Read Poetry from Poetry By Moonlight
Below is the winning poem, The Debt of Midnights Past by Mark Niel of Milton Keynes.
THE DEBT OF MIDNIGHTS PAST
It was our trademark
The midnight swim
Under license of exotic climes
Sultry breeze and wine's beguiling kiss
Clothes describe hieroglyphs in the sand
The waves forget by morning
Leaving the moon our only witness
Not the first secret we entrusted to his keeping
Waters embrace and caress
Hold us in its swell
Eternity exhausted in a moment
Of abandon and nakedness
Years on, the moon still remembers
Winks when his face is full, smiling still
The unease of an unreturned favour gnaws
What will he ask for his silence?
Mark Niel, Milton Keynes, Buckinghamshire
It took a long time for Mark Neil to confess to his secret addiction.
“I remember it well,” he revealed. “It was on May 2nd 2008 that I finally plucked up the courage to stand up in public and admit - I am a poet.”
Since then Mark has been on a very steep and very exciting learning curve, culminating in his first success.
Mark has been chosen as national winner of a poetry competition which had 6000 entries.
The free-to-enter competition, entitled Poetry By Moonlight, was run by United Press and received entries from all over the UK.
The main judge was United Press Managing Director, Peter Quinn, who said, “Mark’s poem is a passionate and very romantic reminiscence about something he actually did - moonlight skinny-dipping with his wife!”
Mark (45) has been writing poetry for 12 years, but only took it up seriously 18 months ago.
“Soon after that, I gave my first reading in my home town of Milton Keynes,” said Mark. “When I stood up and read my first poem it was like admitting my addiction - as if I was an alcoholic.”
Since then, Mark has gone on to set up Tongue In Chic, a Milton Keynes reading group which meets at the Madcap Performing Arts Centre and draws audiences of around 60 people, 20 of whom give readings.
Mark is also a regular guest poet on BBC Three Counties Radio and writes and records a regular sports poem for them. He’s also given readings at poetry nights, from Birmingham to London. He’s very keen on amateur dramatics. He sings, acts, and writes plays. He is married to Denise and works in financial services.
CLIPS OF A MOONLIT NIGHT
He is too stingy of love and respect,
Retreats quickly the glimpse and surpasses her by,
Impresses his shadows to the flowers in the night,
Fluttering with reasons against a lullaby.
The girl walks alone in the moonlight,
Sparkling eyes like a diamond shining against sky.
The moon sighs with cool light on her tearful smile,
Sings blues gently through the leaves of pine.
Intoxicating with youth and beauties whirling along,
He plays Mozart rejoicing over sweetheart.
Although he stares secretly at the moonlit lady,
Who flashes by like an idyllic himself passed years by.
Yuhong Ding, Worcester, Worcestershire
Yuhong Ding graduated with a Masters degree in Computing and a Bachelor degree in English Culture and Literature. She works as a web developer for an English organization and lives alone with easy attitude toward life. She said: “I dream of life with happiness, love, without shadows. I would like to close my eyes to the dark side of life, and reflect sunshine; pursue better life, even in difficult situations. With the poetic view of life, I express my ideology with a touch of gentleness to humanity.”
THE SPORT OF KINGS
Thud of hooves, flying grass, Royal Ascot, fancy hats,
High rise flats, breadline blues, threadbare trousers, worn out shoes.
Henry born with silver spoon, world’s his oyster? Will be soon,
Joe was born a miner’s son, unemployed, prospects none.
City job, never there, Oxbridge boss doesn’t care,
Signing on day, not on time, prying snoopers, heavy fine.
One more snifter, it’s OK, Aston Martin knows the way,
Winners picked, money’s spent, £10 on from this week’s rent.
Wire’s raised, horses run, inside info, Henry’s won,
Joe’s excitement, huge sensation, sinking stomach, desperation.
Laughs and cheers that winning brings, blows the lot on useless things,
Torn up slips, broken dreams, unpaid bills, accusing screams.
Evening ball, here comes Henry, won again and he’s got plenty,
In the bar among the boozers, stands little Joe, the King of Losers.
John Keirnan, Kenilworth, Warwickshire
NATURE’S MEDICINE
Aspilla mossambicensis
A.africana
Bertholletia excelsa
Arnca mortana,
Mix it all into a paste.
Hydrocarpus kurzii
Podophyllum pelatatum
Guaiacum officianale,
Just one stem will do.
Taxus brevifolia
Vinca rosea
Treat the afflicted one with haste.
Silybum marianum
Rosa canina,
And if this remedy fails to work,
Take paracetamol times two.
Mandy Laird-Robertson, Strathaven, Scotland
A DREAM FULFILLED
Moonlight streamed across the hills, air was eerie and still,
The heathers smelt pungent, grasses sweet, but I remained there my dream to fulfil.
Behind clouds the moon disappeared, leaving no light at all,
I listened intently, but heard no sound, not even the Nightjars call.
For hours I waited in cold and wet, Was I wasting my time?
But driven on by keen desire, I watched for any sign.
Suddenly the moon reappeared, I began to move and then-
Before me, surrounded by swirling mist, I saw him, The Monarch of the Glen.
Silently he stood before me, nostrils flaring, antlers high,
A magnificent beast, regal and proud, outlined against the sky.
My heart stood still, I held my breath, I was taken by surprise, I saw him there, and in that moment, couldn’t believe my eyes-
For he held my gaze, looked away, then looked my way again
Then disappeared into the mist as silently as he came.
Jan Imeson, Allington, Lincolnshire
SEEK GOD WITH EVER OPEN EARS
Come
Hear, Christ is calling you
Hear His voice
It is just dawning, it is just birthing in you
You've been deaf for so many years
Only hearing what you want to hear
So Christ's
Words just fall away
Because you have deaf ears
But Christ has mercy
He will help you take away your fears
He will open your ears to Him
He will release your fears
He will give you harmony
Giving you back your years
Opening up your hardened heart
So helping you deal with all your fears
Giving you an expressive heart
Will thus show you how God feels
For Christ is calling you
Anne Hadley, Slough, Berkshire
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WHEN DID SOMETHING LIKE THIS HAPPEN
It was not meant to be so
But when did
Something like this happen?
At what precise moment
Did the clock
Stop ticking?
Oh, tell me when,
At what dreaded hour
Did spring stop to rein
And rainbows lost its splendour?
History hasn't marked
The seconds,
When flowers withered,
Birds ceased to sing,
Butterflies fluttered no dreams
Oh, tell me, tell me,
When did something
Like this happen?
Oh, tell me truly,
When did I become so old?
Lily Bhattacharya, London
MY MOON MY WAY
Ponder in the dark of night
Find words are strong or light
Does it help a darkened cloak
Holding all around trees of oak
Betwixt the branches see a glow
They must be stars twinkling so
And looking west cloud passes by
Revealing what behind does lie
Clear and round and shining bright
A special moon and glowing light
The garden now a different zone
Let’s sit -look - though not alone
The lilies stand tall and straight
Wait in greeting at my gate
Move on down my growing garden
Pieris maple I’m their warden
Guarding all that needs nature’s water
A wondrous sight for small granddaughter
Her future is night and day
Moon stars rain sun - her way
Diana Mercer, Raynes Park, Greater London
BEAUTIFUL CREATIONS
Our Lord gave us many gifts
When he gave us life on earth
In his wonderful creations
For each and all to share
The splendour of the universe
And galaxy of stars
Man's travels to the distant planets
And sealife of the deep
The beauty of the countryside
With fresh green fields and meadows
Flowers, birds, and wildlife
Each of many species
All loving animals of the earth
The angels to us all
The love of friends and family
In our times of grief and strife
And when it's time for us to go
Our Lord will come and lay us to rest
To make ready for another life
With the birth of a new born infant
Jim Carlin, Barnstaple, Devon
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THERE’S A PLACE
There’s a place where snowflakes
Slip from grey satin skies
Pirouetting white stars
Where rolled heather carpets slumber.
Whispering winds twist over crisp, crackling diamond frosts
Where lace lichens cling like the hands of a child.
Velvet mists drape where rainbows curl ribbons.
Ballerinas bend in branches
Throwing out arms filled with flowers.
Seas of long grass waver and ripple
Tossing hair to one side.
Trees embroider roots with needles
Threading through russet soil.
Hearts of men pulse with the earth
As worlds of wisdom beat beneath.
Threads of golden rain prickle and sweep
As larks twitter and swoop.
Choirs of angels weave their songs
Through the fabric of time.
There’s a place in our hearts where promises are kept
Where we can keep our beloved hills
Locked up with our love forever.
Patti Savage, Shevlock, Cornwall
ARE YOU MY LOVE?
Are you the darling of my life?
Are you the love of my world?
You are the sun above the rain
I feel weak, am I insane?
You are to me just everything
I can’t eat or sleep, do anything
Let love conquer my broken heart
Just be with me, a timeless quest
What happens, happens for a reason
But I’ll never get over this romantic feeling
Of loving you till the day I die
With the arrow that struck
Stuck deep in my soul
Michael Avery, King’s Lynn, Norfolk
I DON’T WANT TO BE YOUR FRIEND
I realise I will never be
Everybody’s cup of tea
But if you send an invite to me
I expect you to be polite to me
Let me once more stipulate
I will not let you manipulate
To your will I won’t capitulate
Or let you bully or intimidate
I find you narrow, I find you closed
We are diametrically opposed
You only assumed, you just supposed
Your script for me was now composed
Into your orbit you will not pull me
Your lies and deceit do not fool me
You think you can always call me
That you can easily rule me
I will never give you power or control
You will have no thought patrol
I demand this is the end
I don’t want to be your friend
Diana Hunt, Rainham, Essex
Born in Redbridge, Diana Hunt has interests including theatre, cinema and travel. “I write because I find that it a great form of release and my work is influenced by conflict. I would describe my style as cynical and I would like to remembered as an unpredictable person,” she said. Aged 43, Diana lives with her partner Vic and the person she would must like to meet is Janet Street Porter. “She is strong and clever but still down to earth. I would also like to be Amy Winehouse for a day and my ambition is not to let my memories take over my dreams. My biggest fantasy is to be a published author of a bestseller and my pet hate is narrow-minded people. I have written short stories and many poems.”
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THE MOON ROSE
When the silver moon rides high
Like a brooch pinned to blue velvet night sky
I will give a rose for my hero’s return.
And the rose would bloom
In my tiny room
And the moon’s rays
Would tell of the days
Before my love comes back to me.
Across mountains of snow and valleys of green
Through foreign fields I’ve never seen,
And I, alone, can only surmise
Of unknown lands, but under the same sunrise.
Will it be this day, this month, this year?
Oh happy my heart for it will be
The end to this veil of tears
And our misery.
Lynn Tyler, Gillingham, Kent
GALAXY ACROSS THE SKY
A galaxy across the stars into the heavens,
Twinkling lights glimmer in the darkness,
Into the intense emotions of the midnight blue sky,
Looking out into the world beyond our vision,
Contemplations of all the encompassing cosmos,
Wonders of the universe under the horizon,
Twilight descends in the mesmerising night,
As the moon shines above the elemental evening,
Tides draw across the infinite seas,
Endless dreams in an unending sleep,
In the fall of the night time shadows,
Wishes in the hope of the secret heart,
Walking in the magical mists of the dusk,
Thousands of stars scattered across the skies,
Like the myriads of the marvellous milky way,
Yet the entirety of life beneath its being,
Is in the moments of conscious and mortal bliss,
As the crescent moon appears translucent pale,
In the theatre is the passion of the night,
Inspires poetry under the moonlit stars.
Elizabeth Tittensor, Richmond, Surrey
RENEWAL
I picked myself a rose in the cool of the evening
A pretty red rose to comfort my heart
I sank in its scent as the senses were muted
And my soul rested safe in the dark.
Letting sadness and anger flow mingled beyond me
With unspoken prayers did I rise above fear
Till the demons had flown and all life closed around me
And once more could feel all I held dear.
Though numbed as to what the future might hold
I had battled the storm in the absence of sun
For wrapped in the warmth of the love that had bound me
There was promise, forgiveness and hope to live on.
Ann McNair, Verwood, Dorset
ON A NIGHT LIKE THIS
On a night like this, I remember it still,
Tasting my sorrows like a bitter pill,
Internal tears brought no relief,
Cold as hailstones, testing belief.
What comfort I drew, oh, silvery moon,
Submerged in memories, future looked gloom,
Then all of a sudden, jubilation approaching,
Magnificent music, a mystery unfolding.
Closer and louder, glorious, divine,
A rapturous blanket of healing sublime,
Sky’s mighty orchestra, angelic parade,
Unknown symphonies, powerfully played.
This travelling ocean of maestros devotion,
Melted my sorrows away,
Oh, silvery moon, you enlightened my gloom,
On a night like this, we shared heavenly bliss.
Pauline Whitworth, Wigan, Greater Manchester
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WHEN YOU COME HOME
Over sparkling unbroken snow we’ll walk, crisp wind
stinging our faces, misting our eyes with tears and
whipping flurries of snow in our path.
By Semmerwater, under Kilnsey, up Ingleborough, we’ll hear the curlews calling, early, above the world in the dales of our county, where the hills soar to the skies.
By moonlit waters, over silvered sands
We’ll run and madly chase, breathlessly
Throwing convention (and our shoes) to the wind and splash our feet in summer evening seas.
In shadowy firelight we’ll sit
Hand in hand, silently listening,
While varied music fills the room;
Sibelius, Hazlewood and Mozart.
And home we’ll be in the peace,
For all this, and forever
In each other, in our hands,
And interwoven ribbons of love.
Avril Peace, Huddersfield, West Yorkshire
BEDROOM, SKYLIGHT, FANTASY
From the skylight window I saw
Rocks playing a moon, lune, tune
Is there life up there? I wondered
Scientists will tell us soon
If life is made from a trickle of water
Perhaps these aliens only grow shorter?
Like Alice who followed poor, blind mole
And ventured down a rabbit hole
Visitors to outer space
Might well discover a very strange race
Of folk so advanced they know how to dance
Make love and take a space ship to France
But for my part I’m not sure that it’s true
I’ll stick to earth, I’ll stick like glue
Barbara Tozer, Caterham, Surrey
BOXED MIND
I open my walk in cupboard,
Finally, after years of loneliness.
Door hinges creak with layers of rust.
Boxes piled up to the ceiling.
A loud word, a stern look, they might crash,
Like my mind, scattered, collecting dust.
Carefully shifting those, one by one,
Time well spent separating layers of papers.
Ripping, shredding and burning the waste.
Remaining treasures restocked,
Shamelessly files and tided with love.
The cupboard cleaned and fragranced in haste.
Cobwebs gone, corners lighted and lined.
Fresh air now circulating my uncluttered mind.
Silke Broadbent, York, North Yorkshire
NIGHT SKY
The moon glows dim, a creamy, crunchy snowball
Dipped in rich, black, thick treacle.
Lightly shaken silver dust falls
Spraying over earth’s sea and land below,
Lighting the coldest, darkest night,
Slowly turning, eaten away,
A white crescent on the milky way.
Stars like finest snowflakes spread wide
Surounded by a burnt charcoal blanket.
Glistening sparks burning bright white,
Occasionally shooting fast across the sky
Highlighting the coolest, darkest night.
Dying, flickering candlelights shimmer, shine
A million moments away in time.
Martine Gafney, London, Greater London
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BEAUTIFUL
Hear me oh beautiful one, for it is to you that I speak
More than a physical body, you are spirit
And a soul most beautiful
A being of pure energy, particles of light and universal love
Golden rays of sunshine, a mighty strength
If you only knew it
And silver beams of moonlight,
Soft and gentle in your grace
Like a fire fly shining, radiating a vibration of splendour
With the potential to do so much good in the world
By sharing life and lighting the way
For other beautiful souls,
To move forwards and onwards in peace, joy and in love
Marie Carr, Leeds, West Yorkshire
A FOLKSONG FOR THE MIDDLE-AGED
Come all you fellows, take your women up to bed.
Though you may be getting on a bit,
You’re a long way from dead.
Even at fifty it’s a wonderful thing:
That frolicsome feeling the full moon can bring.
Come all you women, take your fellows up to bed.
Though you may be getting on a bit,
You’re a long way from dead.
Even at fifty it’s a wonderful thing:
That frolicsome feeling the full moon can bring.
Come all you couples, off up to bed.
Though you may be getting on a bit,
You’re a long way from dead.
Even at sixty it’s a wonderful thing:
That frolicsome feeling the full moon can bring.
Patrick O’Shaughnessy, Boston, Lincolnshire
DO YOU BELIEVE?
Do I believe it’s true? I don’t quite know
So why can’t I let the idea go?
It’s a fascinating subject, ghosts, are they for real?
You can’t always see it, it’s something you feel
It’s talked about from day to day
Some people see and don’t want to say
It’s too scary for others, they’re in denial
They feel if they say anything, they’re on trial
Others don’t care, and say what they think
They don’t care if they’re thought by others
To be on the brink
It’s an iffy subject that’s not talked about
Some people brag, to get attention and shout
Personally for me, I know they are there
Providing warnings, to show they care
Life isn’t always easy, it’s a difficult ride
But I know I’ve got extra help by my side
Michéle Wood, Scunthorpe, Lincolnshire
POETIC PORTRAITURE
Pensive, passive, peaceful
Paisley, pastelled, palate portrait
Paramount priceless painting
Panoramic penned peninsula
Pastures parade periphery pebbled perimeters
Paralleled picturesque paradise
Pendulous protruding ponderous poised palms
Pendulums perpetuating petulantly
Perpetuating, perpetuating
Poignant, pragmatic, perplexed puzzle, paradox
Perhaps pandora’s box
Perhaps parody
Porcelain pearled paled pillowed planet
Pensile posture, pedalled posed, prosper proposed
Philosophy portraiture, phantasm, phenomenons
Poet’s palate, pursuing passage
Purpose, passion, perception
Pulsating pulse pursued, postured panache
Poet’s perspective, poetic license
Pages partially parallel psyche
Poetic portraiture, fantasy, fact, fiction
Alison Stone, Stoke-on-Trent, Staffordshire
MY MOTHER'S IMAGE
There stood my mother as plain as could be
She blew me a kiss and said she loved me
The scene was incredible, magic and bright
As I looked out on the moonlight
She hadn't changed since the day she died
Lovely and happy, bursting with pride
The moments we shared were special and surreal
I just wished that she could feel
How much I missed her everyday
But then suddenly that glimpse in the moonlight
Began to fade away
Maureen Kenny, Redditch, Worcestershire
Dedicated to the loving memory of my beautiful mum, June Sweetman, my guardian angel.
Maureen Kenny said: "I have written the odd poem over the years, but when I suffered a cavernoma of the brain, resulting in epilepsy and a stroke, my confidence was very much affected and I felt unable to cope with situations in everyday life. However, I am fortunate that the one thing I love is poetry and my inspiration to write has greatly increased with an enormous appetite. My family are very supportive of my work. I want them to know I love them all and appreciate them being there for me."
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