating a barless prison.
One window of blue
or red or gray or black.
Neither despair nor joy gives reason
to move from the spot where I stand.
As my toes curl from the crusty mush
I lift my foot,
so my muscles won't rust like old hinges
to become wrecked on the sandy floor.
I reach to brush a grain of sand from my heel.
I pause,
aware of the required wetness for sticking.
Looking out my window,
discouraged by the transparent sky,
a tear falls from my cheek,
darkening a few grains of sand,
as they absorb the salty fluid.
And I begin to weep,
for the rain is going to be late.

Sarah Carpenter

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A Bit of Pain

'A bit of pain never hurt anyone!'
that's what she used to say
but it does, it really does
and it hurts every single day.
She said it would toughen me up
and prepare me for the worst
when girls would use words like needles
and prick my heart til it burst.
'A bit of pain never hurt anyone!'
well it did, and it was a lot
and all the times she made me say 'I love you'
she never heard the silent 'Not!'
She said it was for my own good
didn't seem good to me
not at all, not one bit
all it brought me was misery.
'A bit of pain never hurt anyone'
'So why the drink?' I used to think
Her fists would windmill, my eyes would blur
then blink and I'd sink.
But every now and then, though a child
and with a child's eye, I'd wonder 'Others
do they live under a different sky?'
'A bit of pain never hurt anyone'
Now I know that's a lie
and along with other answers I've found
I know I'll never try to hurt another
not until the day I die.
A bit of pain never hurt anyone, no, it always hurt me, hurt me, hurt me.

John Coughlan

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To submit a poem to the online competition email
inbox@forwardpress.co.uk
Please include Top 5 Poems in the subject line of your email.