Week 19 – entries and results

Saturday, 12 April 2014

Week 19 – photograph by Kevin Eagles

The urban sunset skyline attracted some evocative poems, any of which would make admirable companions to the photograph, however there can only be one winner and this week it is Carolyn O’Connell with Makeover. Congratulations to Carolyn.People voting for this said they did so because it was so unusual. I agree. An original and exciting poem. In second place was Unfinished Skyline by Sarah Miles. Well done to Sarah and a big thank you to everyone who entered and to Kevin for the photograph.


Poem 1

Unfinished Skyline


Our horizon is woven with tapestry faults.

Intricate highs where thread ran bare,

Hidden lows, longing to be unpicked,

Undone, un-loved.


We exist unfinished,

Discarded on a taut frame.

Clipped greetings as we pass in the street,

Guarded glances of maybe;


Maybe we should talk

Maybe one day that Oxford skyline we dreamed of

Maybe there’s another silhouette to be made



Until then, we converse at needlepoint

Frayed edges match frayed tempers

Our story is flatlining

A Norfolk landscape of love unlived.


Sarah Miles


Poem 2

The Apple Orchard in the Back Yard of Home


The apples forever spill

their spiced nectar across the backyard

of my barrel heart, the dust of the trees

there to cradle us through the passing storm.

This is how a person finds home.

The blossom branching shadows

across the light from the open back door.

And you.

In the last light.

Coming closer.

Harvesting the orchards,

shaking down the trees.


Stephanie Arsoska


Poem 3


Sky tiger


sky tiger crouches

at dusk ready to spring on

a sleeping city


Diane Jackman


Poem 4


Neath an ordinary sky
peached by your clouds
watch by street light extinguished
a man dies
lying in his bed
heart calls the day
spring tide turns
soul swept
unnoticed and unobserved
by the evening
as the shadows draw in once more
church bell knells the hour.


Andy Scotson


Poem 5

Rule of Thumb


I am reminded of my parents’ forecasting
red sky at night or red sky in the morning
hours are wing-carried
and I am a distance from home

Life’s map of gifts
small moments sketched
thrum on a stretch of whispering clouds
and I am a distance from home

Sky shifts, hearts beat, I know
there are more questions than answers.
Today I am a butterfly
and I am a distance from home.


Eileen Carney Hulme


Poem 7


The sky has been to the beauty shop:
she has hennaed her hair cadmium
streaked cinnabar over her cheeks
claret drips from her lips, her nails
garnet tipped scratch against the black
of her couture dress, the indigo bag
swinging from her shoulders as she
walks across town ready to chance
her luck before night secures her
within its sepulchre of stars.


Carolyn O’Connell


Poem 8


Hark, a herald of birds singing

Alluring me to the window,

The first light is not up yet

But I am. I wander to the window

Tiptoeing through the silence

To look for dawn, pulling at the curtain

Smelling cold, damp, through the darkness

I hear a clock ticking.

Finally, in the distance beyond the shadowy moon

Specks of orange and white outline grey clouds

Gradually coming nearer, looking

Frothy, fizzy, bubbly, sudsy, lathered-up

Magnificence in the sky.


Johanna Boal


Poem 9

And dawn will come

and day will go.

The sky speaks of hope.

The strands of life

laid out

in the layers

of the evening tide.

The sunset

of  a life

well lived,

and light coming

through the shadows

and that hope

waiting for the sunshine

of another day.


Angie Butler


Poem 10

Red sky in the morning, shepherd’s warning..


Light from a small star

Touches water droplets in clouds,

Refracts different colours. They are,

Morning or night, whatever our moods,

Fully understood in a world of machines –

No need to ask what it all means.


Below the built environment flattens

Like a cut-out silhouette, lightless in every part.


In no world is this enough. We live by patterns

Above built things, looking to turn life into art,


To see flaming light, arcing red with a warning

Or a delight, where, like shepherds, we wait

To see what the day will bring

Flattened lives in silhouette,

(Fewer sheep, now, more machines)

To see what the sky means.


Michael Docker