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The Top 5 Poems of the Month

February 2007

Dave Pearson is now a Featured Poet!
Read his biography and more of his poems


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


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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


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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

Angie Walker


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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


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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


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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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2003


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