Week 28 – entries and results

Saturday, 19 July 2014

Week 28 – photograph by Marilyn Benson

Once again some lovely poems submitted. The winner is Anita Pinto with Smile Blossoms. Congratulations to Anita.

Poem 1

Green Fingers

Thin female fingers

pick the bloom

early dawn on the appointed day

chosen from his garden

heavy white flowers

ready for a brown oak box

nourished by his hands

from birth to blossom

now laid to rest

with the gardener.


Andy Scotson


Poem 2


Virginal tulle leaves sprout clusters
cascades of white petals, Spring
robed for her wedding stands
throwing maiden buds, blossoms
to catch Summer’s idle skies.
We imbibe Pimm’s, Wimbledon
headless of the raging silent ripening.
September her muffed bridegroom
hovers waiting for harvest, the shutting
light to steal her from the feast; carry
her to Winter, his cold silent bed.


Carolyn O’Connell


Poem 3

Summer Rose


Summer rose,

you have stolen my words.

Too beautiful to describe,

your petals speak

of love no words

can adequately say.

A gift for sadness,

joy, celebration

and friendship,

you say it all.

A visual week of comfort

when the going is tough.

your petals speak,

and as they drop

and fall, so sadness fades.

Your single stem

a caress

of heartbreak

no words can convey

and as your perfume

spreads and surrounds,

so love

grows strong.


Angie Butler


Poem 4

Smile Blossoms


I stand quietly by the side of the house

No one comes to visit

Or admire

Wild exuberance is vulgar they say

Vibrant colour is  fashionable they say

Single blooms are romantic they say


But my perfume fills the house

And wafts up to the old lady

Who smiles

And the richness of my green leaves smile

And my buds multiply and smile

And my fragrance smiles


Anita Pinto


Poem 5

Tainted Arrangement


What does it take to paint a picture pretty

with words? Who thinks in rose-tinted hues

where love blossoms in fanciful verse?


From a wholesome heart where angels praise

white petals as the God’s blessings for those

they find the forgiveness to choose?


What if I pick you – the one I desire;

my Kamasutra? We fall for one another,

pricking our skin on the thorny journey


between wanton limbs. Once clipped;

life-stem removed for the essence to curl

in bloodless clarity to its inevitable


end. We smell sweet goodness –

Our words pool in unity, basking in

full bloom of the midday sun.


Have I colour-washed this picture rosy  –

or do we lie amongst this seasonal

flora in genetically modified



Hannah Teasdale


Poem 6

White Roses

I’m told it is such an honour to receive them – or is it

thinking back – possibly, but I’m not sure in my youth – yes, I would have claimed them,

might I have been laughed at – perhaps, but only for a while.

In my innocence, to be locked behind bars all day

seemed more right – more pure

I’ve been an excellent liar of thieving, mugging,

kidnapping, and this was only on the inside!

Heaven knows, climbing, budding just like you white rose – it can’t have been that easy

I also had to earn my reverence since I was fifteen.


Nowadays I’m top dog in this grey, chilly gaol,

working in the gardens

I look after you,

in the precincts of the jail

your see-through petals of the forgiving material you present me with

just like when gran cried, imploring, her pure white hands spilling with hope

and not forgetting I too have tried to escape. I did for a while.

But I’m not getting out now, I’m a lifer, I’ve got my dreamland

the man who killed my mother.


Johanna Boal