TEIGNMOUTH POETRY FESTIVAL 2020 – COMPETITION RESULTS
OPEN COMPETITION
OPEN COMPETITION
Open Competition Winners – Judged by Hannah Lowe
First Prize Jo Haslam - The Kiss
Second Prize Lisa Kelly - Homing
Third Prize Tim Waller - Winter in Istanbul
(not available for publication at this time)
Commended in alphabetical order
Virginia Astley - Showman, Surya Ohara - ພໍ່,
John Freeman - Getting Them In, Cheryl Pearson - Portrait of Lot as Widower
John Freeman - Compatible, Samuel Ugbechie - Two Bleeding Sidewalls of Dark
Miriam Jones - Home-time,
The Winning Poems
1st Prize – Open Competition
The Kiss by Jo Haslam
When I ask she lifts her head, touches her nose
to mine, the way her Arabic grandma
has shown her. I love the delicacy of this.
It brings to mind the horses, two greys
in the field on our way home; how they run
into buffets of wind, their soft whicker
as they meet, proffer their cold noses
to each other. How they stand in the openess
of sky and bending grass, pale manes blown
across their necks . How they are attentive
to each other. And I hope that I can love her ,
my granddaughter, with this same kindness
and economy, the one touch to say everything;
love her also with a lift under the arms ,
boisterous into the air, the way the horses swing
their heads. And with delight
because she greets me with the same thing;
and passionate, the way I loved her mother;
but more because her mother is grown up
and she’s so small; and intimately,
courteous, touching nose to nose,
tender as the speechless animals.
2nd Prize – Open Competition
Homing by Lisa Kelly
When my brother came out as a pigeon
our father flapped and tried to shoo him
from his bedroom windowsill where he perched
puffing and gazing at rooftops beyond the church.
“No son of mine will coo in this house.
The sight of birds rubbing beaks is perverse.”
He denied accusations of peristerophobia
“My best friend is a pigeon fancier,
but I know my ornithology. God didn’t make trees
for flying rats to spread disease.”
My brother continued to perch and gaze
which sent father into an uglier rage.
“What have you got to say, you ledge pecker?
Think what this will do to your poor mother.
She was hoping for grandchildren. Not squabs.
You disgust me. Your mouth pecks. Your head bobs.”
Still my brother gazed, as if he could see
as far as Hadrian’s Villa in Tivoli,
each tiny tessera in The Mosaic of Doves –
the bird on the rim of the bowl, how it dives
its beak without fear into the centre and drinks,
the shadow of its head rippled. On the gilt brink
one eyeing the water, one preening to look splendid,
one clutching a handle held up by a caryatid.
As bine fell from beak, my brother spread wings
and flew towards his vision, ignoring father’s warning:
“Peregrine falcons will tear you apart. Don’t go!”
Later, the sound of father cooing into his pillow.
3rd Prize – Open Competition
Winter in Istanbul by Tim Waller
Not available for publication at present.
First Prize Jo Haslam - The Kiss
Second Prize Lisa Kelly - Homing
Third Prize Tim Waller - Winter in Istanbul
(not available for publication at this time)
Commended in alphabetical order
Virginia Astley - Showman, Surya Ohara - ພໍ່,
John Freeman - Getting Them In, Cheryl Pearson - Portrait of Lot as Widower
John Freeman - Compatible, Samuel Ugbechie - Two Bleeding Sidewalls of Dark
Miriam Jones - Home-time,
The Winning Poems
1st Prize – Open Competition
The Kiss by Jo Haslam
When I ask she lifts her head, touches her nose
to mine, the way her Arabic grandma
has shown her. I love the delicacy of this.
It brings to mind the horses, two greys
in the field on our way home; how they run
into buffets of wind, their soft whicker
as they meet, proffer their cold noses
to each other. How they stand in the openess
of sky and bending grass, pale manes blown
across their necks . How they are attentive
to each other. And I hope that I can love her ,
my granddaughter, with this same kindness
and economy, the one touch to say everything;
love her also with a lift under the arms ,
boisterous into the air, the way the horses swing
their heads. And with delight
because she greets me with the same thing;
and passionate, the way I loved her mother;
but more because her mother is grown up
and she’s so small; and intimately,
courteous, touching nose to nose,
tender as the speechless animals.
2nd Prize – Open Competition
Homing by Lisa Kelly
When my brother came out as a pigeon
our father flapped and tried to shoo him
from his bedroom windowsill where he perched
puffing and gazing at rooftops beyond the church.
“No son of mine will coo in this house.
The sight of birds rubbing beaks is perverse.”
He denied accusations of peristerophobia
“My best friend is a pigeon fancier,
but I know my ornithology. God didn’t make trees
for flying rats to spread disease.”
My brother continued to perch and gaze
which sent father into an uglier rage.
“What have you got to say, you ledge pecker?
Think what this will do to your poor mother.
She was hoping for grandchildren. Not squabs.
You disgust me. Your mouth pecks. Your head bobs.”
Still my brother gazed, as if he could see
as far as Hadrian’s Villa in Tivoli,
each tiny tessera in The Mosaic of Doves –
the bird on the rim of the bowl, how it dives
its beak without fear into the centre and drinks,
the shadow of its head rippled. On the gilt brink
one eyeing the water, one preening to look splendid,
one clutching a handle held up by a caryatid.
As bine fell from beak, my brother spread wings
and flew towards his vision, ignoring father’s warning:
“Peregrine falcons will tear you apart. Don’t go!”
Later, the sound of father cooing into his pillow.
3rd Prize – Open Competition
Winter in Istanbul by Tim Waller
Not available for publication at present.