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The Top 5 Poems of
the Month
August
2006
Farmers
The
incessant
pounding of
life’s
heartbeat
surely stifles
more eloquent
forms of
thought
my blunted
wits about me
simple tasks
I find are now
a battle
fought
with a
colonial
effort I
struggle,
unhinged
in this
increasingly
monochrome
world
cynicism an
unwelcome
visitor
just walk away
son - this
oyster holds
no pearl
how I long for
the day that I
can rest
a time again
of colour and
sweet smells
my distressed
machine is
winding down
and I know not
where my
wonder dwells
I find myself
lost in this
damaged affair
my mind’s
precious
reserves are
wearing thin
and ever
decreasing
periods of
calm
hold little
comfort as I
rest within
soon surely
the pickets
will rise
protesters of
a furious bent
the imposed
duty is too
much
and the
farmers grow
discontent
Daniel
Exall
Top
Here
are the other four winning poems for
this month.
The
Splinter
A
long and
slender
splinter
a spring day
slid into my
finger
there to
linger
while I tried
in every way
to get her
out.
But abreast of
all my trouble
she would rest
and would not
doubt
that she could
only fasten
double
and become a
part of me
and so she did
for years and
we
lived as a
couple.
One fears that
such pairs
will always
end in tears.
One day the
finger
swelled,
and turned
blue and green
and oozy
with a smell
to make you
woozy
like a putrid,
bulbous
corpse,
and burned.
The doctor
said: "It
must come
off!"
My thumb is
gone now,
the operation
was a little
rough,
the knife was
slow,
but this job
is still more
tough:
To find out
how
to make a
clean,
unfettered
start,
get up from
low,
and cut you
out my heart.
Lars
Malmqvist's
Top
'A
Cross To
Bear'
What
care he for
the cross?
He gave it her
to bear -
And the cursed
consequence
goes on
Resounding
like an
ancient gong
While she
stays the part
of mother
care.
And two grow
exactly in his
image
Two males
without a head
Latent
patterns of
their fathers
seed
Expressed in
manner form
and deed
Whence fortune
kneels and
bows her head.
What sin was
hers at
twenty-four
To sit alone
in that awful
council flat
Excluded by
polite society
Slighted by
the high and
mighty
And not a
penny from the
rat.
How awful to
wash in
ice-cold water
How mean to
walk in shoes
with holes
How low a
middle class
girl can fall
When men come
knocking on
her door
What easy
words behind
their pose.
How speedily
naivety leaves
her face
How easily
pride changes
to despair
How soon hope
pales to
disillusion
When purity is
fouled by
pollution
How quick
fortune turns
upon a hair.
Even in
brightness his
ghost prevails
Concealed
beneath the
midday sun
Although the
scars cannot
be seen
She's less
than what she
could have
been
And in hell he
laughs at what
he's done.
What care he
for the cross?
Those words
were cheap to
swear
And fie' for
he is dead and
gone
He'll never
see his will
be done
The cross was
hers to bear.
Dai
Mundell
Top
The
Mind:
Responds
So
often I find I
am neglected
as pursuits of
pleasure
and fantasies
of higher
plains
conspire to
reject the
logic
that I have
carefully
obtained
through the
systematic
weeding
of truths and
half truths,
legends, lore,
and
myths
still to be
ordained,
theories and
hypothesis
that are yet
to be
explained.
So often I am
starved
of the
attention
afforded
so swiftly to
the other
parts,
when
boundaries
blur,
control
escapes
and
organisation
collapses,
when chaos
ensues
and there is
no synopsis,
no run down of
eventualities,
no preparation
for
contingencies
when you are
finally ‘run
down’
Approach me,
occasionally
I am as
central to
this
operation,
and as vital
to this
journey
as the Heart,
the Body, the
Soul
and all her
tones of
divination.
I can dissect
and
understand,
removed from
the haze,
the direction
to be taken
and in my own
methodical way
all chances
can be
explored
no possibility
will be
forsaken.
I understand
the Soul has,
by means of a
higher contact
more resonance
with Dumas,
Shakespeare
and Keats
but sometimes
we do meet
to discuss the
probability
of things to
achieve,
things you
could be
when the Body
has proved
weak
and the Heart,
with all her
idiosyncrasies,
fails to
believe.
So often it is
perceived,
of the things
of which I
speak,
that I am so
entrenched
in judgement
and reason,
so planted in
stability
that to be
moved by
providence
would be
treason, by my
own
philosophy,
and to be
touched by the
irrationality
of beauty
apparently, is
emotional,
or physical,
or spiritual
and thus
beyond my
reach.
Iain Fraser
Top
Masquerade
To
be a gorilla
isn't so bad
Nor need a
chimpanzee be
sad
For there's
still
A multitude of
trees,
All be it
chopped down
At least to
their knees.
So all they've
to do
Is to wait a
few years,
And maybe the
trees
Will all
reappear?
And in the
meantime
Put on a brave
face,
And dress up
as humans
And lay claim
to this space.
Vanessa Hinkley
Top
To submit a poem to the
Online Poetry
Competition,
email inbox@forwardpress.co.uk
(Enter Top 5 Poems of the Month in the subject line, including your name and
postal address)
Or
post your poems to
Top 5 Poems
of the Month, Forward Press Ltd,
Remus House, Coltsfoot Drive, Peterborough PE2 9JX (Write your name and
address on each piece of work you send)
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