2021 Poetry Competition: Winning Entries

Apologies for the delay in posting! Anyway, as promised a few weeks ago, here are the top three entries as chosen by judge Martin Grey.

Third Place
A Sleeping Promise by Philip Burton of Bacup, Lancs.

(a performance of Sleeping Beauty by Tantsy Na L’du, a touring Russian ice-dance company, in Ramsgate in 1959)

The curtain proved not to be of iron,
lifted its skirts and drew us warmly in.
Tchaikovsky’s waltz caressed us.
The ice, ungrooved as yet, glowed
with a giddy scoop of lights and halos.
New delights of spirals, sit-spins
and breathless upright pirouettes
banished all thoughts of Cold War.

We felt certain sure that Carabosse
would not harm the teenage star,
would – with a change-foot sping – kiss
and whisper Pomirit’sja, making peace
forever via the searing art of ice-ballet.
The needle’s poison would dry up.
Missiles would hiss a while, snuff out.
We’d all embrace, on the rink, barefoot.

---

Second Place
Til Death Do Us Part by Danielle Chadwick of Todmorden, West Yorks.

Til death do us part, I promised.
You promised too.
But I’d meant me; not you.

I thought my death would be swift,
at the end.
That I might go, surrounded by friends
and you –
holding my hand as I departed,
and me:
never needing to know
this life,
alone.

Not that I’d wish that on you –
but I knew you could cope.
You always were
the stronger,
smarter,
lovelier.
My better half, I called you.

So it’s not gone to plan.
That I am here, left
a lonesome man,
with the dog you picked out,
who still waits at the door;
our ears both prick up
at footsteps
that could have been yours.

I often wonder if
the dog thinks the same.
Whether he’s expecting to go before I do,
or whether he’s also hoping
you’ll still
come home.

---

First Place
A Cold War Incident by David Smith of Ilkeston, Derbys.

Tonight my American boy punched me
instead of just giving me a slap.
Tomorrow my face will be
the colour of Doctor Pepper.

I’d told him if he spent his whole life trying
he would never be as good a kisser as Anatoly
so there were grounds for what he did.

Russian boys are always angry with their women
because they are to scared to be mad at anything else
but everything makes Alka, my American boy, mad:
In Russia he had money but nothing to spend it on;
Here there is lots to buy but he has no money.

Perhaps Alka would be happy living on the moon, alone.

Tonight, he called me a “blyad” – a whore,
but he would be pleased if I was just his whore.

So, I gave him sex, for free,
no charge, letting him
thrash and gasp
like some kid learning how to swim.

We fight and fight
because that’s the only way
he can love
and I forgive him everything.

He says his latest two-bit job
is not worth getting dressed for.
Then, in his best Walter Cronkite voice, adds
“But one day I will be President.”

I wanted to rub my cheek
but that would only set him off again.
“Yes Alka. In America everything is possible,” I lie.

I am virtually asleep before he speaks again.
“I will be on the right side of history,” he promised.
“I’ll make you proud to Mrs Lee Harvey Oswald.”

“I’m proud now, Alka. I’m so proud now,”
and for that moment we both believed it true.

---

Congratulations to the winners and thanks to all entrants for participating and making Martin’s job very difficult!