Poetry and Creative Writing for All

The Top 5 Poems of the Month

November 2007

	Keith Robson is now a Featured Poet! Read his biography and more of his poems

Vigil

Every evening at nine
she turns on the light
at the end of the hall,
and it filters
through
cream lace,
crystallizing
 raindrops
as they fall
upon the ground,
calling to the darkness
with its
shining silent sound,
and listening
with the patience
of a never ending song
for those
softly muffled
footfalls
to walk up
her lonely lane,
through the swirling
Autumn shadows
and the dancing
crystal rain,
so that she
can draw the curtains
like a cloak
upon the night,
and she can sing
in quiet whispers
as she
switches off
the light...

Keith Robson

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Here are the other four winning poems for this month.

Sniper

The cold wet earth clings to my boots
The scent of wet soil draws memories
Visions of the past , scenes from my boyhood
Flicker in my thoughts.
Buds of sweat drips their cold journey down my spine
As I lay entranced and entrenched upon a hillside
Waiting the timeless wait for the next target

Here upon this accursed pass, we floundered
Here upon this barren land men fell dead
Friends and comrades, brothers in arms
Others  still clutching their weapons
Others in muted prayer laying where they fell
Kissing the cold earth now seared in black and red
The hues of death , the shadows of fate.

Here as I await the enemy’s passage
Here as this hill may be my burial mound
But I will not shudder nor fear the dread
that fear itself rains upon me
for I was trained to be steadfast
my valor , my strength , my courage
is needed now, more than ever by my Country.

Unaware of the danger, caught in the cross-hairs
Of my scope ,the target , a general stands tall
The glow of an emblem upon his hat
Temporarily blinding, yet a clear target he still is
Slowly gripping the trigger, affixing my stance
Feeling the direction of the breeze , the scent of wet soil
Cold sweat down my spine as I gently squeeze the trigger.

Alex Conrad M.Seno

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Resigned

Out there the aggressive night
swallows all warmth, all life,
animals are suffering
in silence, surrender
mute and dumb as
the rain is falling noisily,
clapping on the windows,
falling deep into
tired souls
who want to flee;
but like limescale in a tub…
have hardened,
inside them the house of cards
is crumbling,
dreams are falling apart…
frozen in time,
a spider on the wall,
immobile, waiting…
the fly in her web,
resigned to its fate, forgotten
like the people behind the windows,
who have given up
exploring…
what’s out there…

Sybille (Sydney) Krivenko

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In My Dreams

Why do I have to go to work, there's so much I'd rather do
I wake up every morning, sometimes I feel quite blue
I'd like to get up later, have breakfast at my leisure
Then do the things I want to do and fill my days with pleasure
I'd like to watch some TV, or meet my friends for coffee
Or read a book or magazine or make some sticky toffee
I'd like to surf the internet with holidays in mind

I like to search the websites, see what bargains I can find
I'd like to learn a language, like Spanish, French or Greek
And if I didn't have to work I'd practise it all week
It really would be useful, for when I go away
It would be nice to be polite and pass the time of day
I'd like to go to keep fit, and keep myself in trim
And at a push I might consider going for a swim

I could always do more exercise and learn to belly dance
Then when I go to Egypt, I would have them in a trance
I'd do a bit of washing, and ironing if I must
I'd even get the polish out and wipe away the dust
I'd go round with the hoover, hang washing out to dry
Then go and put my feet up, pour a drink and sit and sigh
'Cause if I didn't go to work to earn myself some money

How could I go on holiday to places hot and sunny
How could I treat myself to lunch or go out for the day
Without the money in my hand with which I'd have to pay
So I've come to the conclusion, that reality it seems
Is telling me these thoughts of mine are only in my dreams
But maybe one day I'll awake and won't be feeling blue
'Cause my dreams will be reality and prove they can come true

Sue Gurney

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The Journey

The womb was home,
a little cramped maybe,
but home.
Safe. Warm. Embracing.
The boy liked the sway of her footsteps
Steady, even, slow.
Her heart beat:
Safe here, safe here, safe here

The woman sighed as she plodded
Rubbing her chest to ease the heartburn,
Rubbing her back to counter the weight
Rubbing her ribs where the kicking ached
Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

Late.
A week late, ten days late, a fortnight late and then...

The womb began to change
Squeezing him, Urging him, Encouraging him

Unwillingly, Reluctantly, Anxiously
Leaving that place on a journey to another

The waiting almost over,
Excitement blurring the pain, Pain blurring the excitement, until

In a miraculous instant,
The boy became a son
And the woman became a mum.

Judith Iliff

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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)