The Top 5 Poems of the Month

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The Top 5 Poems of the Month

September 2005

Our winning poet for September is Ben Hamilton.
Read Ben's biography and more of his poems

The Pals Anniversary

The "Pals", on the marsh the night before
Had promised to come back
To reminisce and drink the health
Of their colleagues, dressed in black.

The brigade had numbered forty souls
A community at arms
They had left their wives and loved ones
Their families, their farms.

Right from the start the soldiers knew
The battle plan was flawed
As well-fed brass, in ivory towers
Moved pictures 'round the board

Knowing best, the top brass said
"Moral victory's at hand".
Then without debate they sealed their fate
And issued the command.

The men, calf-deep in blood-tinged mud
Crouched 'till the whistle blew.
Bittersweet tones through the battle din
Spurred on the gallant crew.

It took twenty-three minutes for the unseen guns
To slay the village brigade
The "Five-nines" left hollow memorials
For the bodies, where they lay.

From time to time in Appledore
And towards the Saxon Shore
The brigade "it's said" can be heard again
Heading off to war

Some have seen them and some have heard
The message that they give
Our deaths have bought the freedom
That allows good men to live.

Do not mourn our passing
But remember and be glad
And think of what you can achieve
Not what you may have had.

Ben Hamilton

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

The Kitchen

It's an earthy place, the kitchen
Where life appears to settle
Food and family mixing
With cooker, cups and kettle

Dad shaves at the sink every morning
And the kids bath in it at night
After skating in socks and then falling
On the polished cork tiles for a fight

The floor, once an ice-rink, soon changes
To a battlefield, muddy and grim
Where a toy-soldier conflict now rages
While dad scrubs his hands clean with Vim

Once a week the kitchen turns wash-house
When the twin-tub gets loaded with clothes
Then I wish that I lived in a posh house
Whose laundry gets sent down the road

I hated the air damp and steamy
Our shirts hoisted up on the creel
The spinner vibrating and screaming
Expressing the sadness I feel

On Sundays the kitchen's a café
Our neighbours come over to drink
No Mocha, Cappuccino or Latté
Just instant with hot full cream milk

Of course, I remember mum cooking
Pancakes, hot curries, soused fish
I spent many hours just looking
Watching how she created each dish

After school we'd run straight to the larder
And then make a raid on the fridge
The kitchen a comfortable harbour
A safe place for three hungry kids

It's an earthy place, the kitchen
Where it's safe to express how you feel
To laugh, cry and argue or listen
To a family at home being real

Martin Collins

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Arbeit Mach Frei

Off the train to waiting dogs
schnell schnell! and misery's slog
heil seig heil from Aryan eyes
Nazi flags and darkening skies.

Tattoo needles sneer and snarl
rasping all with ugly gnarl
spectacles piled in blinding heap
golden teeth corrode and weep.

Sons and daughters torn apart
one last glance for broken hearts
then labour gangs begin starvation
life grinds down in desperation.

the naked queue for cleansing baths
about to breathe their very last
about to breathe the Zyklon B
work makes free, you wait and see.

Fingers gouge in concrete wall
faces numb, slump and fall
generations groan and die
a genocide of gas and sigh.

Their flesh is fuel for funeral pyre
fanning flames of hatred higher
evil and efficiency drives
some were even burnt alive.

This is all dictatorship
that drags you off and cracks the whip
that labels you with yellow star
that blackens you with brutal tar.

Survivors live like shattered shells
forced to march through slaughtered hell
given up by silent God
refugees from firing squad.

Some imprisoned, some were swung
the guilty numbered all but one
some will say he got away
fought to flee another day.

But silent God he never lies
you can run, but never hide
and one day when the world is free
Der Fuhrer, you will come to ME.

Sean Kinsella

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Vengeance

As you look at your reflection
As you gaze through jaded eyes
Do you see a monster looking back?
Are you someone you despise?
Do you see the twisted cruelty
Manifest through ugliness?
Is your smile an empty grimace?
Which you mask with carelessness?
Does the mirror breach the surface?
Does it crack your hard veneer?
Do you have to turn your face away?
Or can you hide behind a sneer?
Do you dodge your conscience daily?
Does your guilt keep you awake?
Do you run from your own shadow?
Can you tell your smile is fake
Can you hear the whispered hatred?
From the ghosts of yesteryear?
Can you feel your victims closing in?
Are you ever drenched in fear?
"Revenge" is not a word I like
But still I hope it's true
That everything you did to me
Comes back to follow you!