Keep on Fighting – Claire Gee

this is a war I’ll win

I’m a seventeen year old student from Archway School who aspires to be a poet.

Keep on Fighting

Fight, they say, like a battle arena,
Keep trying, hold on, don’t let go.
I’m a fighter. I’m a trier
but this is my civil war.
Cells rage against saviors: my own lungs drag me
Down.
Tubes sustain and masks buy time
which is now a priceless gift.

Flowers of red, blue and yellow.
Hope, love and a funeral parlor.
I’m a fighter. I’m a trier
but this is a war I’m loosing.
Blood burns and lungs drown in airless nothing.
Screams.
My screams of pain,
my child’s weep at time.

Fight, they say, like they understand.
Keep trying, I’ll hold on, never letting go.
I’m a fighter. I’m a trier
and this is a war I’ll win.
Hope.
My family and friends hold it
so I let it glow in me.
by Claire Gee (17) Archway School

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Agro-Culture – Gary Hitching

A family man with Victorian values

My name is Gary Hitching. I’ve been writing poetry since I was 16. I served 24 years in the RAF, of which ten of these were on the Royal squadron, four in service at Chequers, Prime Minister’s retreat. I have been to every warzone from 1991 to 2014 and now currently run a pub in Devon.

Agro-Culture

Farming how I see it

Its all a waiting game with no remit

It seems that everybody knows whats best

And everybody is wrong and the weather will test

Tractors are always going wrong

Farmers are proud, proactive and strong

Not very literate though

Terrible people skills will always show

But always have a kind heart

A willing hand always keen to take part

A family man with Victorian values

Gleaming wrong information from the daily news

Always moaning about money and cashflow

But driving a new range rover with a new trailer in tow

Hates change and all that it brings with it

And Londoners with the money and huge cars that don’t fit

Would be happy just sat there with his cow

No airs and graces with no need to bow

But will always stay stood in the same place

With dirty boots a shirt a tie and a red face

Talking about the good old days

And farming in the traditional ways

Knowing though deep inside

A brand new automated tractor in the shed there lies

Obstinate, rude, inconsiderate and bitter

Welcome to our village its not covered in glitter

Friendly and welcoming happy and fun

Tourists are here the theatre has begun !!

Gary Hitching, Devon

Darkening Winter Day – Sue Gerrard

Trees bowed low with winter flakes

Multi award winning poet SUE GERRARD has published nine collections of poetry and one spoken word compilation called ‘Word of Mouth.’ She has also written four local history books, a collection of ghost stories and two novellas.

Her latest book ‘St. Helens Now and Then’, is a celebration of this milestone birthday for her hometown. It was the bestselling book in Wardleworths Bookshop over the festive period beating David Attenborough’s ‘Blue Planet’ and Jamie Oliver’s ‘Five Ingredients’ into third place.

She has recently been commissioned by Amberley Press to write two books.

Sue has had more than 200 poems published in national anthologies and has won numerous national poetry and short story competitions.

Sue has read her own work at numerous venues throughout the country including The Edinburgh Fringe Festival (with The National Poetry Society), The Warrington Festival, The Edinburgh Folk Festival and The Bolton Festival. She has also appeared at The Royal Exchange Theatre, Manchester. Full details available on http://www.surgerrard.com

DARKENING WINTER DAY

Crisp snow crunches underfoot

Christmas joy now broken;

Trees bowed low with winter flakes

No words are spoken;

Mute birds fly overhead

While our hearts are broken.

Soft, soft snow now starts to fall

Cold flakes blend with tears

And thoughts of joyous times

Are in our minds right here,

Darkness spreads across the day

The shortest of the year.

–

Thoughts now turn to tomorrow

Lessened by your loss

For here, today, this winter day

Is now our winter sorrow.

Sue Gerrard

Not another Poem called ‘Snow’ – Peter Donnelly

there were snowballs and sledging, scarves and woolly hats

I live in York. I have a degree in English and a Master’s Degree in Creative Writing from the University of Wales Lampeter. I have been writing poetry on and off since I was at school.

Not another Poem called ‘Snow’

As children it delighted us when it came,

never at Christmas but often at New Year.

School could not re-open,

there were snowballs and sledging,

scarves and woolly hats.

–

It brought us heartbreak too,

when aunts and grandmas couldn’t come to stay,

nor we go to them. We always knew

the snowman would melt in a few days.

–

Once we shovelled the driveway 

for old Bill next-door, expecting pay

not a hated mug of Bovril we could hardly refuse.

–

Now it only looks pretty. We feel the cold

and worry about damage to the garden.

But imagine a world without snow,

the memories we wouldn’t have,

the words we wouldn’t write.

Peter Donnelly, York

How is your 4AM Now? – Charlotte Thomas

Exchanging secrets of our childhoods

My name is Charlotte Thomas and i’m a 25 year old mother to two and an English student who stays up too late writing poetry fueled by coffee. I admire all your hard work and dedication and would love to share a piece of my work with you.

Kind regards,

Charlotte

How is your 4AM now?

–

Exactly one year ago tonight

It was 4AM and we were delirious

In my slightly creaky bed

Creating free highs and

Exchanging secrets of our childhoods –

Our best Pokémon cards

Mum’s worst dinners

Passwords to hidden dens

Awkward first kisses

–

Exactly one year ago tomorrow

As we lay in my bed

You put your hands in mine

And asked me to be yours

Officially.

In return I told you

I would have traded my shiny card,

Ate mum’s worst concoction

And gave all my passwords away

For any kiss with you.

–

Exactly a year later at 4AM

I lay here in that same creaky bed

Remembering the feel of your hands

On the night you became mine

Because you were

You were mine and I was yours

It seemed simple.

I can’t help but wonder

Do you still think of me too?

Charlotte Thomas

That Warm Night in September – Ken Fletcher

I looked into her eyes and she gave me a smile

Hi my name is Ken Fletcher, I’m 52 years old and over the last few years I have been putting some words together and I’ve produced some poetry. My friends and family have been pushing me to send it to someone so that they can have a look at it. I have written about half a dozen up to now and they all come from my life experiences and memories that are personal to me. personally I don’t think that anybody will be interested in them but I would like to have some feedback. I have attached a piece about when I met my wife in 1982 when I was 15 years old and it tells our story.

That Warm Night in September

That warm night in September

Is a time that I will always remember

Sat on the wall with my best mate lee

I asked this girl to take me home for a cup of tea

We chatted for a while but it was getting late

I said Sunday 12th shall we call it a date

The big day arrived and it was time to go

I’m an hour late will she still show

But to my surprise she had waited for me

And we went for a walk to my mums for tea

hand in hand I walked her home

Through birch field gardens she must have known

We sat on the bench for a while

I looked into her eyes and she gave me a smile

That lovely time in the autumn sunset

That’s when our lips they first met

Our first date had gone so fast

But I knew our time together was going to last

The weeks went by and things felt so good

The time was right do you think we should

I took her into my arms and held her tight

That gift she gave me felt so right

I will never forget what she gave to me

And on the radio played ABC

We had found each other on that special day

Our love for one another would always stay

The years have past so very fast

And they all said that it wouldn’t last

But we have proved them all wrong

Because our love for each other is so strong

Three grown up kids and thirty seven years later

Our bond together is even greater

As we continue so much in love

We fit together like hand in glove

As the next part of our journey is about to start

We never ever want to be apart

When I think back I will always remember

That warm autumn night in September.

Ken Fletcher

01.01.19 – Anna O’Boyle

Our world has crashed and burned

My name is Anna O’Boyle and I am 18 years old. Currently I live in Derbyshire with my family as I am on a gap year trying to earn money before studying English Literature at University. Writing is something I have always been very passionate about and, although it is what I have wanted to do as a career all my life, it is something I will always continue to do even if I never get paid for it.

01/01/19

Thomas Hardy reincarnate,

The Darkling Thrush is doomed.

2019, the year began,

A descent, into further gloom.

–

An orange ruler, an alien queen,

Our world has crashed and burned.

You would have thought, that from the past,

Some lessons we’d have learnt

–

Yet no it seems, we cannot see,

The Anger that bubbles away.

Nor climate change, or melting ice,

But feel, warmer, day by day.

–

Lets not forget, despite our flaws

That we have travelled far.

We took control, immigrants out,

Now alone is what we are.

–

2019 the future so bright,

We have little need to fear.

Yes, worry not, it is alright,

Ten years, we won’t be here.

Anna O’Boyle, Derbyshire

Riot of Passage – Philip Burton

shop soiled staff shook sticky hands

I am a family man, born in Fife, raised in Thanet, and I have been a hippie, a laborer, a professional student, and a Catholic head teacher in Lancashire. I came to writing through the OU and also the WEA courses of Copland Smith.

In the last twenty years I have been very widely published in literary magazines – three hundred and sixty three of my poems in total – including editions of PN Review and Stand, as well as in adult anthologies and in ten anthologies for children. I have won many awards, including First prizes in the Teignmouth,The Barn Owl Trust, the Lancaster Litfest, the Sentinel, and also the Star Magazine humorous poetry competition. Indigo Dreams published a collection of thirty of my recent poems in August 2017.

www.philipburton.net

Riot of Passage

Can’t think of Mother, not without

the cut-price colour of January

and the argy-bargy orgy

for price of a penny off.

Doors were bent wide

by excess might and main,

–

but, calm as a ship’s figurehead,

sweet as a sugar mouse,

sexy in war-paint was Mum,

her skirts a scarlet lifeboat.

I once saw a bundle roll

from a capsized pram –

–

an infant, soon obscured

by a bedlam of stilettos.

Mother dipped and gathered

one-handed (her weaker), placed

the bairn in the knitting wool

between Aruns and Lanarks.

–

Near closing, the storm of farthings

spent itself out on Everything Has to Go,

and Ends of Lines. Elbows were holstered,

shop soiled staff shook sticky hands,

sobs were exchanged.

Mrs Bosco wrestled down the blinds.

Philip Burton, Fife

My Role Model – Julie Shackman

Your shoes and spikey heels

I am a romantic comedy author from Scotland, who also writes verses and captions for greetings card companies.

My first traditionally published novel, A Room at the Manor, was released last year in Australia & New Zealand, and this year in Germany and the UK.

My next novel, The McKerron Castle, is out in audio book on 1 November.

When I’m not writing, I’m trying to wade through my growing To Be Read pile of books – and I am a stationery obsessive!

My Role Model

Powder brushes,

Glinting bottle,

Of her favourite scent,

The ghost of all her wisest words,

–

And what they truly meant.

“Chase your dreams, no matter what,”

She would often say,

With her white and dazzling smile,

–

And eyes of pearly grey.

Her amber, scratched sunglasses,

The swinging coats she wore,

As though they’re waiting for her,

–

Inside my wardrobe door.

Albums of dear photos,

Your shoes and spikey heels,

Those who suffer such a loss,

–

Know just how all this feels.

My gazing admiration,

Snuggled by your side,

Even as a little girl,

–

You filled my heart with pride.

The day you left,

Was like the final setting of the sun,

But nothing can erase the love I have for you,

……My Mum.

–

The End.

Julie Shackman, Milngavie

Competition Update

The deadline for the Voices Poetry Competition has now passed. Thank you very much to everyone who has decided to share their poetry with us. We really appreciate your kindness and support.

Please do not worry if your poem has not yet appeared on the Voices Blog. All poems that we have received prior to the deadline, will be considered for the competition.

There was a very large volume of entries during September and we shall continue to display poetry on the blog.

The shortlisting and moderation process will now begin and we shall post another update towards the end of the month.

Thank you again for your interest in the competition.