| NPA 2006 |
Lancaster poet Peter Button.
cheque and trophy.
Spotlight falls on theatre worker:
As a theatre worker Peter Button
is more used to being behind the scenes. But now he’s
taken centre stage as the United Press UK Poetry champion for
2006.
Peter, a box office worker and duty manager at the Duke’s
Theatre in Lancaster, is this year’s £1,000 first-prize
winner in the biggest annual free-to-enter national poetry
competition there has ever been.
Tens of thousands of poems were entered for this UK-wide annual
competition which began in 1998. Peter was chosen as this year’s
winner in a vote by over 200 prizewinning poets and received
the cash prize of £1,000 plus a magnificent trophy to
keep for life.
"I’m delighted at this
success," said Peter
(43), who lives in Portland Street, Lancaster and has worked
at the local theatre for 12 years. "I have been writing
poetry ever since I was a young man and entered several poetry
competitions which had an entry fee. But when I saw this
free to enter competition advertised in my local paper, I
simply had to have a go."
Out of all the entries that are submitted every year over
200 are picked from different regions in the UK and all are
printed in the annual National Poetry Anthology. Each author
receives a free copy of the book and votes for the best poem
in it. "To be chosen as the winner by so many excellent
poets is a humbling experience," added Peter.
Peter is married to Fiona and they have children Lucas and
Sally. He is interested in film and theatre, playing the
guitar, walking and sculpture. He has taken creative writing
courses at the local Whitecross Adult Education Centre for
several years. "The courses are invaluable," said
Peter. "I would recommend them to anyone. They give
you a couple of hours a week to set aside and concentrate
on writing."
Peter’s prizewinning poem Messages is one of his personal
favourites and has great significance for him. "It means
a lot to me because I wrote it after the death of my father.
The poem was evoked by a visit I made to his house to sort
through his effects. It describes exactly how I felt about
losing my father."
Each poet listed is a winner in his or her own right. Their poems were selected as winners for their town or area in a free-to-enter annual competition which featured many thousands of entries. The winners are grouped into various regions. If you do not find a winner from your locality this is because insufficient entries were received from that area.
"The competition is free to enter and is designed to encourage new poets," said a spokesman for United Press. "We have received entries from people aged 9 to 99." If you want to enter the next National Poetry Antholgy, send up to three poems (20 lines and 160 words maximum each) to United Press, Admail 3735, London, EC1B 1JB (0870 240 6190) by the annual closing date of June 30th.
MESSAGES
Your empty house took a breath
as I opened windows and
wandered through to the garden;
the lawn, uncut and coarse
as your pepper and salt
hospital stubble; the
seeds you had planted now posthumous tulips and
primroses - clusters of
colour-coded messages
sent by your careful hand.
I stood where your deckchair
would have been on this warm,
wood-pigeon afternoon
and, in my attempt at
teasing out a meaning,
came as near to you as
I can hope to get.
Peter Button, Lancaster, Lancashire
The poem above is Peter Button's winning entry. Those below are a selection from this year's anthology.
BIRD WORLD
I am haunted
by the eagle trapped
in a cage too small
for wingspan.
A world filled with noise
Clatter of parrots, songbirds keening
peacocks shrieking
raucous children.
Consumed with rage, pity,
impotence I smell
and taste
the stench of despair.
All I see,
lifeless plumage,
black leaden eyes
a creature born to fly.
Rosemarie Morton, New Milton, Hampshire
THOUGHTS ON A TROPIC NIGHT
Thick, and warm, the air, as a limpid pool submerging the land,
Cloying and scented.
Out in the buzzing night, the mango trees crouch,
Black, and still, with stars aglow between the leaves.
The night is never dark.
Lightning flickers in the luminous warmth.
Not is it ever silent of clattering frogs,
And multitudinous screeching things, and dogs.
Beneath this net, believe me, it is even warmer yet;
I lie with senses dulled,
And follow the strumming beetles' flight around the stifling room.
Now, ever and again, I think with longing of cool nights
Stirred by an English breeze that brings the distant call of owls
Beneath an English moon.
John Flanagan, Bristol, Avon
SWEET PERFUME
Her silken robes
were lying stretched out
so I folded them up
so carefully.
They still smelled
so warmly of her,
she was still in the room
and still part of me.
Whenever she wore them
I liked it so much
I promised myself
that I'd never touch,
I'd not want to crease
a life so fair.
Of sweet perfume
And scented hair.
Richard Youngman, Yaxley, Suffolk
MR ETTERINI'S PHILOSOPHIES
Mr Etterini always said this:
He doesn't know fabrics,
Can't melt cotton in his fingers,
Is shy about silk,
Wool wilts his will.
Mr Etterini always said this:
Good cloth was good cloth, irrespective.
Linen slacks, a navy grade, was right
On a yacht, especially
When anchored at Corsica.
Mr Etterini always said this:
Satin maps a woman's contours,
Tweeds are Mr Richard Hannay,
Galloping through Scottish heather
One step ahead of the rest.
Mr Etterini always said this:
Synthetics are pathetic.
Would Coco Chanel have
Grown a million roses
If she'd wanted us to wear vinegar?
Phil Fox, Leicester, Leicestershire
MY GREY WORLD
Would that I see things in colour
Said the old man
Once it was all yellows and reds
And I laughed and was warm
But then, she was here
Now she's gone
And my world is grey and dark
Laughter is rare and I am always cold
I would like to follow
Where she has gone
But I am not brave
And the time is not right
So I walk my grey world
And clutch at fading memories
Which grow dimmer every year
Time is my enemy, my foe
To be resented
As each waking hour is dreaded
Audrey Drynan, Cramlington, Northumberland
THE VISITOR
Angels proclaim from long silent skies
To humble shepherds in surprise,
A visitor to God's ancient land,
From heaven's celestial strand.
Entering nature's darkest night,
Conquering with His everlasting light.
From a lowly stable birth
To reclaim our fallen earth.
Entrusted to a virgin's womb,
Destined for a rich man's tomb.
Clothed in human form,
Christ our saviour born.
Martin Graty, Anglesey, Wales