TRANSFORMATION POETRY COMP - FEB 2023

T hrowaway culture blights our land

R ubbish is strewn without a care

A pathy stays the moderating hand

N o-one seems to turn a hair

S omeone has to get a grip 

F oul littering should be weeded out

O fficialdom needs to crack the whip

R ouse itself and have more clout

M ake fly tipping a capital crime

A pply the noose to those who sin

T ell offenders they’ll do prison time

I nstil civic pride in kith and kin 

O ur landscape can be made pristine

N aught must blunt the push to clean

If Youth were but an armour

That only had been shed,

I’d look for it in every room,

I’d look beneath the bed.

I’d look inside the wardrobe,

I’d look behind the door,

I’d search the loft from end to end

And rifle every drawer.

I’d seek to know what form it took -

If supple or concrete -

And if it left me in the day

Or while I was asleep.

I’d ask the many questions

That Man is doomed to ask:

Oh how could something held so close

Escape from out one’s grasp?

Then if I found it lying

Where it had fallen down,

I’d pick it up and wrap it tight

Around me like a gown...

And if it then transformed me

To how I was before -

Well, there would be a righteous case

Of property restored!

The newspaper ad asked, ‘Is your life

marred by unsightly nasal hair?’

A glance in the mirror confirmed the worst:

A dreaded forest was growing there!

He faced the truth. His life was marred.

He decided this was mainly to blame.

His lack of success with women due

to his naughty nostrils not playing the game.

Decisive action was needed now.

Simply no time for further delay.

This nostril shaver – free battery, too –

would herald the start of a brand-new day!

And so, when next he ventured forth,

not a single hair could be viewed.

He felt a new spring in his step,

his confidence fully renewed.

Though women still didn’t fall at his feet,

with this wonderful number one trimmer

the balance was tipped in his favour, now.

He knew he was on to a winner…

Frost has scattered diamonds all around.

They glitter, where the winter sun strikes the pavement

The tops of walls and cars are dusted with icing sugar

Grass verges have become carpets of silver spikes with here and there sprays of white lace leaves

They sparkle like a horde of stolen jewellery

The bird bath is a skating rink, but no skaters come

Only disappointed, thirsty birds

Delicate fringes of hoar frost line the slender lattice of a wire fence

And a sheen of ice skims the surface of a muddy puddle

Turning it into a gleaming bronze disc

Some plants are not cheered by all this Arctic beauty 

They bow their heads, longing for the warmth of Spring

Even the green gloss of the holly tree is veiled by a frosty gauze

Like an ice queen hung about with scarlet jewels

The pale grey foliage of the sage and lavender hide their rich scent

From the unfriendly chill, but they will be back

And a regiment of snowdrops marches forward

Their green spears pointing the way ahead

For they are the advance guard of what is to come

Glittering lights from the plane,

With swimming pools all lit up!

Land in the city with Hollywood sign

&

palm tree lined boulevards!

Catch the sunset from Casa Del Mar

& watch the pier from afar.

Drive down Sunset boulevard in a

topless car!

Down to Laurel Canyon- Love Street

community!

On to Downtown with towering

skyscrapers & smart fund mangers!

Not all that glitters is gold, in LA LA

land you know!

Just take a walk down Skid Row!

Full of homeless people, who get

treated like they are criminals!

Some with mental health disorders,

some out of money, some choose

not to be seen as part of society!

The transformation is plain to see,

in the the land of plenty!

I awoke and drew the curtains wide

And everything had changed outside!

All that had been green before

Now wore a snowy pinafore.

The bird bath which had looked so nice

Was now glinting with shimmering ice

The flowers were all bent so low

Their delicate blooms all covered in snow.

And everywhere on the snowy ground

Odd little footprints could be found.

Creatures who’d visited in the dark

Had come to play and left their mark.

And there was nowhere to be seen

Not even the tiniest speck of green.

All was quiet and white and still

And had I not been so ill

I would have run to get my boots

And stamped in that snow

With loud whoops of joy.

Instead I heard my mother shout

What are you doing up and about?

If you want to be well young man

Get back to bed as fast as you can!

You'll soon be up and out to play

The snow will keep for another day.

Picture the ocean if you will 

See the sunlight dancing upon ripples 

Feel the salty breeze brush against your cheek

Hear its roar in your very core 

A boundless 

mysterious 

wonder 

The very essence of life.

Now picture a wave in the ocean

See it in your mind’s eye

A powerful arm rising out of the sea 

Reaching up towards the sky

See how the light refracts as it passes through

Feel its spray as it gains height

You can see it 

hear it

feel it

taste it. 

It’s a wave

Emerging briefly as a separate entity

Before it crashes on the shore

And returns to its watery form

As it merges back into the sea

Where it came from

Where it belongs. 

You, too, are a wave

You may be the most 

beautiful

powerful

awe-inspiring 

remarkable 

Wave in the ocean

But one day your wave 

Will merge in the ocean of existence

And return once more 

someday

somewhere 

On a different shore. 

Pudgy legs kick the air

A little fist grabs my hair

Giggles and gurgles

In response I burble

To my new born child

Baby teeth and broken sleep

Crying frenzy makes me weep

Scraped shoes and grazed knees

Minor bumps climbing trees

A baby no longer, my child

Laughter and cuddles disappear

Empty tins of supermarket beer

Dirty washing and dirty plates

‘Don’t bother I’m with my mates’

My monosyllabic teenage child

A few years pass and now at work

Shorter haircut, good shoes, smarter shirt

Money in his pocket, pretty girl on his arm

No longer needed to keep safe from harm 

My one and only child

He doesn’t forget me and calls with news

Which one day chased away my blues

‘I’m getting married Mum’, he phoned to say

Get a new hat for this my special day

No longer alone, my child

Life moved on and there he stands

Welcoming with outstretched hands

A little bundle clasped close to his chest

‘Oh Mum’, he said, ‘isn’t this the best’

As he showed me his new born child

Abigail is nice by numbers

Really has herself in hand,

Maybe isn’t good by nature

Yet’s been made to understand

What is right and wrong behaviour

What’s acceptable to show -

Acts as she has been instructed

Goes where she’s been told to go.

Abigail has gone for counselling

Which she’s been advised to take

For her marriage, for her children,

For her reputation’s sake;

She’s too wise not to have realized

That it really doesn’t work

To give way to temper tantrums

Lose control and go berserk.

Abigail is work in progress -

She’s a soul that has been saved

From addiction, dereliction

Leading to an early grave.

Some of us are blest with virtue

Some have harder work to do:

Abigail is nice by numbers 

But it’s really seen her through.