Christmas Poems

Happy Christmas to all Poetry Space Supporters and everyone who reads this today.

I don't want to die at Christmas

I don't want to die at Christmas
cheated of that warm turkey sandwich
on the eve of day.
I don't want to miss the glint in your eye
as you unwrap the surprise
of a hint remembered.
I don't want to rob Santa of his jolly jaunt
and leave a gift of tears instead
wrapping the day in melancholly
and the promise of earth to earth....
I don't want to eclipse the word made flesh
by flesh unmaking itself
in the denial of breath.
But if I die
near the day of days
wrap me in tinsel and coloured paper.
Leave me under a tree
and sing carols by lamplight:
'Joy to the world',
'Come and join the celebration',
'See amid the winter snow',
and dance,
let there be dancing.
And place the last advent candle
at my feet
to warm
my
sole.

© Keith Wallis

Christmas Turkey

We purchase the ginormous, scraped-out bird

and garage it until Ovening Eve.

It has to be outsized with so many two-day,

Christmas mouths to feed; Ten, including

the in-laws, my mum, the unmarried uncle

and his silent ‘friend’.  Takes two of us to cradle

the consecrated carcass, steam-screaming,

from sacristy to linen, carving altar.   

Usually, the kids religiously take turns to gnaw upon

the weekend legs; so we concoct another Yule-tide lie;

calling it Custom to offer limbs, wings and all things

bony to visiting elders with teeth enough to gnaw.

“I likes a bit of breast m’self,” I boast, winking at

Her spooning out the veg and trimmings and blushing;

while watching our three wince at even the tiniest helpings

of sprouts and parsnips, sage and stuffing.

After all this preparation, dressing, cooking, carving 

and flimsy, paper-hatted, out-of-character jollity   

I know our three would be more than Christmas happy

if only they served bread and cranberry sauce at K.F.C. 

© Mike Lee
 

SILENT NIGHT

The sun could not destroy

the cold season of winter nights

neither, could it conceal the Robin

from the blooming roses

and candle lights,

frosty flowers and singing birds.

The stars could not dim its flare

of shooting wishes and dancing array

nor the moon, dye its boon

in a natural sky, of Jesus’ birth.

Children find peace at the country-yard

dreaming morning Zebras with magical spice of Santa’s gifts

and shed every little joy ‘till eternity.

A scene in my head,

a Christmas ushered, in midnight blue.

© Michael Kwaku Kesse Somuah (Ghana)2011

My Style - Rosalind Adam

I love writing poetry but I do it in My Style. I’ve never been particularly knowledgeable about the theory of poetry. I can’t tell my terza rima from my quatrain, so recently I decided to do something about it. I bought a copy of Stephen Fry’s The Ode Less Travelled. I have to confess to being a Stephen Fry fan and this book is written as if he’s sitting there talking to me, so I happily launched myself into the first few chapters, and ploughed through his many and varied exercises that he kept insisting I complete. The annoying thing was that nothing inspiring fell onto the page. It was no good. I couldn’t write poetry to a formula and I put Stephen and his vast literary knowledge onto my bookshelf so that I could return to writing in My Style.

So what is My Style? It’s whatever sounds right. I count the metre but I don’t stick rigidly to it. A rhyme or half-rhyme makes it a more satisfying piece of work for me but I’m not obsessive about it. The interesting thing is that if I play around and change a line to improve the metre or rhyme, the altered version is always, without fail, a great improvement on the original. And as soon as I drop a precious phrase that’s holding me up I have a much stronger piece of writing. Sometimes the original idea for the poem disappears completely and I’m making statements that I didn’t expect to make.

This poem started out as a description of an old rotting door and ended up as:

Front Doors

Do you wonder what’s behind front doors

While wishing for a life that isn't yours?

Do you look at neighbours with regret?

You think you want to live their life and yet...

I bet those neighbours often look at you.

I bet they envy everything you do.

They’d love to have the life they think is yours.

So many things can hide behind front doors.

Rosalind Adam

The idea for Front Doors must have been in my head somewhere but I certainly hadn’t planned to write about that. I don’t know how or why this happens but for me it’s one of the most satisfying things about being a writer.

Blog:http://rosalindadam.blogspot.com

Website:http://www.rosalindadam.co.uk 

On the "Outside"

These past few days have been exhausting as anyone who has been following the Poetry Space group may have gathered. I found myself faced with what I felt to be an inappropriate post and deleted it.Some people were pleased I had, others felt that they had a right to judge for themselves and in the end I came to the conclusion that they are right . Extreme views as one person put it are possibly best "out in the open where they can be challenged". This is true democracy in action. I have spent many hours examining what led to my decision to press that delete button and I think there were many factors to it. Fear was a big factor. I acted in self-protection .  I was worried about my good name, the reputation I have built up with Poetry Space Showcase and the printed publishing business.This is all to a large extent controllable. On these sites only I only publish material I am comfortable with and that  fit with my view of Poetry Space.

My discussions with family, friends and colleagues have all helped me to clarify my thinking on this and to realise that the forum I have created is not mine. It belongs to everyone who contributes to it and each and every one of us has a different idea of what that space is for. Like a mother who lets her child go out in the world I am now going to let this forum evolve as an entity apart from me and just use the ethical guidelines available to me - that I use all the time in my role as a counsellor. From now on I will rely on the group members themselves to monitor extreme postings and only press that button if I feel the posts breach UK Child Protection legislation and UK Anti Terrorist legislation and if I have to do that I will also record the posts in case they are needed as evidence.

It is hard being on the outside and it is hard being the one making the decisions. There is nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

Being on the outside is the theme for a poem I wrote very recently for a competition organised by The Bardic Writer's Circle - a lovely group of writers in Caerphilly who set up this competition so that they could raise funds to produce an anthology of their own writing in 2012. I will be meeting them next week to receive my prize and I'll also get to meet Professor Chris Meredith who judged the competition.

This is the poem:

Outside

I am not sure

how  I came to be outside

rather than inside

how  I came to be

on a homemade sledge

gathering speed

how arms and hands

belonging to me could

own another child’s fat warmth

or how

in the bronze twilight

of a winter’s evening

my face

could burn

and freeze

and laugh

all at the same time.

© Susan Jane Sims

All the best for now,

Sue

Judge's comments on Bardic Writer's Circle website

Poetry Aid - Poetry Space out in the community

Whenever possible Poetry Space loves to help small charities or community projects to raise money and we do this through our book sales and by collaborating with other companies. In the summer of 2010 I was approached by 88 year old hicky (pen name) because he had a delightful collection of poems and cartoons that he had drawn himself using Microsoft paint programme. His idea was to benefit a charity that helped elderly people in some way. After an initial brush off from the biggest UK charity in this field we turned to small UK charity Contact the Elderly because though they are small they do have branches across the country. The core of these branches are volunteers who offer to host tea parties in their own homes on a Sunday for a group of isolated elderly people and volunteer drivers who take them there. The meetings are monthly and they have 75 group now all actively helping our older citizens to feel valued and cared for by offering, tea, cake and friendship.

In the cold winter weather some volunteers also called on elderly people with the group to see if they were okay although this is beyond their remit as volunteers.

In 2012 we shall be releasing a sparkling new edition of the book with a new cover drawn by young artist Toby Morgan, together with a CD of the poems put together with music by vibrant New York Theatre company, On the Square Productions. Many thanks to Rob Benson and Duane Tollison in NY who are currently working on the project for us.

It is early days but we are hoping that profits from the new edition and CD can also benefit a small community project in New York that works with senior citizens. They well deserve it. Our seniors may now have reached older age however they have much to offer us in terms of their wisdom and experience. Like all of us they want to feel valued and listened to.

Look out for the book in 2012.  Contact the Elderly have already received £250 from the first edition. This is likely to raise a lot more.

Sue

Spaces and Places - Nikki Bennett

As a young girl, I used to hand-write and hand-sew books for my parents to ‘borrow’ from my bedroom library; as a young woman I wrote for the ongoing situations and people in my life – some of these became From Puberty to the Menopause, now re-named Love Poems – a book covering a span of forty years.

I made my career in the world of TEFL/TESL, teaching in many countries and to a wide selection of age-groups and professions, and had the opportunity to travel widely, including on the Trans-Siberian Train, so gaining a wide international viewpoint (Trans-Siberian Travels), and to run a group celebrating International Poetry and Poets (uni-verse)

As a volunteer, I worked in many organisations and was International Director and then National President of Business & Professional Women UK and represented UK for that organisation at the Commission on the Status of Women at the United Nations, among other events. So grew my awareness of and need to write to highlight women’s issues (The Places We’re Touched).

My public reading spaces have been varied: I have had several solo spots in UK poetry festivals and poetry group readings and have also read in the USA and Europe, including at the conferences of International Women Writers’ Guild, New York state and Geneva International Writers. Again, often flagging up women’s circumstances and issues.

Spaces and places have been both huge and tiny in my life. I been awed by vast spaces, such as those in South Africa and the Sahara and also had to learn to live in a small space: cooped up in a tiny student room, a medical isolation room (Pink Nightie Poems).

At times, the spaces in my heart and head fill immensely and words flow out to fill a whole book concentrating on one person (The Pebble Collection, Love Shines Beyond Grief). Yet once these poems are ‘out there’ they find their own place in the world, people identify with them and they grow their own space.

 www.nikkibennettpoems.com

My Orange Duffle Coat - Susan Jane Sims

© Chris Sims November 2011

I am delighted  that so many people are taking an interest in this new dedicated competition site. Lots of people have written guest blog entries and if you look back over them all I think you will agree that they are all very inspiring.

This week has been particularly exciting  and I am putting this down to wearing my orange duffle coat nearly everywhere I have been. A long time ago my writing  mentor said to me: "find something to be a symbol for you, to give you confidence." For her it is a magic cloak, a metaphorical symbol that helps her to feel confident when standing up in front of a lot of people in a lecture hall  to give a presentation Me, I needed something real rather than metaphorical and I started to realise that whenever I wore my orange dufffle coat, now over ten years old I felt better about myself and wasn't scared to approach people and start a conversation.

 I have always loved the colour orange and as child in Bristol, leaving in a home behind a shop I sometimes felt invisible however what helped me then was helping Dad paint my room orange and having orange curtains at the windows. Mum made the curtains as that was something she did for a living. She made beautiful curtains and soft furnishings for total strangers, taking in the work through middlemen and women who delivered the material and orders to our door.  Much of the time I hated it as a Friday night delivery meant Mum, and also Dad ( because he helped her measure and cut the material), were working all weekend to have the curtains or cushion cover,s or whatever else finished by Monday morning. The demands were often totally unreasonable but the work had to be taken to pay the bills. This time though Mum made the curtains just for me. They were a beautiful shade of orange and not made from very thick material as we couldn't afford what Mum's customers could afford. However they were had sewn and lined with my mother's love, and as my room was a sunny room at the back of the house I would wake in the morning to a gorgeous orange glow that filled the room.

This week my orange coat worked its magic by taking me me into Foyles book shopin Quakers Friars, Bristol and now two brand new copies of Like It Is by Philip Lyons  are being on the shelves for people to walk in, browse and buy. Foyles' manager, Dave  has also agreed to Poetry Space putting on some events there in 2012 so do watch this space...

Bye for now,


Sue
www.poetryspace.co.uk


Like It Is by Philip Lyons, Poetry Space Ltd October 2011. ISBN 978-0-9565328-5-5


Coming up soon a guest blog entry by Bath poet, Nikki Bennett

What's for you won't go by you - Eilis Gregory

I feel secure as a person, happy with myself;

even though I know I am dying. Even though I’m dying

lucky in lots of ways- supported, loved. In love with life.

Loving this Autumn, the golds, reds and russets on the trees.

The sounds of leaves rustling with soft voices in the wind.

How nurturing nature is from birth to death and back again.

I love the twilight melody of the sea and the birds early in the morning.

I see poppy fields filled with the faces of all my friends,

family who are dear to me far or near; gone, still here.

I want everyone to be strong, to go on after this wife, this mother is a                                                        

distant spirit. I pretend to be brave, but what is bravery ?

I am resilient and feel an inner calm, an acceptance.

I touch life, caress those I will leave with thoughts and memories

even as my tears reflect the things I will miss - my children growing up, married;

future families. The love I have for people, the love they have for me.

Time waits patiently for me around the corner....

Yet I am here for now and will live my life as best I can

for everyone I hold dear to me. Fields of love opening like flowers.

Yes I know that I am dying, yet even when I can’t sleep

I dream a dream that everything will be okay... and it will,

though not in the ordinary way. My family will survive for them and for me.


I want to be dignified in death, not linger desperately.  I will be Me to the last.

I don't want my family to suffer, I want them to celebrate me .I don't

want to leave them but..... what’s for you won’t ever go by.

I received this beautiful poem today via Poetry Space poet David Morgan and wanted to share it here on this blog as it is so inspiring. Thanks Ellis, thanks David. For us all ...a perfect autumn. Sue xx


Poem  © Eilis Gregory 
Photo © Chris Sims-  Old Wardour

A Long Way Home - Judith Kazantzis

When I was seven, I wrote an endlessly marvellous ballad all about Fairyland, in a school exercise book. Someone, my mother the chief suspect, threw it out, and Fairyland  never breathed again. Had I made it all up? Of course. Undaunted, a year later I  copied out a clever verse I fancied (a four-liner translated into English) by Madame Perrault, famous collector of fairy stories: it was her ending moral on the story of Bluebeard. Four perfect lines, rhyme, rhythm, morality and wit! My older brother read it and stared at me with new, amazed eyes. It took him about ten more minutes to check out the book, and sadly, all of a sudden, I wasn’t a Judith Shakespeare-to-be after all.  Still, it’s not impossible my short happy dishonesty first seeded the idea of a poet.

Child then teenager.  I wrote crummy ballads, then Wordsworthian blank verse about glorious nature and me, and so on, up to college days. Then I read The Wasteland. That was it, I more or less gave up. I took to having babies and, later, to painting. In 1973, quite accidentally, I read and was driven by Sylvia Plath’s The Colossus. Following this revelation of what language could do, I took my vengeance on the destroyer of Fairyland all those years before. I wrote a furious anti-mother poem. But it unleashed the daemon or demon or the hardworking muse, come to that. After many months of frantic writing, I joined an eccentric poetry circle, and out of that sprang a foursome. We were the Prodigal Daughters – I was (secretly) no longer Judith but Lilith.

We trod the boards wherever we could, and read our poems about motherhood and witches and revolt. I had already written on women’s emancipation – Women in Revolt, it was called (not revolting women, as Victorian misogynists called feminists). Inspired by Seventies feminism, I came almost dazzled to the idea that I might compose a poem that said something important to other women too. It was then and still seems a very satisfying aim, but readers aren’t necessarily lined up so neatly: all my poems from first to last have really been written for whoever wants to read them.

As for me, the chameleon nature of English in its written and spoken form both enchanted and  infuriated me from one day to the next.  But I wouldn’t, couldn’t give up. I was the prisoner of that house of endless, whispering voices, now metrical, now free verse, now slipping between that and the old iamb. The rhythm or rhythms set the tone, my mood or obsession set the tone which set the rhythm or rhythms: a circular dance if I was lucky and listened, a fall flat on the face as often.

Feminism meant so much because by then I was deeply conflicted by my wife and mother role and particularly by the image I felt it locked me into, another kind of house. Then came a car crash which made it literally hard to get out of the ‘prison house of home’ (as Victorian feminists called it) and find work as the children grew up. So therapy as poetry, yes, of course. I wrote to save my self. To open what was closed.

How odd that some British writers still mock this fundamental reason why writers may need to write or artists to paint or film-makers to make movies. Every writer, artist, every film-maker knows the craving to make good magic out of bad. To spin gold out of flax. If you can. If we can. To sit out the night and see what spins from the spinning wheel. And it isn’t poor old fairyland, it’s the real thing.  

                                                                                    Judith Kazantzis

 http://judithkazantzis.com/

In 2007 Judith received the Cholmondeley Award for Poetic Achievement.

How to eat an avocado - Susan Jane Sims

There are days when you wake up with a bit of trepidation and this is one of them. Today something is ending that has been a big part of my life for the past two years. I have been chair and regional co-ordinator for the South West branch of Lapidus and thoroughly enjoyed it. No that's not strong enough, I have been inspired by it and loved inspiring others would more accurately describe the experience. I set a time limit on it though, two years because I believe every group needs new blood.

These past few weeks have been a bit strange. I was determined not to persuade anyone else to take over although ironically I was persuaded myself and it worked out well for me. Having put a lot of myself into the group over the past two years including inviting, selecting, collating and editing an anthology known as Elements of Healing from writers in the South West of England to raise funds for the group and provide continuous professional development for Lapidus members (writers who work within the community encouraging others to write to promote well-being) I felt it was time to step aside and invite others to come forward.

It took a while and though I didn't want to persuade individuals to take over any of the roles that I and my stalwart committee team have assumed over the past couple of years I did try all my ploys on the group as a whole through my mailings. Apologies came in from some who were sadly too committed to other things or with young children and I can understand them not wanting to take it on. There was silence from others and tiny tentative bites from a few.

The story has a happy ending. Just when I had given up and sent out invitations to a reflective celebration for Lapidus SW to mark it's going into dormancy for a while three lovely Lapidus members stepped forward. At the eleventh hour you might say. New blood at the eleventh hour and we are not far away from Armistice Day so it feels symbolic and something I thought might be lost for a while is being restored in a new way and that feels right.

Today too I opened up my computer to write the very last part of my very last SW report and found I have a poem featured on the Southbank collection  of poetry magazines online.  I gave permission ages ago and now its there. Poetry, the slow burn.
Saisson Library Poetry Magazine collection online

Sue


Coming very shortly guest blog from writer and artist, Judith Kazantzis. Sunday 21st November 2011. This will make a lovely Sunday read.


Visit Lapidus
Visit Lapidus online journal

Making Space for the Poet Within - Susan Jane Sims

I always tell people that I have written poetry since childhood and that is absolutely true and yet my output was low for many years because I did not really create a space for it in my life. The people around me were not interested in poetry I felt, and so I largely kept my poet self hidden beneath all my other personae: being a wife, being a mother, being a dutiful daughter, a diligent worker, all these roles got in the way of being a poet, because writing poetry does necessitate actually sitting down to write somewhere, at some time of the day or night. I'd write so many poems in my head throughout these sparse years and sadly very few ended up on paper.

Becoming ill in 2002, with  a thyroid disorder brought about a complete change in my priorities. I had been doing too much, I'd studied full time for a year to gain a PGCE with four children still at school and I'd gone into a busy job as a teacher without thinking about the possible consequences. Finally I had no choice. Health had to come first and I stopped work and study for a period of recuperation. This didn't last long and I soon started to train as a counsellor however I embarked on this with the idea of having my own practice and structuring my own days.

The concept of space; having space to develop as a person myself, and providing others with the space to grow too became a very important part of who I was and still am. The counselling practice when I started it was (and is still) known as Your Space Counselling, a creative writing newsletter I began at around the same time for a small writing group I was facilitating, became Space to Write.

Finally Poetry Space was born - just a modest website at first with the same host as my counselling site. I experimented by putting a few of my own poems on there and enjoyed the feel of looking at them in the lovely uncluttered space the website page enabled me to create. It felt as good as a crisp white page in a published book and I was so excited. I started another page and started  inviting others to send in poems and I put those on, again ensuring they were presented beautifully in a clear uncluttered space. I also encouraged readers to send in feedback and passed it on to the poets.I gradually started including images that poets  and artists sent in and some of my husband Chris' too. He's a great photographer.Poetry Space was growing and becoming valued. Many people began commenting that this was the very best poetry site they had ever come across.

Today, only two years later, Poetry Space is a small independent publisher of poetry books and the online activities have grown as well. The company is loved by most people who comes across it and naturally I'm thrilled by that. I only get the occasional disgruntled poet annoyed that their work has not yet appeared there. I even had one this week who copied in some well known poets who have appeared on our site or reviewed books for us, into a venomous tirade against our policies, including a complaint about how we are spending Arts Council funding!!! I think the chief executive of the Arts council was amongst those copied in. I should imagine it went straight into the said person's recycle bin.

 I patiently explained that we don't receive any Arts council funding, never have, and never intend to apply. The aim is for Poetry Space to be self sufficient with commercial  activities like the competition and gift shop supporting the publication of superb quality poetry books for people to enjoy and at the same time helping poets like Philip Lyons and David R. Morgan achieve wider recognition. The output for 2012 will include three children's books (the first by previously unpublished poet, Fiona Murphy and her artist friend Michelle Last) and at least one individual collection by a poet yet to be selected. I receive so many wonderful manuscripts and it is hard to choose. Even harder to reject people who have clearly spent a lot of time and effort in the preparation of manuscripts.

On November 26th this year (this month even) we shall have our first Poetry Space at the Poetry Cafe event at Covent Garden with Philip Lyons and David R. Morgan and on February 4th 2012 we shall be bringing together poets from our past two competitions and our anthologies. Invitations will go out by e-mail and via the websites and blogs, so look out for that and get in touch if you have had poems published in our printed anthologies or been successful in our 2010 and 2011 competitions. Plans for 2013 include a "New Voices" project where I shall be bring together 4/6 poets new to print in one book.

We have received over forty thousand visitors this year. Some drop in to read poems by new voices and more established ones, others to buy books or gifts from the online bookshop and many submit to our online showcase of poetry, others to enter our competition. Our online Facebook open poetry group now has 70 members and whenever I look in there are poems being posted and poetry being discussed which is wonderful to see. Today I noticed a poem posted in  Greek (I think), in honour of a  poet from Ghana (Michael Somuah) who had his first exposure on Poetry Space and is now well known in Greece after winning a Poetry Peace award presented in that country.

 Well done Michael, you have made great use of the space.


To every one reading this, enjoy the space, enjoy the writing and enjoy the freedom it gives you to be yourself on the page.


Sue
(Susan Jane Sims)

Blood, Sweat and Tears - Karen Harvey

When Sue announced the launch of the Poetry Space Competition 2012 on facebook I made the light hearted reply ‘The closing date seems such a long way off but I expect it will be here before we can blink...’ and made a joke about time passing more quickly as we get older and promised that I would enter again this year.

Since then I’ve been mulling it over and recalling last year’s last minute entry.  It wasn’t that I intended to leave it till the last minute, I started working on several trains of thought about 6 weeks before the closing date but on the very eve of the closing date I was still wrestling with words. I’d been on  a great course with Rose Flint at the my little home from home Ty Newydd, The Writers Centre for Wales near Criccieth this spring, so I hoped I had some idea of what kind of poetry she might be looking for as a judge, and as entries are judged anonymously I thought it would be great chance to put my theory to the test.  I especially liked the subject ‘Green Space’ because we had done some of our writing out of doors so I took pen to paper quite a few times including taking a rather wet but wonderful writing workshop in the woods with a local tutor Alison Weetman but between my busy life and monkey mind there I was blood, sweat and tears on the eve of the closing date, 3 hours before midnight, 2 hours… 10 minutes… no 9, at last uploading the results of my labour and trying to negotiate my way through PayPal, which I should have remembered I always get in a tangle with. I finally pressed send at 11.59 and a bit. 

I knew I wouldn’t be shortlisted for this one, in fact I didn’t expect to be anything, I felt I might have done better had I started even earlier so I was pleasantly surprised when Sue offered to publish my poem in the anthology.  

I have just checked and it is over a month since the competition opened so it’s about time I sorted out a submission or even two.  I enjoy Poetry Space and look forward to new content on the poetry pages; I have even shared a few of my own poems there. The judge this year is Cheryl Moskowitz another amazing poet and the entry fee helps fund Poetry Space website so I can’t think of a better reason to enter this particular competition.

 I believe that once we start to enter competitions it is helps us hone our editing skills, and it has certainly helped me grow in confidence.  So now the time has come to think seriously about writing something new for this year’s competition… now where’s my pen?

Karen Harvey

www.justafewlittlewords.co.uk

First Success - Moira Andrew

Some say poetry is a solitary activity – certainly it’s not like rugby or soccer or being in a band.  Poetry begins in the poet’s head – ideas, words, colours, sounds, pictures tumbling together until there’s the urge to put them on paper, or more likely these days, on the screen.  Creation, the stringing of words together, is the private, individual part of a poem.  But there’s a time to share – poetry is ultimately about sharing, online, on the page or to an audience, even an audience of one!

My grandmother, who had the time to listen, was my first and probably my most appreciative audience.  I remember sitting in the sun with her on the window ledge of her spare bedroom, in the background the thwack of tennis balls from public courts across the road.  Gran put her hands in her lap, settled down and listened, watching me through thick spectacles as I read.  A pause, I looked up at her face, assessing her reaction.  ‘Lovely poem,’ she whispered.  It was all the accolade I needed.  Poets love to be appreciated!

Many years later I wrote this poem in my grandmother’s honour.  It is published on the title page of ‘Words with Wings’, one of my teachers’ books from Belair.

First success

The sun newly-minted

in the summer sky, the

mesmeric sound of roller

on clay, gentle pthud

thud of racquet on ball,

grandmother mouthing my words

under her breath.

My words!  I watched

her eyes, magnified to

medallions, move slowly

across the page.  ‘Lovely

poem,’ she said smiling.

We sat in the sun, well-pleased

one with the other.

                                    Moira Andrew

The Poetry Space competition gives poets the opportunity to share – and competitors will find an appreciative audience in the judges, both for prize-winners and those who don’t quite make it this time round.  And the prize-winners, of course, will have the delight of seeing their own poems online and in print.

                                                                                    Moira Andrew, October 2011

 Moira Andrew's website




Today is the official launch date for Poetry Space Competition 2012


We prefer online entries: simply pay by Paypal and send in your poems by email to susan@poetryspace.co.uk 

The teacher who inspired me to write

Dear Miss Evans* was brought back from retirement or so we were told and she'd come into school looking like Enid Sharples from the Coronation Street of my childhood complete with charcoal grey hair and hairnet. She was quite small as I remember, kind but stern and could keep a class of lively eleven and twelve year olds totally absorbed and silent. She taught me how to write letters with all the correct endings, Yours sincerely, Yours faithfully... something I've never ever forgotten. 


That first year we read poems galore, Keat's Ode to Autumn with its magnificent first line Seasons of mists and mellow fruitfulness.. Blake's Tyger who's eyes drew me in and disturbed my dreams, Auden's Night Train, bringing its "letters for the rich and letters for the poor". She inspired us working class kids to compile our own anthologies, collecting poems we found in the school or public library or in dusty volumes we found in our attics, in newspapers and in magazines. We copied them out in our very best handwriting and decorated each page, with the felt tip pens we carried around in our pencil cases. Mine was orange, the pencil case that is, the anthology - a school exercise book, was covered by me with a sheet of wallpaper left over from Dad's decorating. I was especially proud of the "mitred corners" a technique I'd learnt from seeing my mother make curtains. 


Miss Evans also encouraged our own creativity and every week we'd write a poem or a story for homework. 


This early effort from me (below)  got a Good! in my composition book and Miss Evans read it out but kept my identity secret. That was her way of doing things. She wanted to encourage us but not make us susceptible to bullying. No one ever knew who had top marks and who came at the bottom. She was a true egalitarian.


Snow


Softly, silently drifting in the air
covering branches which once were bare.
Snowflakes all of which have a likeness,
Cover the earth with a dazzling brightness.


Morning is here, the children arise,
Eager faces and delight in their eyes.
On with their scarves and their boots and their macs
Soon great big snowmen spring up with black hats.

© Susan Miller  1971

(Susan Jane Sims)

If you had someone who inspired you to write please post a comment. I'd love to hear your stories. 

* Miss Evans is not the teacher's real name.

Competition Countdown

Poetry Space International Poetry Competition 2012 will open for entries on November 1st 2011.

Judge: Cheryl Moskowitz

The competition helps us to continue to provide our free and much acclaimed international poetry showcase at the Poetry Space website. This now gets over 2000 visitors each month and well over a 100 submissions. My co-editor Azadeh does a fantastic job in selecting the poems that go on here. She pairs them up with lovely images from great photographers and artists.

The competition also helps us to back poets who we feel deserve wider recognition like Philip Lyons and David R. Morgan who have had collections published this year with us.

Prizes:
£100 - First Prize, £50 second Prize, £25 third prize plus publication in the Competition anthology for the three major prize winners and up to 23 commended poets. All poets who subsequently appear in the anthology will get a free copy of the anthology.

Here are the rules for entering - not too many as I'm not keen on rules:

• Poems of up to 40 lines will be accepted from anywhere in the world.
• All poems will be judged anonymously and our judge will read up to 150 poems. If we get more entries than this a short list will be drawn up by an editorial panel.
• Entry fee per poem £5. Enter as many as you wish with sufficient payment please.
• Open to all over 16 when the competition ends on June 30th.
• Poems must be previously unpublished and must not be in the process of being considered in any competition or by any editor - this includes printed and online publication.
• No entry form required. If entering by e-mail just send name, address, telephone number and e-mail address and title of your poem as a word document and your poem as another word document. Don't put your name with the poem. Send to : susan@poetryspace.co.uk
• Entries by post to: Poetry Space Ltd, 21 Davis Close, Barrs Court Bristol BS30 7BU
• Pay by Paypal at Poetry Space Competition from November 1st onwards. Closing date June 30th midnight.

Poetry Space Competition 2012

We are delighted that Cheryl Moskowitz (pictured above) has agreed to judge Poetry Space Competition 2012

Chicago born poet, playwright, storyteller and novelist Cheryl Moskowitz will be judging our third annual poetry competition. Cheryl's recent awards include: The Torbay Poetry Competition (2009), Bridport Prize (2010), the Troubadour International Poetry Prize (2010) and 2nd Prize in the International Hippocrates Prize for Poetry and Medicine (2011) Open Category.

We are thrilled to have Cheryl on board. The competition will be open for entries in November and will close on June 30th 2012. 

Entries will be accepted from anywhere in the world. No theme this time. This will be an "open" competition for all poets over 16.


For more about Cheryl go to http://www.cherylmoskowitz.com/

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Ahead of our competition I asked David R.Morgan what inspires him to write? David is an award winning poet with many poems in print. His latest collection Beneath The Dreaming Tree is now available at Poetry Space Bookshop

See the comments below?