POETRY COMPETITION FOR OCTOBER

MAGIC

This month's poetry competition theme is: MAGIC

We wanted something to reflect that the results will be announced at the end of the month, just before Halloween, so with that in mind we thought 'Magic' would fit well. It could be good or bad, black or white, we left it to interpretation and the competition attracted 16 entries.

The results:

1st place: Mike Lansdown - Writing (Weaving Words)

2nd place: Mike Lansdown - Marcel Le Magnifique

3rd place: Andrea Neidle - Cigam

Joint 4th Place: Kay Hall - Imaginings; and, Judy Klimt - Greatest Gift

Please see below to view all entries. Well done to all who entered.

ENTRY 2

CIGAM by Andrea Neidle

A cobweb glistening in the rain

A drug that will relieve my pain

A full moon shining on the sea

These are the things that spell magic for me.

A walk on the grass in the early dew

The very first snowdrops peeping through

An early morning cup of tea

These are the things that spell magic for me.

The moment when a baby first smiles

A pub in view after walking for miles

The first blossom on an apple tree

These are the things that spell magic for me.

A fragrant rose in the summer sun

A kiss and a hug when the day is done

Floating relaxed on a turquoise sea

These are the things that spell magic for me.

A thousand stars shining in the sky

A lover’s kiss and a lover’s sigh

Honey from the hive of a bee

These are the things that spell magic for me.

A rainbow shimmering in the sky above

The smile in the eyes of the one you love

The sound of children laughing with glee

These are the things that spell magic for me.

Sitting around the table with friends

Knowing you’re loved when the long day ends

Spending my time writing poetry

These are the things that spell magic for me.

Hearing a loved one’s voice on the phone

Knowing you have a place called home

Relaxing with my family

These are the things that spell magic for me.

When war and suffering finally cease

When everyone can live in peace

Hoping one day all the world will be free

These are the things that spell magic for me.

ENTRY 3

SPELLBOUND by Lesley Kerr

Some may say it’s witchcraft

But I am not sure that is true.

Even though, from the first time we met

I put a spell on you.

I let you wine me and dine me

And the next thing that I knew

I wore a dress of pure white.

With something borrowed and something blue

I gave you kisses but never my heart

And there were times I may have strayed,

But your love for me was strong

You forgave me and you stayed.

But date nights turned into bitter fights

As you struggled to break free

Of the tangled, poisoned web

That had become our reality.

With the wink of an eye or a sweet, shy smile

I could turn your despair back to desire

And I promised to be faithful

But my empty words made me a liar.

You scorned my fanciful cooking

The strange smells and the pungent smoke

But the last laugh was mine

As I watched you splutter and choke

My triumphant smile fades slowly

It echoes your weakening heart

I whisper, “We vowed to love each other forever,

Or at least until death do us part”

ENTRY 4

TIARAS AND DIAMONDS by Helen Nicell

A fairy’s wand sits covered in dust

It’s been 5 years since she caused all the fuss

It was only a simple magic spell

But it sent her off to Fairy Hell

You see Fairy Mary got carried away

Wanting to be famous for just the one day

She thought she’d be a royal princess

Adorned with the most beautiful silk dress

Tiaras and diamonds to make her sparkle

But the whole thing turned into a debacle

She enjoyed the attention far too much

Even courting the royal Prince’s touch

She couldn’t leave after just one day

She decided she was here to stay

A royal wedding was in her sights

Beauty, glamour and paparazzi lights

A palace, some guards, pomp and glory

This really was a fairy tale story

But then things started to turn sour

It seems that she did not have any power

Protocol and tradition wore her down

In-laws that could only sigh and frown

Outraged when she had her say

‘Banish her,’ they said, ‘to the USA’

So there she lives in Fairy Hell

Caused by that fatal magic spell

Tiaras and diamonds to make her sparkle

This was the downfall of poor Meghan Markle

ENTRY 5

THE POT OF GOLD by Jan Rees

A handful of bulbs in a paper bag – hard, round, and faintly striped with a thin tissue of outer skin

There are a few dry whiskery roots, but no other sign of life

They hold their secret close

Planted in a pot they sit outside the kitchen door

Every kind of weather visits them, wind and rain are relentless

Weeks and months go by and still they seem to do nothing

They hold their secret close

In December a heavy frost gives the pot a glittering crust

It sparkles in the winter sun

In January heavy snow turns the pot into an iced cake

Still they hold their secret close

Then one bleak February day there are 3 green spears reaching for the light

They are the scouting party for the regiment of spears that will follow

Their secret will soon be out as nature works its magic

In March a few days of gentle sun encourages some of the stems to grow fat with buds

Soon yellow tips appear, then one by one full flowers, their fragile new petals quivering in the breeze

A group of bright yellow trumpets heralds the Spring

They lift the spirits and their glorious gold tells us that we are forgiven for the harshness of winter

Their secret is out.

ENTRY 6

THE CAD NEXT DOOR by Louise Welland

My nasty neighbour
Made me mad
The cad

He swiped my washing

From the line
The swine

Then he broke my heart and soul
By taking home my camisole

It was chiffon
Moron

He lowered my prop
And then to top
it all
He took

A bra "CAD" A bra!

I printed photos of his crimes
Stills from cctv

Posted them through people's doors
For everyone to see

He begged me to stop
I sneered

I performed a spell
Like a nasty smell

As if by magic
He disappeared

ENTRY 7

JUST LIKE THAT by Louise Welland

Caerphilly, Wales in '21
Thomas and Catherine birthed a son
Age eight, his aunt gave Tom a gift
A magic set, a box of tricks

This present

Shaped his future

Who could have known

He would become a household name?

In 1940 young Tommy Cooper
Was called upon to serve - a trouper
The Royal Horse Guards

Amused and thrilled
Watch Tom perfect his conjuring skills

The magic circle welcomed Tom

He learned new tricks to call upon

His magic skills they changed and grew

And soon, into our lives he flew

We laughed until our bellies ached
Watching his faked magic "mistakes"
Sadly all the fame and wealth

Took a toll on Tommy’s health

In April 1984
This towering man
Of six foot four
Fell to the floor

And so
On stage
Performing live
We laughed
As he died

Thomas Frederick Cooper – RIP

ENTRY 8

FOR GOOD OR ILL? by Pat Simpson

At sunset we meet and the circle complete,

To fulfil a girl’s desire, the fire flames higher

Warming the cauldron within.

Powders and potions, creams and lotions,

Cauldrons simmer while stars shimmer

In the heavens above.

Midnight’s hour increases the power

Of herbs to heal and wishes to seal

To ignite the feeling of love.

A full moon enhancing the spells we are chanting,

Care must be taken, our belief unshaken,

Or black will white remove.

The dawn is breaking, the world is waking.

Exhausted we stand, gold casket in hand,

The strength of magic to prove.

ENTRY 9

THE CLAYDON WITCHES by Ian Welland

In Claydon villages, the witches remain

Through dark shadows and driving rain,

Frosted fields and hedgerow a-cutting

They all assemble in covens muttering.

Winds howl, the owl and the crow

With spells and sacrifice, toil and sorrow,

The Claydon Witches bring on the winter

Their playful haunting demonic hinder.

Cloaks of black, broomsticks and bowls,

Drinking potions, and so they call,

Holding hands and places at stake

Their condemnation, an unwise mistake.

Take cover and hide from their reason

For this is the time of the witches’ season,

By day our villages may well be safe

By night the ghosts, the witches awake.

So cometh the evening, the thrust of the fire

The Claydon Witches funeral pyre,

Their chained hex hung on the door,

Throughout the night the witches restore.

At dawn, the chill, the evidence laid bare

The morning dew dispelling the night’s air,

The rising sun and light of one,

The Claydon Witches are all but done.

ENTRY 10

KIM'S SAVIOUR by Chris McDermott

Wafting wands and rabbited hats,

The piercing eyes of magical cats,

The ‘Oooos’ and ‘Aaaaahs’ of little kids.

This was magic for Kim as a child.

The smiling faces of strong young men,

Her changing body, now tall and slim,

The eyes of suitors meeting hers.

This was magic for Kim growing up.

The sounding of the wedding band,

As Bill took Kim, and held her hand,

To plant a kiss upon her lips.

This was magic for Kim as a young woman.

The cry of her young new-born son,

The little boy, her only one,

Who made her laugh and made her cry.

This was magic for Kim as a new parent.

But one day magic went away,

Her husband was not here to stay,

War was declared on the Home Front.

This was the magic of war, our leaders told us.

So husband, Bill, got dressed up fine,

To do his duty on the line,

To fight for England, give his all.

This was the magic of patriotism, her husband said.

But news came back, straight from the front,

The bombs had dropped, the platoon done?

Bill must be gone, Kim knew the truth.

Kim wanted the magic of hope, but she searched in vain.

Kim looked towards her little boy,

And told him things, just as a ploy,

So he would think there was still hope.

Kim knew she had to pass on the magic of hope, but she did not believe her own words.

So Kim stared down into her glass,

The time had spent, Bill had to pass,

The weeks run by and hope had gone, but not from Sam, her little one.

For Kim the magic of hope had gone, but Sam still believed.

Kim would have taken all those pills,

To end her life, freed from those ills,

But Sam, he told her to be strong.

For Kim now, Sam was her source of magic.

Each night Sam prayed, his thoughts he sent,

On up to Heaven, they all went,

To reach, he hoped, his God on high.

Sam did not call it magic, he called it faith.

Then one day the door opened wide,

Bill spied his family, all inside.

The miracle it came to pass, Bill was at home, at long, long last.

It was the magic of Sam’s hope that had kept Kim alive, to be there for her returning love.

ENTRY 11

MARCEL? LE MAGNIFIQUE! by Mike Lansdown

Come picture the scene, a Parisian night

A magnificent old music-hall

A stage lit by gas-lamps and eerie limelight

A magician, silent and tall.

With his shiny black hat and snowy white gloves

To a chorus of cheering and laughter

Marcel frees a brace of silver-grey doves

Bowing deep as they fly to the rafters.

Merci! Mes amis! He twirls his moustache

And soaks up the rapturous applause

When out from his pocket a cat pops its head

Drawing blood with a swipe of its claws

Sacre bleu! Petit chat! What made you do that?!

Says he as he struggles to grab it

And emerging too soon from his conjuror’s hat

A confused and tired-looking rabbit.

A card in his teeth, stands a nervous young man

Assured, by Marcel, just for fun…

…a trick I’ll perform that only I can!

Says he as he loads the large gun.

Now please, close your eyes, keep perfectly still

I promise, mon ami, to be gentle

But in twenty long years I have only once killed

And that was not accidental.

And then, with a flourish, Marcel takes his aim

A flash! and a bang! fills the night

Though he staggers and falls the boy is unmaimed

And (apart from some blood) is all right.

Madames e messieurs and petit enfants

Now the moment you’ve all waited for!

So, sil-vous-plait, form an orderly queue

Pardon mois while I sharpen my saw.

With an audible gasp the audience rises

In a trice they take to their feet

No more! they all cry and enough of surprises!

Then spill out onto the street.

Marcel hangs his head as the evening, alas,

Has gone worse than ever he fears

With a wave of his wand, and theatrical pass

He shrugs, and so, disapp

ENTRY 12

WRITING (WEAVING WORDS) by Mike Lansdown

It’s greater, by far, than the sum of its parts

Of its dots, and its loops, and its flicks

And the wonder it brings to the hungering heart

Is the magic of sorcerers’ tricks.

In the hand of a master, the pen is a brush

Or a wand, or a sword, or a knife

And the words once they’re down can build up or crush

Lying deep in the heart and for life.

The well-chiselled phrase can stop a man dead

And where there is dark shine a light

And the shadows dispelled bring wisdom instead

And unto the blind confer sight.

If the words that you weave

(A thousand years on)

Bring hardened old men to tears

Then the spells that you cast

Will never grow old

And your stories

Will outlive the years.

ENTRY 13

THE GARDEN OF IMMUNITY by Judy Klimt

(prompted by the Corona Virus)

The Garden of Immunity

Is where I long to tread;

I’ll wander in it, trailing robes

Among its flower-beds;

I’ll breathe in deeply of its air

And dowse myself in dew:

I’ll never have to fear again

The things that mortals do.

The Garden of Immunity,

Where there can be no ill,

And every soul can freely move

According to his will:

That should be the inheritance

Of all who come to Earth,

And life on any other terms

Of no conceptual worth.

ENTRY 14

IMAGININGS by Kay Hall

As the breeze softly rustles the leaves above,

Still yourself,

Look deep inside the whorls of ageing bark,

And open your mind.

What do you see?

An elfin lord,

With fine moustache and pointed beard,

Rests here entombed…

Now look again… do you see more?

A fledgling dragon,

One wing unfurled,

Emerges from his fragile shell…

And a gentle phoenix

Rises from the flames of her pyre,

To escape the blackened moon…

***

The everyday magic of your imaginings

Will weave their tales for you.

They wait patiently here,

Held safe within the bark of an ordinary tree,

Growing in an ordinary suburban pavement.

ENTRY 16

FOR ONE MORE DAY by Ian Welland

The family garden is waiting for us all

Such is the magic of the eternal season

We shall but open our eyes one more day

To allow spirit to speak and guide us on our way.

I recall that time when we met as I emerged

into the light, that swirl of excitement, of youth,

to set in motion a path filled with promise,

And so, on that evergreen path, we shall wander again.

Somewhere along the way, we lost each other

And now I can only pray that you are ascending

To a kinder place that will require you to be kinder

I hope you will hold out your hand and welcome me.