The winner of this year's Poetry Competition

1st Prize - Barbara Daniels with:

Son and Lovers

When he was born his mother could not turn
her light to him. As babies do, he lay,
needy and stretching out for something near
or someone. Watching him with soft concern
she'd pick him up, she wouldn't wait to hear
the dry of dissonance. That might betray
her inner vacuum. Move on a year.

She's dutiful: she stays at home to care.
He puts on weight and passes all the tests.
His sheets are spotless. Sitting on her knee,
he leaves plain wooden toys; she strokes his hair
in time to heart-beats as a guarantee.
He's half-convinced: he reaches for her breasts.
(Too old for that!) Now, suddenly, he's three.

The little interruption that he caused
has been absorbed. His parents, deep in bed,
explore each other, lost in sex. Tonight
he's orphaned by their love. Married, they paused
to have their tiny changeling as a rite
of passage to a heaven, truly wed,
bright twin stars with one lonely satellite.

Critique by Competition Adjudicator, Alison Chisholm

A fascinating selection of writing reached the final adjudication of this competition and it was good to note the breadth and depth of subject matter covered and the mastery of technique demonstrated by many entrants. Although some poets fell down on a lack of revision, poor punctuation and sentence structuring and uninspired treatment of familiar themes, there was plenty to delight and entrance.

The first prize goes to Sons and Lovers, a finely rhymed poem taking a new look at the impact of a baby on the household, with an honest examination of the effect on the parent's relationship. In a new twist away from the expected route of the poem, the child becomes the 'odd one out'. The vocabulary is selected with precision and images drawn with sparkling clarity.

Another poem concerning a child is second; but My Silent Daughter offers a poignant portrait drawn by a grieving mother. Tautly written in free verse, with elegant use of slant rhyme, the poem has a mournful, powerful quality that is irresistible.

Life Class, in third place, brings a touch of humour and a large helping of originality to an examination of arms. The unlikely subject leads you to consider these limbs in a new way and gives rich food for thought.

The clarity of its imagery is one of the features that earned fourth prize for Life Sentence. There is a thrilling spareness in the writing that allows the reader to furnish a novel's-worth of content into the seven couplets of the poem.

Judging this competition has been a huge pleasure and I thank everyone who entered and made it such a joy. Alison Chisholm

2nd Prize - Charlotte Gann with:

My Silent Daughter

In my mind, she's a summer one,
folded away like linen,
facing in.

At times, the thinnest moon
is her tiny seashell
clipping in a pea green sky.

See, she's a whisper of wool;
an empty swing swinging
in a big hay barn.

In my mind, she meanders
round the rose garden,
her fingers lingering

on petal tips of pink and lemon,
even milk teeth
of thorn.

Just once we touched:
a butterfly kiss of lids grown thick
with crying.

But I was still a child myself,
too slight to bear
the real brunt of her.

3rd Prize – Pat Jackson with:

Life Class

Arms are most surprising things -
they're not where you expect.
They hang awkwardly
as if they're not sure what to do
or they rest in a lap, detached, resigned.

Like huge scuttling spiders
they catch you unawares, bend,
end in pockets, wave, fold,
mould round a foreign body - oh -
throw up in horror, hurt,
flirt with other arms -
linking, shaking, pinning down,
thrust out for trolleys,
up with pegs, cross over on piano keys.

They act dejected, fearful, tired,
excited, hopeful, happy, proud.
Don't ask me how.

4th Prize – K.V. Skene with:

Life Sentence

Time grinds its teeth
down to your last argument,

the assurances overwrought, the syntax
slammed

out the door. You set the table, light
the candles, uncork the cabernet

and three hours later
each tick of the clock is slowly sharpening

your tongue
but the phone sits silent and you know...

so you drink to the end of it:
to unreasonable butterflies, tornadoes, greenhouse gasses,

things that blow up in your face,
the sea rising.