TEIGNMOUTH POETRY FESTIVAL 2022– COMPETITION RESULTS
OPEN COMPETITION
OPEN COMPETITION
We are delighted to announce the results of the Teignmouth Poetry Festival Open Competition 2022. The competition was judged by Katrina Naomi The winning, highly commended and commended poems were read at a special Awards Ceremony held at The Pavilions, Teignmouth on Saturday, 28th May, 2022.
First Prize When blankets become bombs - Rosie Hadden
Second Prize Four minutes on the fire escape - Miles Salter
Third Prize Winter - Helene Beavan
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Highly Commended
notes made on a patio that was sprayed
with weedkiller - Josephine Corcoran
Poem in which my dad plays pool in
a Spanish bar - Jeanette Burton
MUSTARD - Jim Green
Rules for Dancing - Maria Isakova-Bennett
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Commended
You are Here - Eleanor Walsh
How to Make a Buttonhole Hand Stitch,
3 minutes 15 seconds, Feb 21, 2018 - Tania Hershman
where no one can hear you scream - Simon Tindale
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A further 14 poems were also on the shortlist:
Intimacy Coordinator - Mark Czanik
Blue rice - Helen Scadding
Double Sarabande in 9/8 from Bach’s First Sonata
for Solo Violin played on a railway line in Poland - Richard Westcott
There’s An App for That - Damen O’Brien
ICE… - Helen Ashley
Some people - Caroline Lodge
Evening At My Window - Sue Norton
The Social Distance - Howard Wright
Beasts - Nick Grundy
The Ninth Circle - Damen O’Brien
from the armchair of happiness - Caroline Carver
Tourist Guide Masada - Heather Steddon
Bullocks - Simon Stanley
THE GOLDFISH AT THE OPERA - Christopher James
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The Winning Poems
1st Prize – Open Competition
When blankets become bombs - Rosie Hadden
she spent most of her childhood in the wardrobe
hiding under the roof of Narnia with young men who were half horse
she spent her nights flying sentinel around the sleeping house
in the company of the shy Brown Long Eared Bat
a thin wee ghost of a girl hovering by the locked windows
guarding her father as he slept
keeping him safe
his gun locked under the safer shadow of his bed
keeping them all out
the blanket men who ate their way to bone in cells of excrement
the other men the right footers with red hands and rough tongues
them men stood across every road blocking each child who tried to pass
asked her to change direction to find the turn to honour the sash
she flew deeper instead into the carved mahogany wardrobe
found her solace in the words that lived under faun-light
kept their secrets hidden in the corner of her lazy left eye
2nd Prize – Open Competition
Four minutes on the fire escape - Miles Salter
1st Prize – Open Competition
When blankets become bombs - Rosie Hadden
she spent most of her childhood in the wardrobe
hiding under the roof of Narnia with young men who were half horse
she spent her nights flying sentinel around the sleeping house
in the company of the shy Brown Long Eared Bat
a thin wee ghost of a girl hovering by the locked windows
guarding her father as he slept
keeping him safe
his gun locked under the safer shadow of his bed
keeping them all out
the blanket men who ate their way to bone in cells of excrement
the other men the right footers with red hands and rough tongues
them men stood across every road blocking each child who tried to pass
asked her to change direction to find the turn to honour the sash
she flew deeper instead into the carved mahogany wardrobe
found her solace in the words that lived under faun-light
kept their secrets hidden in the corner of her lazy left eye
2nd Prize – Open Competition
Four minutes on the fire escape - Miles Salter
The party was going really well, we were young and there
was beer and dancing and Fran and Tom had locked
themselves in the toilet and somebody (I think it might
have been Joe) had put an ear to the door and moaned,
which was funny at the time. Somebody put on some Dead
Kennedys and we jumped about for a while. I stepped onto
the fire escape. Sandy squeezed my hand and kissed me
and the air was cool and the city seemed alive around us,
there was a smell of frying food, a pigeon moved nearby, a
car horn stabbed the evening air. Sandy’s body was warm
and she pressed a hand to my back. I wish I could get that
moment back. I am old now, and there’s no chance of
seeing Fran and Tom as they died in the uprising. This
morning I said prayers as the guards watched. I ate toast
and had some long life milk. My hand is not shaking as
badly as yesterday. I remember that party. It was only a
year before the changes. Somebody was drunk and they
fell and knocked the record player and the stylus skidded
and the kid who owned the Dead Kennedys album was
really pissed, ‘you scratched it’, he kept yelling. I don’t
remember his name. You should have seen the apartment
the next morning; overturned bottles and bodies
everywhere. I went outside to smoke and came back and
Sandy was watching a drone deliver a package to an
apartment across the street. She yawned and her hand
was warm. There was good blood in her. Her lips tasted of
old wine. It was a good morning. The sky was clear.
We drank coffee and went for a walk. I think about that party a
lot. These days, I do as I’m told.
was beer and dancing and Fran and Tom had locked
themselves in the toilet and somebody (I think it might
have been Joe) had put an ear to the door and moaned,
which was funny at the time. Somebody put on some Dead
Kennedys and we jumped about for a while. I stepped onto
the fire escape. Sandy squeezed my hand and kissed me
and the air was cool and the city seemed alive around us,
there was a smell of frying food, a pigeon moved nearby, a
car horn stabbed the evening air. Sandy’s body was warm
and she pressed a hand to my back. I wish I could get that
moment back. I am old now, and there’s no chance of
seeing Fran and Tom as they died in the uprising. This
morning I said prayers as the guards watched. I ate toast
and had some long life milk. My hand is not shaking as
badly as yesterday. I remember that party. It was only a
year before the changes. Somebody was drunk and they
fell and knocked the record player and the stylus skidded
and the kid who owned the Dead Kennedys album was
really pissed, ‘you scratched it’, he kept yelling. I don’t
remember his name. You should have seen the apartment
the next morning; overturned bottles and bodies
everywhere. I went outside to smoke and came back and
Sandy was watching a drone deliver a package to an
apartment across the street. She yawned and her hand
was warm. There was good blood in her. Her lips tasted of
old wine. It was a good morning. The sky was clear.
We drank coffee and went for a walk. I think about that party a
lot. These days, I do as I’m told.
3rd Prize – Open Competition
Winter - Helen Beavan
In the glass a stranger stares rice boils
over
grey scum clings the brush a nest with dusty
hair
by the butter in the fridge
wind blows through gaps in the window
panes
raging for what is past
lists of aide-memoires rise like starlings fleeing their
post
scattering wing by wing
street lights illuminate the silence
I am sifting the flour so fine so soft as down outside
winter is summoned to even out the edges I stand
in the street the air iced biscuits on my cheeks
slippers filled with snow marvelling the
whiteness
a woman takes my elbow dove song fluttering
from
her lips a slice of sun
my tongue is hot with sweet tea I
know
that I knew something
once
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Adjudication notes for Teignmouth Poetry Competition 2022 – Katrina Naomi
I would like to thank everyone who entered this Open Competition category for the 2022 Teignmouth Poetry Competition. And to thank Ian and Virginia for their attention to detail and for making the process such a delight.
It has been a deeply moving and humbling experience, reading so many really assured poems, knowing I could only choose a few winners.
I read and re-read 1082 poems over several weeks. The poems were quite varied thematically, with poems of birds, trees, seas, rivers, love, war, loss, mental health, lockdown, refugees, homelessness, Cornwall, Devon and music being some of the most frequent references, plus a good range and use of poetic form.
There were many potential winners in my YES and my MAYBE files, I had quite a long longlist, which I gradually pared down by reading again, carrying those poems around in my head. I’ve chosen my winners, and highly commended and commended poems, which form my top 10. But I also wanted to make mention of a further 14 poems, which were in the running, and were shortlisted out of the 1000+ entries.
But finally, I chose my winning poems by seeing which ones continued to come to the surface and which went so far as to fly.
Winning poems
1st prize – Rosie Hadden - When blankets become bombs
I loved this poem as soon as I read it. I loved its vulnerability, its strength, how it deals with patriarchy, politics, war and growing up. It packs a hell of a lot into 16 lines. I returned to it and returned to it, it was an instant winner with its gorgeous language, tone and its wonderful edge of the strange.
2nd prize – Miles Salter - Four minutes on the fire escape
This poem exudes confidence, cool and ambition. So few poems go to the (near) future, it really stood out. I also admired the political critique, how this was deftly held in check, while also sustaining a clear narrative and drive throughout a prose poem. Bravo.
3rd prize – Helen Beavan - Winter
This poem moved me with its overriding sense of empathy, which again is perfectly held in balance, avoiding any hint of sentimentality or cliché. The form mirrors the content and the imagery is fantastic; here is a poem of depth and artistry and love.
Highly commended
Josephine Corcoran - Notes made on a patio that was sprayed with weedkiller
I read so many environmentally-themed poems, this one made an impact with its focus on an overlooked, uncuddly creature, an ant, ‘one bright forager’, which is written with skill and compassion.
Jeanette Burton - Poem in which my dad plays pool in a Spanish bar
This is a wonderful family and childhood poem, which is loving but not uncritical. I hugely enjoyed the level of observation, energy and imagery. It’s a brilliant portrait of a father. And what a great title.
Jim Green - Mustard
A colour poem – and how. This poem lifts the ordinary, the domestic, into something truly worth examining. I admired the voice, its conversational quality, the splashes of the everyday, and the depth of the last line.
Maria Isakova-Bennett - Rules for dancing
This is a clever conceit. A gorgeous, sensual/sensory poem with a strong sense of place and sound.
Winter - Helen Beavan
In the glass a stranger stares rice boils
over
grey scum clings the brush a nest with dusty
hair
by the butter in the fridge
wind blows through gaps in the window
panes
raging for what is past
lists of aide-memoires rise like starlings fleeing their
post
scattering wing by wing
street lights illuminate the silence
I am sifting the flour so fine so soft as down outside
winter is summoned to even out the edges I stand
in the street the air iced biscuits on my cheeks
slippers filled with snow marvelling the
whiteness
a woman takes my elbow dove song fluttering
from
her lips a slice of sun
my tongue is hot with sweet tea I
know
that I knew something
once
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Adjudication notes for Teignmouth Poetry Competition 2022 – Katrina Naomi
I would like to thank everyone who entered this Open Competition category for the 2022 Teignmouth Poetry Competition. And to thank Ian and Virginia for their attention to detail and for making the process such a delight.
It has been a deeply moving and humbling experience, reading so many really assured poems, knowing I could only choose a few winners.
I read and re-read 1082 poems over several weeks. The poems were quite varied thematically, with poems of birds, trees, seas, rivers, love, war, loss, mental health, lockdown, refugees, homelessness, Cornwall, Devon and music being some of the most frequent references, plus a good range and use of poetic form.
There were many potential winners in my YES and my MAYBE files, I had quite a long longlist, which I gradually pared down by reading again, carrying those poems around in my head. I’ve chosen my winners, and highly commended and commended poems, which form my top 10. But I also wanted to make mention of a further 14 poems, which were in the running, and were shortlisted out of the 1000+ entries.
But finally, I chose my winning poems by seeing which ones continued to come to the surface and which went so far as to fly.
Winning poems
1st prize – Rosie Hadden - When blankets become bombs
I loved this poem as soon as I read it. I loved its vulnerability, its strength, how it deals with patriarchy, politics, war and growing up. It packs a hell of a lot into 16 lines. I returned to it and returned to it, it was an instant winner with its gorgeous language, tone and its wonderful edge of the strange.
2nd prize – Miles Salter - Four minutes on the fire escape
This poem exudes confidence, cool and ambition. So few poems go to the (near) future, it really stood out. I also admired the political critique, how this was deftly held in check, while also sustaining a clear narrative and drive throughout a prose poem. Bravo.
3rd prize – Helen Beavan - Winter
This poem moved me with its overriding sense of empathy, which again is perfectly held in balance, avoiding any hint of sentimentality or cliché. The form mirrors the content and the imagery is fantastic; here is a poem of depth and artistry and love.
Highly commended
Josephine Corcoran - Notes made on a patio that was sprayed with weedkiller
I read so many environmentally-themed poems, this one made an impact with its focus on an overlooked, uncuddly creature, an ant, ‘one bright forager’, which is written with skill and compassion.
Jeanette Burton - Poem in which my dad plays pool in a Spanish bar
This is a wonderful family and childhood poem, which is loving but not uncritical. I hugely enjoyed the level of observation, energy and imagery. It’s a brilliant portrait of a father. And what a great title.
Jim Green - Mustard
A colour poem – and how. This poem lifts the ordinary, the domestic, into something truly worth examining. I admired the voice, its conversational quality, the splashes of the everyday, and the depth of the last line.
Maria Isakova-Bennett - Rules for dancing
This is a clever conceit. A gorgeous, sensual/sensory poem with a strong sense of place and sound.