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£3,000
Winner: Alan Millard
Top
100 Poets 2005 Edition Buy
This Book
£8.99
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Alan
Millard
Top 100 Poets of the Year Award
2005
1st Prize Winner of
£3,000
I was born in Yeovil,
Somerset, the youngest of
four. My interest in
poetry was encouraged by a
teacher who secretly sent
one of my poems to Young
Elizabethan and then
presented me, at the age
of eleven, with the
magazine containing my
first published poem and a
ten-shilling note from the
publisher.
After secondary school
I attended Trent Park
College in London,
qualified as a teacher,
married, taught in Essex
and Somerset and gained my
first headship in Dorset
at the age of 27. I later
moved to Hampshire where,
after two subsequent
headships, a divorce, and
gaining a Masters’
degree, I was happy to
retire and settle for my
sea front flat at
Lee-on-the-Solent.
I have always loved
writing. An attack of
nostalgia for childhood
and hometown roots led to
my writing a weekly
column, Reflections, for
the Western Gazette which
ran for three years in the
mid-eighties. My inability
to find appropriate
assembly material at
school prompted to write
my own book, Ideas for
Assemblies which was
published by Cambridge
University Press in 1990.
Since retiring I’ve
written a collection of
poems, Recitable Rhymes,
published in Pipers’ Ash
in 2001 and various poems
for children - one of
which found its way into
the Ginn Anthology,
Travelling Light, where it
sits in good company with
poems by Shakespeare,
Tennyson, Wordsworth and
the like!
Winning first prize in
the 2005 Forward Press Top
100 Poets came not only as
a complete shock but also
as one of the most
unexpected surprises I
remember. And the prize
money certainly beats the
Young Elizabethan ten
shilling note!
This
is Alan’s £3,000 winning poem
Insomnia:
Insomnia
Midnight strikes
and the ball is over;
sleepless I wait
for that panther, panic,
to pounce;
disconnected thoughts
distorted by night’s hall of mirrors
flit around the room like butterflies
refusing to be netted;
the mattress is restless;
the pillow will not relax;
yesterday fidgets beneath the bed,
tomorrow sits
like a dead weight
on the duvet;
the silent alarm
flicks luminous digits
relentlessly forward:
one o’clock, two o’clock, three o’clock,
four . . . and somewhere,
not too distant,
dawn creeps stealthily
around the planet
planning a fresh assault,
a surprise attack
launched with lances of light
fired through chinks in the curtain,
cheating me, once again,
of another night’s sleep.
Top

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