Week 51 – entries and results

Week 51 – Photograph by Krys Kelly

Week 51 photo Krys Kelly



Nine very lovely poems this week written with the above photograph as inspiration. The readers’ favourite was the delightful Bordello by Susan Castillo-Street (poem 2). Congratulations to Susan and many thanks for every submission and every vote.


Poem 1

black lace in winter

the sharp relief of trees in

the pale light of dawn


Jilly Henderson-Long


Poem 2



There’s something risqué

in these winter sunsets.

Black lace trees are filigree

on blue and pink sky satin,

lewd sexy colours.


Not an easy look to carry off with flair,

this joining up of lush and spare.


Susan Castillo-Street


Poem 3

I Think I Hear

I think I hear the dawn tune up.

Dim January light stirs, rustles

In the pit of clouds. Now the first low footlights

Grind to cobalt all black powder-paints of night:

From star-dust to sun-hint, rose-tint, sun-glint.


Barely audible, woodwinds quaver and quiver

Along the sky’s bass-line, tree-line; dawn

Scrapes the horizon with a wail of light as flat and thin

As a child’s protesting bow

On the unrosined strings of a violin.


Slowly, light pulses up and breaks—no choristers,

No liar’s cock-crow on a winter’s day—

Gathers itself for the morning’s glissando,

Crescendos, rosy-coloured, all rhythm-and-blues,

With a trumpet fanfare’s ringing blast.


And so the sun erupts triumphant

Across the breathless audience of sky and space:

Songbirds and the full orchestra of day

Proclaim the longed-for light’s return.

Yes, I know I hear the sun rise.


Lizzie Ballagher


Poem 4

In Bed Naked


My foot dangles, sways over the spaces

the romping bed; hopes planted of nest building.

Up. At the window and seeing bare shoulders

trees leafless, branches reaching an effervescent sky.

The uncovered low sky cheerful; blue and pink offerings.


Johanna Boal


Poem 5

Nature’s Gift
Red sky in the morning

A dire warning

According to the shepherds


But pink doesn’t threaten

It heralds the promise of a perfect day


Starkly silhouetted against the pastel hue

Branches denuded of leaves

Reach for the sun

In anticipation of new life to come


Beauty to behold

Soothing a troubled soul

Nature’s gift to humanity

In a world soiled by depravity


Carol Mills


Poem 6

Nature- the artist

On the eternal canvas,
of boundless space,
Nature paints at ceaseless pace;
Rose gold and blue,
a splendid sky,
A blush of dawn
emblazoned high;
A silhouette of trees
in winter ,bare,
Brushed with strokes
of dash and flair;
A sun she ‘ll paint,
the scene will change,
Before our eyes,
she ‘ll rearrange;
Colours dull to dazzling white,
Her palette rich,so rare,so bright;
Her art no hand can emulate,
or even try to imitate.

Leela Gautam


Poem 7

Red clouds in cold air

Promise brief blue, breaking

bright, blood or black.


Like thin fence trees, bare

From winds, not yet making,

Can’t hold it back.


It comes surely, is nearly here.

Red sky’s delight or warning

Turn blue, or black.


Michael Docker


Poem 8

The Space Between


The atoms which build molecules,

the lignin which builds trees.

Particles are mostly space,

an emptiness of existing which fascinates.

So when I look at objects

it’s the space between which draws me in,

not the scratching of the branches

but shades of dusky sky.

The evenings I have watched upon on the Westwood,

grass turning, trees whispering, the perfume

of May, the last anemone found before it fades.

At the still point between breathing in and out,

oxygen, molecular, free, combines with haemoglobin.

The lungs of Earth providing life for these lungs of mine.


Clint Wastling


Poem 9

Turn Once More

Before your eyes
flowers fade,
no tree but a rose,
blight all too soon
bites at the red velvet.

Seasons spin,
snow becomes rain,
sun moves to wind,
petals rise and wither
in strict rotation.

With quiet clips
the gardener dead heads,
leaving a crisp cut weeping,
he nourishes the root
and tends the soil,
ready for the next year
and a new rotation.

Andy Scotson