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The Top 5 Poems of
the Month
February
2005
Our winning poet for February is
Karen Smith.
Read Karen's
biography and more of her poems 
Why did you
hurt my child today?
Why did you hurt my child today?
Did he upset you so?
If not then why’d you cast those words
And strike that painful blow?
Can you not see the good in him?
Or maybe you don’t care.
Such words and fists can cause such pain
And hurt that he must wear.
The bruises heal, the scars will fade
But thoughts of you will stay
Within him for some time to come
With each new passing day.
Perhaps one day you’ll realise
The damage you can do
Or maybe you’ll become the one
Who’s hurt by others too.
I hope that you don’t have to feel
The fear that fills his sleep
Or find yourself in nightmares that
Are buried not so deep.
I cried for him today you know
Because I wasn’t there
To shield him from the pain you gave
A pain that we now share.
Top
Here
are the other four poems chosen by
our imprint editors as winning poems
for February. All other poems submitted
for the Top 5 Poems of the Month for
February are being considered for
various anthologies.
Call
to Poetry
I don’t
necessarily want to be known as a
poet.
I have no great interest in syntax,
rules and tempo
And things like rhyming couplets and
melodic verse.
My grammar is less than perfect, my
thoughts are imprecise.
And yet and yet …..
I want to be inspired and watch my
words lilt
And flow in sweet abandonment across
the page
Like a sun-kissed stream on a hot
summers day
Seducing drowsy senses, beguiling
open hearts
Whispering words of love and freedom
to the soul.
Or pelting forth my anguish in words
I do not know
And thoughts I cannot form at the
callous infliction of pain
On children who are innocent. And
the crass and reckless loss
Of so many young men’s lives in
stupid, stupid wars.
I crave the sound of words drumming
in my blood
Racing through my mind, aching to be
free
Allowing no reprieve until they
spill out
Upon the waiting paper, like a trail
of molten lava
Burning away the dross, cutting to
the core
Exposing me to the essence of my own
being.
Eimer Lynch
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Gauguin Dreams
Oh how I’ve missed that silly smile
Your hat at rakish angle
Inspired by left bank artists
Who lined the streets
Parisien style.
It’s as evocative as scents
Those vile ‘smokes’
With acrid smell
That wafted over our heads
Ash spilling like dandruff.
As impatiently your yellowed fingers
Would nervously strut in time to your muse
Or so you would say
While arrogantly clicking your fingertips
So you could expound upon your theory
Of ‘prostituting’ your art, while borrowing
10 francs, with your usual charm.
How breathless I would be
As first you painted, revealing me
In colours I had never thought possible
A chaise longue of grubby, crumb strewn fabric
Backed by drapes of faded blue
To lend that hue, that touch
As whistling between your teeth
Oblivious to me, in the stark and cold
Of your top floor studio
Who’s Parisien ‘morning light’
Was essential – for your
Self-assured creativity
As sycophant, I would smile
Hanging on to every word.
I still see your smile
As I walk amongst the artists
That clamour for their paltry fare
With fingers blue and stained with charcoal
‘Prostituting’ their art
In the effervescent hope
That they too will have Gauguin dreams
On far Tahitian shores.
Emma
M Gascoyne
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Caring
(A Groom’s Dedication to his
Bride)
I
care not though the moon should fail
to rise,
And the sun should fail to shine;
I care not for seas too broad to
cross
Nor peaks too high to climb.
Such cares as these are of small
concern
Compared with my care for you;
For you are my sun my moon and stars
My life and my love so true.
We have vowed to love till our days
shall end
And to care all our whole lives
through;
Good times and bad times we’ve
sworn to share
Whatever the world may do.
So then my love this journey let us
take
And face the world together hand in
hand;
Our previous lives of self let us
forsake,
Finding love and faith and trust in
our promised land.
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The
Hypochondriac
I don't know why
they won't believe me,
When I tell them I'm unwell,
I give them all the symptoms
And I diagnose myself.
When I go to the Doctor
And he peers beneath my vest,
When I tell him what the problem is
-
Why isn't he impressed?
Kidney failure, diabetes, maybe
heart attack
I know the symptoms, back to front,
Or even front to back!
Palpitations, breathlessness -
Sudden sweats and chills,
Asthma, migraine, cramp and gout -
Quick give me some more pills
Are my pupils both the same?
Is my blood too red?
Will somebody take notice -
You'll be sorry when I'm dead.
Pain in leg means embolism -
That's the way they start.
If I put my feet up - will it travel
to my heart?
Things are getting serious, I even
check my wee,
Colour, smell and lately - even
frequency.
I listen to my heartbeat -
As I lay in bed at night,
And plan my satisfaction,
When it's proved that I was right.
So now I'll have to finish,
Whilst I have a heart attack,
I've only one more question -
What's a hypochondriac?
Beverley
Lawson
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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.
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