Read Poetry From The Power Of Poetry
Powerful Poem Wins Prize For Cornish Writer
A poet from Penzance has won a national competition for one of his poems. Derrick Roach (75) was chosen as winner from over 3,000 entries from all over the UK.
As his prize he wins £100 and publication of his poem in a book. He also receives a free copy of the book.
“We invited poets from all over the country to write on the theme The Power Of Poetry,” said Peter Quinn of United Press, which ran the competition. “Derrick’s poem A Poet’s Art was chosen because it’s a creative and imaginative interpretation of exactly how powerful poetry can be.”
“I’m really thrilled about winning the competition,” said Derrick. “I’m quite new to poetry and only took it up a few years ago. I was inspired by a course I took in Penzance called Link Into Learning. I submitted work I did on this course to publishers and the first poem I wrote was published. Since then I’ve become quite prolific. I would recommend poetry to anyone. It’s a great way of expressing your feelings. As well as having poetry in print I’ve also just had a short story published.”
Derrick has also published a collection of his poetry, As I Was Saying which is dedicated to his late wife. Derrick worked 19 years with British Rail, then joined Penwith District Council and retired as chief cashier 17 years ago.
You can read Derrick's winning poem below.
A POET'S ART
A poet paints a picture in 3D,
using words taken from his palette.
A description of autumnal leaves on a tree,
Flowing words that inspire me. I love it.
Words that convey bittersweet memories
Of a love transcending all that’s held dear.
Or the sadness of families, torn apart by tragedies.
A war machine that’s viewed with trembling fear.
Brilliant words that cover thoughts and feelings.
Colourful words that enhance the emotion.
The cut and thrust of national political dealings.
Oil on troubled waters, massages like healing lotions.
Wonderful memories, caresses, a lover’s kiss,
A child’s smile, the smell of a baby’s nursery.
Lands End to John O’Groats, legends and myths.
Tales that make the power of poetry.
Derrick Roach
Below you can read excerpts of other work from poets published in The Power Of Poetry.
MINUS ZERO
Shovelling snow at minus zero
Is hardly fodder for a shovelling hero.
But I remember when I used to ride a sledge,
Veering mysteriously close to the edge.
When all civilisation seemed immersed in ice
And I commanded every mischievous device
To circumnavigate a colossal sea of rice.
Galvanised by the chill’s beckoning cantata.
Whilst, agog in the distance, I’d hear a robin’s vibrato.
Careering headlong but never living in an igloo,
Serenading the snow storm as if by voodoo -
Like a minus zero pierrot.
John Matthew
John Matthew said: “I am glad this book is entitled The Power Of Poetry, because that gives me the opportunity to try to increase the intensity of my poetry. Also, I have been greatly encouraged in all manifestations of my written material by another art form and outlet, my songwriting. So far, I have received two awards from the USA in connection with my song material. Therefore, it is my goal to continue with both literary and musical directions.”
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THE WORLD (ME)
The world is making me bad, corrupting me.
It’s stopping others from trusting me.
I see bright lights but cannot see
Undisguised truth of deep beauty.
My vision is corrupted. Is the world to blame?
Is it not me who craves for attention and fame?
I have no values, I am never the same.
Recognise me by my faults, my name.
Is it I corrupting the world, making it bad
By caring about things that make us all sad?
Looking for thrills and fun to be had.
Inventing identities, driving all mad.
Need to recreate the world, losing the I,
The me, the mine, the I, the my.
Destroy this poem and look from the sky,
At a world in which I’m just a mere fly.
I see bright lights but clearly see,
It isn’t the world that’s corrupt, it’s me.
Perhaps this is it, am I finally free?
No. Not ‘til I release my obsession
With me.
Emma Claire Davis
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POETIC LICENCE
I am a poem
In search of a poet
My reason for being is
Clouded in creative secrecy
And incisive ambiguity
I’ll try to capture the world for you
Where others have always failed
Bound firm yet flowing free
As multifaceted imagery
But I shall let no colour escape
From my literary kaleidoscope
As a choice of rhyme or a blank iamb
Or with childlike simplicity
This crafted glass can readily become
A convex mirror
Illuminated in a poet’s corner
Enhancing the reflection
Of an inspired beholder
In every
Sense of the word
Aidan Alemson
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LATE POST
There’s no black border nowadays
Around the envelope,
Only a catch of frost
Upon the breath,
Slitting life from life.
How much to ask, how much to say?
We hoped for answers, even though
We could not frame the questions.
They scrawled their signatures and went away
Beyond the reach of postal services.
When one has left no forwarding address,
There’s just that envelope;
No chance at all to trace
The letters that went missing in the post.
Helen Nisbet
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DARWIN’S GOD
So might not God,
In all his splendour,
Want us to think
And then remember
That we, who call ourselves his progeny,
Are indivisible from Him
And from each other,
Being part
Of one vast consciousness
Which is our destiny?
And though we’re indissoluble,
We’re also so invaluable to God,
As individuals,
That being who and what we are
Is what he wants for us,
And what He wants to be
Our guiding star.
Geoff Callow
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THE POWER OF POETRY
Drifting minds, imagination wildly dancing from image to image
Colour, taste, movement, rapture, bliss
These, I bring to you in the very special gift of poetry
Wrapped in love and the warmth of my spirit
Floating, darting, erupting with joy or pain
This is the power of poetry, transplanting my thoughts into your heart
What shall I paint for you with glorious words and clever sentence building?
A sense of heartache and wretchedness?
A taste of excitement and passion?
A blissful state of joy and peace?
Or shall I tell a story to make you laugh or weep?
I have this power through words and rhythm and pace
A power so great that it may move you to tears
Make you laugh or just experience a deep contentment
Or shall I pour out myself, so full of love and concern
Like all those great masters of this art?
Perhaps, instead I’ll offer myself, striving for love and peace
Imperfect and yet striving for perfection
To share my soul in a symphony of language for you
Lynne Bradbury
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ONLY HUMAN
Once I knew a little girl with innocent eyes
And shining curls.
Her days were spent in new found joy,
Time spent with friends, life to employ.
Her world was then ‘adventure place’,
The worry frown not touch her face.
Too soon her teenage years did loom,
Pulled her down into the gloom.
To be one of the crowd, to be like all the rest,
Gave herself and all her joy
To a moment’s pleasure with a boy.
Inside her now new life does swirl,
No more can she be little girl.
The twisted web of all her fears
Tells her this child cost sixteen years.
Peggy Rolland
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THE DREAM
Exciting dreams of fantasy, light up the evening sky.
While swinging on a star, watching fluffy clouds scud by.
Flying high with golden angels, through multicoloured space.
Losing all our inhibitions, as we glide with style and grace.
Sliding down a rainbow, with colours rich and bright.
Cherubs with dazzling halos, joining in with great delight.
Catching sparkling stardust, falling from the moon above.
As we listen to heavenly voices, singing melodies of love.
We blink our eyes to realise, we are back on Mother Earth.
And all was just a fantasy, then chuckle with great mirth.
Feeling peace yet knowing all, was not just as it seemed.
We sigh and wish to stay forever, in the magic of our dreams.
Margaret Stephenson
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THREE-INCH STILETTOES
In three inch stilettoes
Her calves they were primed
Like a gazelle strolling the plains,
The thought just came into my mind.
She was aware of my attention,
However, her fears kept her mindful of lions.
I approached to within what I thought was pouncing distance
And gave her one of my well practiced grins.
I open my mouth to growl
But then couldn’t think of anything to say.
No, nothing at all.
And so instead
I just pushed her to the ground
And sunk my teeth deep into her neck,
Which on reflection,
I do not think had the desired effect.
And that’s why I’m sat here in this cage
That you call a cell.
Glen Cooper
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FALLEN SOLDIER
Fallen soldier,
Broken wings.
Lifted spirit,
The sky’s the limit.
Heaven calls,
For the fallen soldier.
Fallen soldier,
The man is great.
The man has honour,
The war,
The strife,
The sacrificing of life.
Teaches me to value my own life.
Our fallen soldier.
Those who are standing,
The brave and strong.
Fighting the opposition for so long.
You are my mentor,
You are my guide.
You are so selfless and,
Your ignorance nowhere to hide.
Zoey O'Leary
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LONDON - HOST TO OLYMPICS 2012
May its special heartbeat
bewitch and excite.
London, like its River Thames, flows,
tugs at our heart strings
and wears so many colours,
swirling in and out in seasonal response.
May the Olympics of 2012
capture the true essence and ‘buzz’ of London,
beguiling, thrilling, dangerous.
Wander around theatre land early evening,
so tactile and magical, utterly mesmerising.
History intertwined with a myriad of surprises
and endless eating places!
Cultural delights at every turn.
Spacious parks and gardens cast a spell,
beautiful, serene and very green.
Definitely multi-cultural,
London challenges us all -
What a setting for the Olympics!
Margaret Ann Wheatley
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SHE DID IT FOR CHARITY
Julia Bradbury, the walking man’s crumpet,
Is taking all her clothes off,
She is nearly naked,
Now entirely nude.
My mother would have been horrified,
“Well really!” she would exclaim,
“How extremely rude!”
But mother dear, let me make it quite clear,
With my explanation of clarity.
Long gone are the days of the censorious glare,
That dreaded warning ‘Now then’!
All things we do,
Acquire honeyed virtue,
When we perform them for charity.
Geoffrey Martin
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SUNSET
Vapour trails across the sky
Turned pink,
The sun bright red
Reflected
On the sitting room wall.
The sky ablaze
Like the heart of a fire,
Then the colours fade
Into night.
The vapour trails are
Out of sight,
As darkness falls.
Joan E Knight
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THE WAR DOG
Struggling along the pathway,
Oceans seem between us,
How could you reach me?
Swim, or cross the bridge,
Rough seas and option, cross no!
The journey began, never seems to end,
Further you walked longer became the bridge,
Narrowing as you got closer,
Fearing the rough waters below.
Weak access ahead, freeze or not,
Your creaking bones continued through.
Winds swayed your path to me,
Beginning to run, the bridge grew longer,
Merciless not stopping, having you in my sights.
You didn’t give in making it at last,
It was worth it, one way, the way home.
With you by side we made it,
Zach, my hero, old soldier.
Sylvia Lacey
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MY HAVEN
I’m home, I’m home at last,
Closing the garden gate so fast,
going down the steps to the door,
Knowing the comfort and peace instore.
Opening up windows and patio door
Fresh air into the house did pour.
Collecting clean washing off the line
To iron into piles of yours and mine.
Preparing dinner whilst music played,
The wine poured and table laid.
Dinner smelling and tasting oh, so good,
Relaxing us all as I’d hoped it would.
Puffing up the cushions on the settee,
Making room for you and me.
Laying down my head to rest,
This is the home I like the best.
Hazel Barrett
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THE TREASURE HUNTER
I hunt for treasure,
But I look not for things that glitter,
I seek not the faceted gem, or the buried hoard.
That which I desire has no shine or lustre, no intrinsic value,
And those who value material wealth do not covet it.
It has not been hewn from the ground, melted, moulded or stamped.
But it is treasure, real treasure.
It’s not easy to find though it is all round.
Yet it is worth everything, and nothing.
For that which I seek is buried in the past,
In deed and dates, people and places.
The riches I collect are gems of knowledge, pearls of wisdom.
For this treasure is priceless to me.
To find it is to travel back in time.
And see words are fading from our conciseness.
It is to learn and understand,
To remember those who came before,
People like you and I; those we have forgotten.
And for that alone I am privileged.
Lindsay Hurlow
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RED LADY
Governed by the cyclic moon.
Comes in like a lion and out like a lamb.
Often known as an enemy, but to me she is a friend.
If disrespected, she brings trouble.
Try to curb her and she’ll make it double.
With tension and suspense.
And spirals of euphoria.
The mystery of red lady’s power.
A welcome visitor.
I make my home like a palace.
She gives me power.
She gives me strength, and creativity.
Visits me every month and stays for seven days.
Blossoms like a red geranium, then fades.
Rachel Van Den Bergen
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AFTERWARDS (AS ONE ABOUT TO DIE)
Please feel no guilt for
If you would seek out my grave
And stand over it
Letting the sweet smell of flowers
Touch your heart
Not too deeply lest it awaken
Your true love
And witness a flow of tears
And seemly utterance
That would disclaim the presence
You so long attended
Leaving your soul to heal
And memory to the singing birds,
Then I am honoured still.
Ann McNair
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PATH OF AN ANGEL
Thank you for letting me share your path of light
And the knowledge you gave me was always right
This path as had many twists and turns along the way
Now that you’ve gone what more can I do or say
Those parties at Christmas you gave they were happy times
Birthdays you never forgot and those little rhymes
If I were sad and upset a true friend that I could talk to
Loyalty and the trust that came from you
This path of light that I’ve shared with you
The laughter and your smile and your caring too
You’ve tried to make each ones dreams come true
The lottery and euro that you used to do
For many years I’ve had you as this angel by my side
And have helped me when the need be as my guide
Memories of you now that you’ve left this plain
Like a guardian angel I shall never forget your name
Reginald Durrance
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ANGHARAD
Fitful the sun, biting the wind
Against the miner’s pitted skin,
As he climbs the green hillside
To the chapel. Like teeth in senile gums
Crooked and discoloured are the tombstones,
Except for one, pristine, not yet scarred by time and weather,
Heading the grave of his young daughter.
Fleetingly lit by sun, fretted by wind,
The daffodils planted in her memory.
Long did he stare at them with raw intensity,
Willing, willing that they part and she bestir,
Rise, and run towards him, as of old,
To jump into his arms, heedless that what she wore
Would be soiled by his sooty pit-gear.
Clouded the sun, the wind’s piercing chill
On his pitted hands and cheeks, wet suddenly
By a Welsh downpour, drenching, spattering
With myriad tears each drooping daffodil.
He turned aside, went back down the green hillside,
Drained, bereft of hope, of dreams long harboured,
Buried, all deep buried now - with Angharad.
Lynne Munn
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LIVING YOUR LIFE
We should be proud of children everywhere.
They cope with disability, show love and care.
A parent’s love, the greatest love of all,
Will lift your spirit, won’t let you fall.
The uncertainties of life may get you down,
Remember those special people who are around.
To help you, let you know things will be alright,
Just wait and see, your future could be bright.
You must stay strong, don’t ever give in,
Just live your life, you could go on to win.
You could achieve your hearts desire,
If you truly believe you can aspire.
Susan Hymer
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ABUSIVE LIST
All that pain in your heart, your world torn apart.
This could be friend, family or foe, yes blood as you grow.
You were young and did not know, no signs to show.
You hid them throughout the years, being brave, suppressing fear.
Open up your heart, don’t let it tear you apart.
It will breed if you do nothing, you are it’s temptation!
Do you really want this for the next generation?
Force it out, out of its hole, only then you will feel whole.
Open it up, it won’t be missed, put it on the abusive list.
Could be a gun, a knife, an explosion too,
Or someone mentally, physically abusing you!
Do not give up because of the paths that you took,
For those paths are given to you, some will make you blue.
But you have a guardian angel just for you,
Power of abuse, please do not let it be you!
You got through.
Lorraine Chantell Williams
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NATURAL BEAUTIES
Summer submits to Autumn’s hold
Lays on a pavement, as ashes collapse to mulch
As its leaves brown, the brown from me leaves
Camouflage lost, we fall victim to breeze
Then Eve blows me over, with a goodnight kiss
Shows my good side, gives me a lift
Yet I hold my ground, and settle for Dawn
For she’s bright, and makes me feel warm
Even evergreens can’t stand Gale’s forced entry
But every summer love falls eventually
Swept under the rug by Mother Nature
Ice queen covers up, saving face and public favour
But the root of her problem springs up
Weeding out her weak links, she’s left stumped
Whilst Dawn opens up, letting confidence grow
Stays out longer now the fruits of her labour show
Only to be stripped and kicked to the curb
Begging to be swept up, instead of ground down to earth
But back in fashion next season, with a bipolar persona
Before Nature and Eden add her to annual turnover
Alec Hallam
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