Printerinks Poetry Competition Winner Announced

Printerinks Poetry Competition Winner Announced


The Printerinks Poetry Competition has officially ended.  We have had hundreds of entries and the competition was particularly tough this year as there were so many incredible poems.  But, after much deliberation, our amazing Judge, Pamela Koehne-Drube has picked a winner and so we’re now ready to announce the winner of Printerinks Poetry Competition 2017. And the winner is (*drumroll*):

Changes by Lucy Waters

The moon is smudged,

Like a jewel on blotting paper,

And the rushing sky

Riven with cloud so it mirrors the sea,

Is the blood of a fractured pen,

There’s music which soundtracks your departure

But the rippling rhythm is not enough to settle the riff in your stomach.

Phantom headlights ignore you as they pass

And you can’t help but look over your shoulder

at the chasing memories

But they’re fading fast on the unheeding horizon,

The road ahead is unfathomable,

Your parents won’t take your eyes from it,

you begrudge their insolence,

Their torrential downpour,

The view from the windscreen is beautiful,

How rude,

How spiteful of it to be so vivid,

So vibrant,

Compared to the back,

You never see the hopeful looks

Or inspiring countenance of the stage,

The sky is too blue

Though it’s the same as the one you’ve always been under,

The road is too long

Though you had to take it to get to the start,

The front is too big,

Too different,

And it changes.

Pamela Koehne-Drube selected Lucy as our winner because: The imagery in Lucy’s poem is deep and immersive.  It is a bitter-sweet poem that covers everything from loss to hope.  It tells of leaving something behind but moving toward something new.

Congratulations Lucy!

Runner up, Honourable Mention 1:

 

One T-Shirt

I watched you put your things away,

Some you folded neatly into perfect squares of fabric,

You couldn’t be more like you in this moment if you tried.

Some you stuffed into corners, like those old slippers I begged

You to throw away every time I saw their faded blue shuffle.

CDs, relics from the past, were laid neatly in boxes. Guns n Roses

Seemed to be a common theme amongst your belongings.

Amongst yourself.

You picked your way around the room,

Identifying what was meant for two and discarded it all.

Even the smell seemed to be packing its bags and leaving,

The faint aroma of musk and bergamot hung in the air,

Clinging, desperately to the curtains as though it didn’t want to go.

Up and down the stairs your brown boots thudded,

Each step a drop of sand in the timer that was running out.

The ignition started and I was left in my cell, alone.

All that was left, was one t-shirt.

By Harriet Allan

 

Runner up, Honourable Mention 2:

 

Youth

I think that I have mellowed,

In my final bursts of youth,

I see the world through tinted eyes

That show a sombre truth.

And yet, ‘tis not what wise owls tell,

‘tis calm; ‘tis smooth.

 

I think that there is reason

To believe in the superior.

To be upstanding, nay rejoicing,

For ideal hysteria.

For still it keeps one hopeful

Through hard days – inferior.

 

I think that there is fault,

On which my sex has stumbled,

To be just like their fathers;

To rush past those still humbled.

I know that it has taken

Sixteen years to enter boyhood

To scamper ‘long long riversides,

To marvel at still dull night-skies,

To bounce across the water,

Like a flat-stone skimmed upon its face,

And see a rainbow in that water,

Falling on a sacred place,

As evidence of presence,

Whose presence remains troubled.

 

I think that now my life will see

More frequent acts of grace,

The wild cat’s eyes will leave me lonely,

That I cannot face.

I know I run too fast through fields,

And yet a track of gracious love,

Will now set a-pace.

By  Alexander M Bickley

 

Runner up, Honourable Mention 3:

 

Caravan

The caravan has gone from the arms of the spooky tree

Taking with it, a little piece of me

Of my life, my soul and all I put into here

To only find myself as much of a memory as the

Lady who died in the stream.

Testament, perhaps

To impermanence

And woe of a wholly different kind.

No longer here, but in the mind.

By Tess Delaney

 

Runner up, Honourable Mention 4:

 

Exile:

My son was born without the power of speech, the secret police beat me while he was still in the womb. Hassan’s belly button disappeared as he grew older and he painted a cave of winds (a reference to his family I believe) on a butterfly’s wings, when Hassan slept a flower grew where his belly button used to be and the butterfly would rest on the flower as he slept. The photographs taken of the bombed village we left slept then blinked woken by desert storms hammering the shack. I saw a gun balanced on the flower as Hassan slept and it began to talk of a butterfly choking on the vapors of war and surviving. My thoughts became formless like the wind. I wrote our names on two sheets of paper throwing them into the night like two abandoned wings.

By Barry Carter 

 

Runner up, Honourable Mention 5:

 

1st night feeling.

Starting over again, running away

Looking for a safe place to stay

Hoping and praying it’ll be alright

And sleep can be undisturbed at night.

Arriving in refuge, room number two

No idea on what to do.

We’ve no money for food or toys

But I have reassurance & love for my boys.

Don’t know what fills me with more dread

Being alone & living or with him near dead.

Although I’ve left my abuse behind

Everything he said I still hear in my mind.

As my children sleep I give a gentle kiss

Hope I can find strength to get through this.

From my hell I’ve found some release

Now I’ll search for inner peace.

By Chevi Morgan

Thank you once again for all those that entered!

 

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