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The Top 5 Poems of
the Month
November
2004
Our winning poet for November is
Andrew Hogger.
Read Andrew's
biography and more of his poems 
A
Knightsbridge Story
From a
Knightsbridge pub they walked into
the station, fashionably Dressed and
drenched in youth’s inexperience,
Lost in it.
The hot air that rushed through the
underground pushed her golden brown
Hair across the tanned skin of her
face, momentarily hiding the tears
Welling in her tender brown eyes,
While his she saw, were already
hardened with fear.
There’s you growing in me, you
planted the seed, how dare you,
How could you not care?
But this whisper was lost in the din
of an approaching train , and in the
Rhythm of the iron wheels on iron
track she heard his words, I don’t
love You, but I’ll support you,
keep it or not, keep it or not, best
not, best not.
She affectionately touched his face
but all she could feel was the
eternal Well of an emotion
unreciprocated, and all she saw was,
a boy disguised As a man.
Tears like precious chips of her
soul on her cheeks bled, and for
which His only comfort was the
jagged epitaph of,
I am so sorry,
Harmonised in the closing of the
doors.
Andrew
Hogger
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Here
are the other four poems chosen by
our imprint editors as winning poems
for November. All other poems submitted
for the Top 5 Poems of the Month for
November are being considered for
various anthologies.
A Safe Haven in Claughervaun
The shadows crossed the moon that night
like angels running scared with fright
they scattered fast with furious speed
like wolfs that ran to catch their feed
and cold she stood just looking around
feeling the rain as it hit the ground
where could she run where could she hide
as she felt the fear whelming up from inside
she could hear the heavy hoofs of the horses
as they stampeded the ground behind her
the hounds brawled and howled as they searched for their prey
she knew that if she faltered her time would be up that day
she heard the running water of the river quite close by
she scampered down its cold wet bank for a while she thought she would lie
the horses passed above her head too many for her to count
she knew she must stay hidden for fear they would find her out
like a criminal they would hunt for her chasing her through the lands
always having to stay one step ahead of them or she would fall into their hands
survival was the only thought that kept running through her mind
as she spotted the ruins upon the hill, a safe haven she did find
a place to hide from snarling hounds their masters and their mares
she was safe again for another night the slaughter she was spared
she heard the horn the final call it was time to head for home
the hunt was over for another day and she could be left alone
this little fox outwitted the hounds to wander off again
to go and feed the little ones she had left within her den.
Maureen
O'Halloran
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The Hermit Crab
Alone I sit on this soft grainy carpet of crushed shell
Flaxen, like you’re long golden hair that would flicker in this gentle breeze
I am like an actor at the end of a love story with the moon as my spotlight
No audience but still I struggle with my lines as if afflicted by stage fright
I scribe the name I cannot speak one final time into the sand
It is her name I write, the title of love lost
This title without sound seems inappropriate somehow
I stand and face the past to which I bow to silent applause
Love is inevitable like the tide
You succumb as it gently laps at your emotion
It erodes it’s self a channel and meanders into your soul
Your heart is flooded and out of your control
The tide has extinguished any flame of love that was once mine
I am left a sad solemn figure of solitude on a sparse sandy stage
Like a hermit crab I retract back into my stolen shelter
And wait to become sand
Charles
Ronald Wyvill
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Cathy Plays Piano
She’s a nice little wife on the piano
her fingers rain down upon keys
she can be good when she wants to
trying hard the others to please.
She’s at home with her ragtime Gospel
but sometimes she’ll play the blues
and she thinks of a girl in a red hat
with little black shiny shoes.
The piano becomes her rosary
music the rhyme of a prayer
she longing to sin with a bottle of gin
but she knows she’d never dare.
And all the men cramped in their collars
the ones that never should touch
they are all in her head and under the bed
never knowing they hurt her so much.
So again she plays a concerto
when she cries turns her face to the wall
in her mind she’s wearing that red hat
and black shoes on her feet looking small.
Neil
Rogers
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Lying Awake At 2am Worrying About Heaven
If I die wearing a pair of Jeans
will they let me into heaven?
Will they refuse me entry from their club
if it’s gone half past eleven?
Will Peter ask me where I’m from
and will he like my answer?
Or will he turn me away if I’m under age
suspecting that I’m a chancer?
If I die while in a motor car
will I have to pay to park?
Will the car be safe outside the gates
even after dark?
If an army of deceased traffic wardens
spot my car on yellow lines
Will I spend eternity
paying off their fines?
…still awake at 3.30am
If I am old and immobile when I die
and there really are three steps to heaven
will they have wheelchair access?
Top
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.
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