Week 35 – entries and results

Tuesday, 14 October 2014

Photograph by George Stein


The winning poem this week was the originally untitled poem 1 (now to be called The Sign). This was submitted by Martin John who tells me this is is first ever competition entry. Congratulations Martin.

Poem 1

The Sign

She came in so lost
But as the crystal mists cleared
She found her way out


Martin John


Poem 2

View from the back end of life.


The dark portal invites me

to step inside, to know my future.

Already handsome strangers

pass by without a glance.

My fortune comes weekly from

the Department of Work and Pensions.

Any water I cross will take me

to the Isle of Wight.

So what can the soothsayers tell me

when my future is statistically short?

Where? How? How long?

I do not need these answers.

I will know all when I arrive

at that other dark portal.


Diane Jackman


Poem 3



Should I go in?

I shuffle and fidget

Procrastinate a little

Picturing her cards lay out on the table


Will she sense my unease?

My aura could betray me

And confirm that I’m beyond blue

Possessing a soul so twisted and cold


Could she really delve deep inside?

She may disarm me with her sweet smile

Unravelling my many layers of defence

With her clever, knowing mind


What future will she predict?

My deserved destiny may be unveiled

Perhaps there is salvation from my solitude

Or perhaps my lonely journey will continue


Is it wise to open her door?

I could accept and believe in her revelations

Or maybe I should walk away

And leave it to fate


Emma Power



Poem 4

I See Clearly

The room is shoddy
crystal on the table,
lights low,
josticks burn
quiet music bubbles in the background.

When her palm touches
there is a truth
she feels the spirit, divined
pulling through.

Links and pathways
foggy, unclear
voice calls
snap shots of rememberance.

Boy in the booth
taken aback
his mother, he knows it is
that was her voice.

She feels the pain
smells the smells
warm cakes from a white oven
pastry placed on a steel tray.

A young boy reaches out a hand
flour covered tiny.

A flash, connection broken
back to grime, confusion
and ten cent playing cards.


Andy Scotson


Poem 5

Unvarnished Truth


He hovers over my palm

as over a long-buried fossil,

freshly unearthed,

or a goblet retrieved from the Titanic


His mauve lips quiver

like snapdragons in the breeze

as he reads the winding paths

of my head and heart lines


He says he can’t read my nails;

they are too full of silver stars,

but I can’t help noticing HIS –

they’re long and not too clean,


and right there, bang in my face,

like a carbuncle on the nose

of a crystal ball reader;

impossible to miss,


as he turns and twists my hand

like a handkerchief

he plans to pull through one ear

and out the other.


We’re doing a swop, his palm reading

for my mermaid card guidance,

and I think that when I read his cards,

I will close my eyes and say:


“Wait, I do believe I see a mermaid,

swimming towards you with a tiny gift;

could it possibly be

something from under the sea?


Oh my stars, it’s a pair of nail clippers

What in Neptune’s name does this mean?”

And a voice from the deep will drone:
Only one thing, dearie … cut your nails!


And voila, I shall vanish

in a shimmer of silvery nail polish,

having most valiantly unveiled

the unvarnished truth


Clarissa McFairy


Poem 6

Calling from the stars


Is it human

that we search for signs,

messages in the sand,

from our loved ones no longer here?


Is it human

to love so much

to try to find a way to say I miss you,

I love you more than words can say?


The fallen feather,

the lapping waves,

the silly criss-cross of your birth chart

sent to us and kept

beside the name we chose.


Is it me or is it you,

the voices in my head

calling from the stars?


Angie Butler


Poem 7



Though I don’t believe what’s here

Curiosity’s strong;

That someone might know –

A card or palm could show –

A way to end the fear,

To know the right from the wrong


Way to go, what to say, plans to make,

Makes me enter, leave doubt at the door.

The mirrored glass

Hides then reveals, as

Every regret, unmeant mistake

Burns like a virus. What’s it for,


This wish to know what awaits?

The cards fall, the open palm

Tells mysteries in skin.

The Hanged Man is in

The played hand. My fate’s

Decided, then? Can this harm


Not be undone? I’ll always know;

What was revealed feels

Like it can’t be unlearned,

Like I’ve been burned.

Would have been better to go

Playing on an unknown way, like The Fool,

The real world snapping at my heels.


Michael Docker