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The Top 5 Poems of
the Month
February
2007
To
Christine
(The thought
of losing my
wife)
If at break of
day I come to
find her gone,
No beauty by
my side,
No bright star
in the paling
skies,
Grief's chill
touch will
guide my
shaken heart
Into a day
where neither
noon nor
eventide,
Nor yet night
still and calm
may arise.
If at dawn, I
come to life
and this sweet
dream is
flown,
No treasure at
my arm,
Her stead
quite smooth
and neat,
My heart will
break and I
shall weep and
evermore
bemoan
The flight of
her warm charm
And absence of
her eyes with
smile replete.
For what shall
I do with
empty barren
bed?
Or void and
yearning
breast,
Or aimless
cloudy days,
If my darling
will not tend
my hapless
flagging head
And lead me
forth in
thrilling joys
all dressed,
Down fine and
pleasant ways.
The streets
I'd tread, but
I'd not find
this grace
And where the
reason or the
rhyme
To fly back to
the nest we
two had built
And where the
favour of her
bright and
smiling face.
She is to me
my wife
sublime
The dearest of
earth's most
envied gilt.
God bless my
love and keep
her safe
where'er she'd
go.
In her new
life
And with her
new regime.
Find her the
comfort and
content which
I could not
bestow
In her new
country lift
her strife
And crown her
as its shining
queen
Dave
Pearson
Top

Here
are the other four winning poems for
this month.
Wishful
Thinking
I
lay awake one
cold, cold
night,
And
heard the wind
with bitter
force
Beat
clouds across
the iced
moontlight,
In
restless and
unpatterned
course.
As
I stared
through the
beaten pane,
A
peaceful
thought came
to my mind
And
I embarked
upon a game
Of
wishful
thinking, here
outlined.
I
saw a cottage,
there it lay,
With
flowers and
shrubs, 'mongst
luscious land,
Nestling
above a
furnished bay-
A
beach
unscarred by
human hand.
The
garden bore
herbaceous
plants
Of
many colours,
blending true,
And
edging a swath
of velvet
grass
Night
scented stocks
'neath the
window grew.
From
here I could
gaze out and
see
The
placid water,
rugged rocks,
Soft
rolling hills
and stately
trees,
And
near at hand a
crystal brook.
To
wake there one
midsummer morn
And
through the
open window
pass
The
gentle flowing
breeze, which
bore
The
musky scent of
flowers and
grass.
To
look out on
that peaceful
morn,
And
see reflected
smooth and
still,
The
golden shimmer
of the dawn
As
the sun rose
o'er the
distant hills.
The
sea upon the
pebbles lapped
With
gentle and
melodic sway,
The
haunting call
of seagulls
passed
And
echoed out
across the
bay.
One
by one the
birds awoke
And
swelled the
dawn chorus
with song
Until
the earth
around me
spoke,
And
darkness
disappeared
ere long.
A
steady chug
from far away
Announced
th'approaching
weary fleet,
The
gulls' song
grew in
strength as
they,
Flew
out, the
fisherman to
greet.
And
thinking thus
I fell asleep,
And
all was llost
in slumber
deep.
Jane
Colbore
Top

Insomnia
In
the
dead
of
the
night
Conversations
said
and
unsaid
Replay
themselves
in
my
mind’s
ear
Scenarios
real
and
imagined
Infinite
possibilities
Re-enact
themselves,
to
my
frustration
Leaving
me
exhausted
and
bewildered
In
the
dead
of
the
night
Confrontations
never
had
Reveal
themselves
to
my
reluctant
subconscious
Words
left
unspoken
take
over
A
new
reality
plays
out
itself
In
my
mind’s
eye
Lovers
of
past
and
present
Haunt
me
I
don’t
know
why
In
the
dead
of
the
night
I
turn
religious
Under
the
cover
of
bedclothes
I
seek
solace
with
a
fortitude
Set
to
fail
with
the
rise
of
the
sun
Harsh
words,
foolish
actions,
humiliation
are
regretted
Promises
forgotten
When
the
threat
of
the
night
is
over
In
the
dead
of
the
night
I
come
out
to
taunt
myself
My
inner
voice
bellows
And
chastises
Unforgiving.
Critical
tones
cut
through
sleep
And
deprive
me
of
slumber
Leaving
me
weak
and
useless
In
the
dead
of
the
night
I
hate
myself
For
who
I
am
For
what
I’ve
said
and
unsaid
Thought
and
unthought
Done
and
undone
Just
for
being
me
Top
An
Old
Sailor
Returns
At
last,
after
damage,
dilemmas and
sinking,
a
reward for
persistence
and belief,
sails
are hoisted in
moderate airs
and
boat is ready
to cast off.
The
mooring slides
into water,
the
keel
skirmishes its
ropes
as
sails set,
fill and the
anchorage
drops
behind this
sleek shell
off
on our first
voyage.
She
skims on
flashing waves
towards
an island
shore
seven
miles from
home.
Pleasure
climbs as
blustering
breezes
drive
us through
rolling seas.
Joy
rises with
speed and
spray,
as
expertise with
sheets, tiller
and
hull returns
the tempo
rises.
Tack,
beat, run,
gybe in the
wind
exhilarated
by her easy
grace.
If
the facing
wind freshens
this
aristocrat
edges up-wind,
shedding
power from the
sails,
slowing
her pace,
avoiding
capsize.
We
skim around
this sheltered
sea
with
steadily
improving
command,
reminder
of youth’s
easy mastery.
Finally
head to wind,
lift buoy,
moor
and happily
home.
Fleming
Carswell's
Top
Older
Order
Yesterday……………
Rain
treadmilled
our clothes, a
heavy spray,
Softening
the
foundations of
green
joyfulness,
For
the scuffing
tide of a
thousand feet
to wash away,
As
we huddled
under a dirty
dishcloth
dampness,
God’s
glorious army
under bleak
Weatherly
norms,
Wearing
differingly
diverse
uniforms.
Faces
– evolved,
worn away, a
memory tease,
We’re
a common seed
grown from one
older order,
Dispersed
so wide by God’s
serendipitous
sneeze,
To
freckle a
world and to
strike it’s
border.
Faces
– blur now
like a
spinning
colour wheel,
Intolerant
time
compresses the
lifeless
words,
So
the wheel
spins colours
into an
underpaid pic’n’mix
deal,
And
the massive
multi-manicured
melting-pot
waves woefully
whitewards.
Faces
– preserved
still by
memories
mummification,
But
they hide a
mind-field of
tangled up
pruned out
branches,
Some
seeds cling, a
prosthetic
part of a
long-dead
flower,
Some
of us are
newly
incarnated
lifetime
chances,
Some
are evergreens
weathering God’s
constructive
storming,
But
holding
character as a
child holds a
Christmas
gift,
All
of us are
different
floors of one
single
building,
But
no one can
find a
stairway or
the keys to
the lift.
Yesterday…………..
Tears
treadmilled my
soul into a
brittle clay,
My
sunny green
smile faded,
floating like
summer
blossom,
A
whirlpool of
drowning
memories slid
away,
Nothing
could dampen a
pain worse
than numb,
So
God’s army
wept into
dirty
dishcloth
handkerchiefs,
And
tore their
uniforms down
to old plain
white briefs
Michael
Bryant
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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