Week 47 – entries and results

Photograph by Lizzie Ballagher
Week 47 - Lizzie Ballagher

This week the readers chose Poem 1 – Strong as the winner. This is by Angie Butler. Congratulations Angie and thanks to everyone who sent on poems and/or voted.

Poem 1




You are strong, protective,

there in light and shade,


you bear my weight

when I cling to you,

support me when

I lean on you,

shelter my tears

even in the darkest night.



You sway to my moods,

creak and complain,

but always stand fast

and help me breathe.


Angie Butler


Poem 2

Last to Go

Mist hugs the dawn,
not yet ready to be torn from his lovers arms,
daylight struggles through the dark
your branches appear grasping
spreading towering above my head.
My hand strays to your naked bark
I beg for forgiveness to the silent world
and sit on damp leaves
at your solid base
in a fast shifting world.

Andrew Scotson


Poem 3

Lost to New

Dark dense greenwood,

Once upper haven to owls

And reign of arrogant fauna

Now stands upright, flickering;

Remnants of the ‘lost’ silver box

Opened by the hungry wind,

Breaks the frozen silence

Zinnia of dust traverses to ‘new’ found city.


Denim Deka


Poem 4



This tree is many

springing from its base

stem stemming from stem

stretching up, extending

arcing acrobats and athletes

leaping without loosing themselves;

it doesn’t need to take flight

to establish its freedom,

this tree is one at the heel rooted in earth.

It has no boundary but tapers into the mist.


Derek Sellen


Poem 5
A tree is for life
lie beneath it’s noble spread
where twining branches
ease a fevered brain and leaves
gently soothe an aching heart


Martin John


Poem 6

At sixty I stand beneath this tree

Looking up, like being present at my own birth,

Looking  at all that might be

Knowing that through the filigree

Of possibilities some things have been,

Others have not. Nothing was seen


Back then.  I could not know

And no one else saw what I might be worth

Beyond my next breath. Would I go

That way, or stay this way, or not?  So,

Although I’ve moved far and seen

Many things at sixty what does it mean?


Great branches spread; from them smaller ones

Reach – a lesser reach. From earth

And root twigs carry life to leaves. The sun’s

Life meets what rises, buds form. It begins

Afresh, the bounded cyclical of grey and green.

Sixty years I carry, reach, spread. What does it mean,


This long forming, with it’s mix of days?

This much at least:  I’m bounded, rooted. From birth

To sixty all the unexpected ways

Carry the same life from the root.  I gaze

Upward again and see the grey, the green.

A filigree of what was, what might have been..


Michael Docker


Poem 7


The trivialities, time wasters,

The frivolous or mundane,

The distractions, excuses

Or missed opportunities,

Lie only in the mists of life.


While duty, as a firm tree,

Stands boldly in the foreground

Stretching its branches

Into every nook and cranny of life

And can never be suppressed.


June Moore


Poem 8

They come like friends

Sharing your space

Watching out for you

Preventing the wind getting through

Turning green to give you colour

Protecting, shielding, caring

But slowly, oh so slowly.

They smile

And breathe the air you breathe

Drink the drink you need

Penetrate your seed

Take your space

And light.

Till you are left

With darkness

And forget

That life was once yours

For living


Anita Pinto