Week 25 – entries and results

Week 25 – photograph by Roger Leege

Six wonderful poems, however there can be just one winner and this time it is Mermaid Out of Water by Alison Hill. Congratulations to Alison and thanks you as always for submitting and voting.


Poem 1

Mermaid Out of Water

She’s stranded, red hair gleaming,

scales about to fall.


She’s dreaming, longing for silken waters,

a surface to skim, to dive beneath.


We watch intently, waiting for her mask to slip

but she’s waiting too, sitting out her life


on her pedestal, waiting for pennies to slide

her way, for people to give in, go home.


She’s tired and her silver limbs are aching,

she longs to swim, to dip and dive.


Her time will come – she’ll raise her parasol,

swish her scales free and be gone.


Alison Hill



Poem 2



Walking from the window

into the red paved courtyard

she strips the taffeta dress

from her blanched body

its folds cascade fusing

with the stream of a shawl,

parasol and wide brimmed

hat rippling from her feet.


Beneath a madder of hair

her lids close in contemplation

as nails rip the rejected ruches,

bare breasts bulge a chemise,

her muscles sparkle life, health

as a candle of cash charges

the vase of acceptance sheafs

rejected in the vacated cave

where the accepted dance

in the crimson lit window.


Carolyn O’Connell


Poem 3

Woman, why are you so still?


Woman, why are you so still?

Woman, why are you silver?

The world wants women who move

When religion says, ‘move’,


When commerce says ‘dance’,


Gold women.


Yet you, with your one still

Breast and your one black shoe

And your dress

Papery as a wasp nest,

And your money jar,

And your red hair,

Are still and silver.


Who will you sting like this?

Who will pray at your foot?

Who will pay?


Woman, why are you silver?

Woman, why are you so still?


Michael Docker


Poem 4

Silver Linings


You pray that one day, the girl

in that dress will undress –

will stress you with the way

she moves. Her left breast

falling at the edges, her hands

full of a hope you’ll never know.


You watch her every day;

the High Street windows steam

with a milky dream of blood

red colour leaving stains;

memories still damp

on the spare pillow


She may wait for you… The

solid paving speaking words

your feet can’t say. Clouds gather,

casting shadows – her dress

reflecting the fading

silver lining of your fear.


Hannah Teasdale


Poem 5


Arianrhod – Goddess of the Silver Wheel


Every morning I come to this same spot,

Daubed in silver regalia and paint.

I’m timeless from both the future and past,

Beguiling you with my statuesque poise.


Whilst I stay still and august, thoughts race by:

Will they call-back from my last audition?

I only have money for two months’ rent.

Why my dad left home when I was just twelve?

I wish I hadn’t drunk so much sweet tea.


More thoughts come as I’m the silver angel:

I wonder what my girlfriend is doing.

I’m feeling a bit rough, still hung-over.

Here’s the weirdo again, photos, staring.

I should call my mum more; must take a break.


A voice speaks soft, the true silver angel’s.

She calmly tells me that all will be well,

My gnawing viral distress starts to ease.

Bringing calm like she did when I was twelve,

The bright light inside frees my mind and heart


She sings a calming hymn.  I push aside

All my worries, fears, doubts and surroundings.

Time melting away for the next few hours,

I didn’t even feel the rain falling.


Kevin Eagles


Poem 6

She sat,

her mind on a million things,

plucking at ideas,

to stop them falling

and fading,

trying to grasp the hem

of a thought as it passed her


hid beneath

the fold

of the other ideas

that would change

the world.

If she could only contain

them, carry them around

in a jar

and show  them,

then they would believe.

The money

and time

would come,

she could see it


Her head glowed

with the promise of



as her husband waited with the

engine running.


Angie Butler