Read Poetry from In The Mind's Eye...
The £100 Winner of the In The Mind's Eye Competition…
A retired speech therapist has turned her love of words to her advantage, by winning the In The Mind's Eye competition.
Nanette Mavers, of Swindon, Wiltshire, won the top prize with her poem ‘Dragon'.
Judges were full of praise for Nanette's submission. Joanna Cummings, of United Press, said: “We liked the powerful imagery, and were impressed by the rhythm and internal rhymes within the poem. We had hundreds of entries to this competition, so Nanette's had to be something special.”
As her prize, Nanette will receive £100 and will have her poem published in the resultant anthology.
Nanette explained that title notwithstanding, the poem was actually inspired by a black taxi cab. “I'd been reading Naomi Novik's fantasy novels – set during the Napoleonic War and involving dragons – and was taken with the idea of using dragons in a symbolic way.”
A member of a poetry circle, Nanette has been writing for a couple of years, initially writing humorous poems for work colleagues. “A friend recommended I enter a United Press competition, but I've always loved exploring language. A fondness for words is par for the course for a speech therapist, I think!”
You can read Nanette's winning poem below:
DRAGON
Gleaming you stand, black-liveried, austere.
Proud creature, hatched from man’s desire
For speed and power; your wings reflecting light
Though flightless; your call deep-throated, fierce,
Protecting your domain; while after dark
You dominate the twilight world; illuminate
A thousand diamonds in your deep-set eyes,
Guiding the night-blind, flight-bound traveller.
Lord of the highways; yet ever slave to men
Who, through their random acts of folly,
Could destroy your symmetry, your beauty,
Leaving behind a burnt-out, hollow shell.
Nanette Maver, Swindon, Wiltshire
You can read more poems from In The Mind's Eye below:
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ALWAYS SHOW PEOPLE A LOVELY SMILE
Always show people a lovely smile
Always promote love all the while
In every foot, yard, acre or mile
Let love spread, the feelings of a happy child
Embrace love, love isn’t vile
As a man of wisdom, wisdom I love to compile
Tune in always into my profile
That’s the way I roll, that’s my style
Owen Dale
Owen Dale, of East Dulwich, London, has been writing since he was 21 years-old and has had a poem published in The Voice newspaper. Owen, who also loves songwriting, has two children and is influenced by people and nature. “I would like to be remembered as a person who elevates people by bringing joy to them through words,” he said. His ambition is to be a successful writer and be known all over the world. He would like to meet Muhammad Ali, and his worst nightmare would be to run out of inspiration. “If I couldn’t write anymore, there would definitely be tears!” he said.
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SOLDIER ON
In the quiet and the darkness I am here
With the daily pain and suffering I fear
No liberty to even shed a tear
Be silent, be still, soldier on
My intelligence and my beauty I must hide
From the cruel regime I must abide
For one thing they cannot take is my pride
Be silent, be still, soldier on
With the glimmering of hope I see the light
Freedom no longer out of sight
No punishment for putting up a fight
Be silent, be still, soldier on
But until that day
I shall dream away
From the cell in which I have to stay
I will be silent, I will be still, I will soldier on
Sarah Guthrie
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A TREASURE MAP
The factory reprocessed old worn tyres,
Found in a mountain home,
They remoulded them onto footpaths,
Like sturdy memory foam.
They added bright colours that sparkled,
And a Braille alphabetic zone,
For sensitive feet, that comforted bones,
Like a treasure map, where everyone roams.
Pauline Whitworth
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IN THE ART ROOM
I start to make a motion with my hand
In warning that the teacher is quite near,
They see me and they fully understand
That innocent is what we must appear.
So we push all documents well out of sight
And o’er our drawing try to look intent,
Weird shapes on paper now no longer white
But over it we really must be bent,
But she saw us and she’s angry
And she tells us so quite plain,
Get up to that back seat, she cries,
And don’t come back again.
Ann McNair
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REMEMBRANCE COUNTRY GARDEN
I sit alone in silence
In the remembrance country garden
As I shed a tear of sorrow
With thoughts of past and present
The flowers in their fine array
Amidst plaques of dedications
With warm rays of sunshine
Bringing comfort to the living
The memories of long time past
Came back as if it were yesterday
My parents, husband and relatives
Now at rest in the comfort of our Lord.
And as I rose to take my leave
I felt grateful to feel alive
With clear blue skies, the birds and wildlife,
My family and friends.
Jim Carlin
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LET’S SAVE THE WORLD
With the world’s troubles held in deferment,
The mind’s eye fights back with common sense,
Surely someone with ingenuity can adapt keep-fit machinery
To turn human energy into the power the world demands.
Via earphones exciting stories could be read,
Or mental arithmetic calculated in heads,
Stimulation to education, while turning wheels on stationary bikes,
Or row with nowhere to go.
Keep a belt moving, marching feet on longest hikes,
Turning cogs for energy creation, to share with every nation.
Make power to purify sea water, for drinking and irrigation of
parched land.
Life giving, every drop counts, imagine no more droughts,
It will need channels pipes cannels dikes,
Could moderate floods into man made lakes.
And plastic base organic waste, good soil make,
The edges of deserts to replace.
What a happy world, everyone employed, all doing their best.
But oh, with more debit than profit, who will invest?
Patricia Stuckey
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DAWN AWAKING
Dawn awaking, morning display,
Colours appearing, glorified picture.
Goodbye to darkness, welcome to light,
Quiet surrounds the open land.
Second by second, combined shades,
Risen and golden, view of splendour.
A slight smile created by nature,
Paused moment, echoed still.
Mark Gittings
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LAGER LOUTS
There’s something awesomely devout,
About the British Lager Lout.
Such gross commitment to the cause,
Of lager drinking without a pause.
This dedicated lunatic,
Imbibes until he’s feeling sick.
And when he can no longer sup,
Relieves himself by throwing up.
With Loadsavomit on the floor,
He finds he’s now got room for more.
And so he sets to with a will,
In one sustained, prodigious swill.
He knocks it back, he pours it down,
He urinates around the town.
And when at last he’s had his fill,
He goes out looking for The Bill.
Arthur O’Keefe
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CASCADING TRAIL
It was nice to learn that she had so many friends.
In their hundreds of thousands they had descended
On Westminster Abbey and beyond to say their farewells
To the loveliest Queen of Hearts on Earth.
The lady from the USA, who struck up with me a conversation
Was not the only one who couldn’t come to terms
With the sad fact. To cope with the loss and pain she set to return
To the glorious July day of 1981, when the world’s love
Affair with Princess Diana began, and especially when
She and her prince emerged after vows made
Before St Paul’s Cathedral. Still now, in my mind’s eye
The American recalls, I can picture the princess
In her splendid Victorian gown,
Trimmed with pearls and extended by a long trail.
What a thrill it was to watch it cascading
Over the stairs of the world-famous church,
The best venue for the wedding of the twentieth century.
It inspired the royal bride to feats of greatness, to be hailed
A humanity’s champion. That house of God
Heroically defied assaults in the Second World War,
Assured all of a victory in store.
Lucy Carrington
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O TELL ME THE TRUTH ABOUT THE MIND
If I play I Spy with my mind’s little eye,
What do you think I shall find?
The brain is reassuringly physical,
Housed snugly inside the skull,
But where and what is the mind?
Philosophers have written volumes in profusion,
Yet in their floundering profound confusion,
Are unable to arrive at a mutual conclusion.
Some write the word brain or mind,
As if they were interchangeable.
Are the mind and brain infrangible?
Or does the mind intangible
Not dwell with the brain at all
But is awareness within the soul?
Will the mind live on when we’re dead and gone?
Angry scholars will scoff and say,
This pretentious peasant pretends to write as if he knew,
But we are very cross indeed and say it will not do.
Geoffrey Martin
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YOU’RE REALLY THERE
I’ve always wanted someone like you,
When times get hard, to see me through,
You really, truly understand,
We were meant to meet, like it was planned.
I told you some things, you didn’t run away,
I think you’re here for the long haul, you’re here to stay,
I’m amazed you understand everything I say,
We were meant to meet, meant to happen this way.
I still can’t believe you’re really there,
I always thought my situation wasn’t fair,
But now you’re here, taking the pain away,
I find myself smiling more each day.
It’s nice to know I’m not alone,
Each time we write, or use the telephone,
I’m so glad you’re here, being so true,
I’ve got one question: Can I keep you?
Michéle Wood
"Dedicated to Kimberlee Jandreau and Ted Cross, much love to you both."
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SOARING
Flying high on tempest wings,
On surging waves, and mountain slopes,
Savouring the freedom that it brings,
Aligning the spirit with highest hopes.
Seeing the world from a different view,
From the core within yourself,
Feeling that, with all things new,
This could mean your greatest wealth.
Release from your own doubtful ego,
Becoming the person you have always wished,
In your mind’s eye, seeing it all below
A panorama to be attained, and not missed.
How trapped we feel in daily life,
Routine and toil taking their toll,
So, take a break from stress and strife,
Go spiritual soaring; make life whole.
Frederick Cutler
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DREAMCARPET
I lie down on a simple rug of natural, undyed wool.
Looking closely, I discover that there are secrets in the uneven thread, trying to emerge ... they take on form, and grow colourful.
I run my hands across the weave; it feels both smooth and hard.
Natural objects and findings have been adjusted, prepared, and included in the homespun base, and make this piece a work of art.
The more I gaze, the more the rug reveals its imagery.
Visions appear, they dwindle or grow, shifting and changing, and I know that I am the weaver of the dreams they evoke in me.
Dorothea Breitzter-Kings
"Dedicated to Pete, my soulmate and travel companion on the
fascinating, if sometimes slippery, path towards understanding,
creativity, freedom and love."
Dorothea Breitzter-Kings said: “I have been writing poetry along with my painting and drawing ever since I was young. For me,
visual art and well-crafted words complement and enrich one
another. The collections I have been working on for many years are made up of both, and I enjoy them as a far, contemporary echo of the medieval manuscripts I find so beautiful. Meditation is a
constant source of inspiration to me, as is nature and the cycle of the seasons. I love going for walks and find the remarkable present everywhere. All I need to be inspired is already here, right under my feet.”
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ECSTASY
Birthday girl of eighteen years,
Only a while before the thrill of ecstasy kills.
Teenage room of disco music wills the girl to dive and dance,
To take a chance of popping a pill, positive she won’t be ill,
Nothing can kill a girl so young!
By the midnight hour the death knell will be rung.
Never to know the true ecstasy of life.
Betty Fenton
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