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and the Poetry Competition Winners are… – Wordpool Festival and the Poetry Competition Winners are... - Wordpool Festival

and the Poetry Competition Winners are…

and the Poetry Competition Winners are…


 1st Prize        Sarah Leavesley          That Night 

 Winning Poem

Dust to Dust

Last Orders at the Light Bar – Gaia Holmes – 2nd Prize

Inspired by a typo on a menu that offers ‘deep fried lamp’ instead of ‘deep fried lamb’

The cheapest you can buy is the thick, bruised light

that follows heavy rain,

the brash blue glare of fly repellent lights,

the mean frowzy light from high rise stair-wells

or the soft, speckled gold of a microwave

cooking its load in the darkness.

Middle of the range is the subtle kind:

light glossing a bowl of green apples,

the muted glimmer of Koi carp in a pond,

sea light squeezed and filtered through a porthole,

the amber Rembrandt bloom of a country pub at night

or the quick flash of first light

bouncing off cans of Strongbow in the corner shop.

The pricey one that’s craved but rarely drunk

is the afterglow.

They say it’s like drinking silk or blended glow-worms.

Those who’ve drunk it wear its warmth for weeks.

At night their fingertips crackle like bonfire sparklers.

Their tongues are embers in their mouths.

The insides of their throats are the colour of foxfire.

Some get hooked, drink too much

and acquire an insincere dazzle.

Light thickens on their teeth,

their smiles become punches.

Everything pales beneath their touch

and their bodies bleach the bed sheets.

Dust to Dust – Anthony Watts – 3rd Prize

There are two themes for me: one is the earth,

the other is the sky.

Here’s how I dissolve my brains in the sky –

It must be a day without cloud, no ushering shapes

to tempt me into a spectator’s seat

I lie a-grass, in wait for the silent summons…

They come out through the eye sockets in big stodgy loops –

mental intestines, swollen and sore

from trying to digest too much universe –

from trying to digest themselves

The sky sucks them up

in a slow tornado; the sky spins –

a chariot wheel bristling with swords.

Chop chop, the work is done

quick as a chef with a fistful of spaghetti .

A passing flicknife gull snatches a bit

And carries it of with a high hoarse whooping cry.

Now the final pulverising light

And the particles of mind settle



(their fine white dust lost

in the blue dust

of the sky.)


Victoria Gatehouse       Phosphorescence 

Janet Lees                        Moonshine 

Grainne Tobin                Heavy Rain, Low Light 

Camille Ralphs               Upset by its ubiquity, light turns itself in 

Rachel Plummer            Night Lights  (Blackpool Commendation)

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