poetrypulse poetry competitions uk

free monthly competition - October 2018 
(24 entries)
Wind's Post
For all, who are not here, but somewhere.
This wind knows, Where they are.
It brings the fragrance of them to us,
of their well being and messages uncoded.

It carries some dust and scent,
to tell them that we miss them.
It knows the addresses of all
and carries our words to them,
like a postmaster.

It tells them everything,
It tells us everything.
For the time we hear,
with calmness and wariness,
We may find out, what they said.

© Gautam Kumar 2018  India

going home
Once upon a time this felt like permanence,
it felt like infinity
like lying on the wet-soft grass by a swing set
after flying so high
you kicked the unkickable sky
and dislodged a shower of stars
that fell into your uncorrupted mind

Once upon a time it felt huge,
like there was growing room
to develop your necessary limbs
and still never fit
wall to wall and floor to ceiling
Once it felt like eternal expansion
universes and universes
the nebula of your mind ever reaching onward
trying to caress the end of time

Once upon a time it was a long time ago
nothing is like permanence any more
we move forward
and sometimes you pass that spot
where you kicked the unkickable universe
and it feels okay

© Abby Green 2018  England

Affinities with fire
Dad reckoned that if Amundsen could lug this trinity
of matches, paraffin and Primus stove to Antarctica,
and Mallory, Hilary and Tenzing trek them to Everest,

they were Just the ticket for our Sunday country-jaunt:
so, parking-up, he unloaded his biscuit tin with tight-fitting
lid; unzagged the three-sided screen he’d Sellotaped from

cereal box; and unpacked his Primus (brass tank never let empty)
tripoding through spirit-cup, and on and up to burner-ring,
its metal braised with rainbowy-greyey-brown.

While Mum busied the girls unpeeling greaseproofed packs
of sandwiches, we lads were set to register the manly thing,
Dad’s affinity with fire: a flicking swish of match, its red-pink

head scratched to spluttering flame then angling till settling
to steadiness ready for putting to the burner-jet. Breaking
into smile, Dad pronounced, Sheer poetry, that.

And then, Look, lads, this doesn’t hurt, as, dancing flame
running up his skin, his spit-licked finger and thumb snubbed
out its glare with a sizzing nip. Next he set to pumping stove

in a liquid rhythm that pressurized the paraffin through tube
and rising pipe to the primed-up burner where, vapourized and
spraying via the jet, it took in air, till flowering a bluey sootless

flame comfortably phutting under Mum’s aluminium kettle.
Once the brew was made, Dad put the Primus aside to cool
before stacking his tranklements inside the Ford Cortina.

Decades later, side-lining Dad’s spit-licked-fingers game and joshing
with my kids, Primus inter pares, I wonder if they’ll find like me
their own affinities with fire: the poetry-flame that hurts …

© Roger Elkin 2018  England

Wails Of Talent
Wails of talents, wails of wails.
Saddest of symphonies: voiceless voices.
Clouded and bellowing; louder than lightening.
Maimed, beaten; lame, stricken.
Wasted, earthed; purposes returns to dust.

© Ambassador Amakor 2018  Nigeria

A Superhero's Exist
In the vast sphere realm,
Made of soils and Waters of the earth.
Anticipated I the wayfare of no mayhem,
While I traverse on the sea's heart.

Embark I on the voyage of the whole,
Cosmos in a vessel made of no hole.
Doubted I the outcome of the undertaken adventure,
With no foresight and prepared expenditure.

Moving as in the water borne vessel as steady,
Would forthcome in no uproar of storms and shaky
Times of untowards whirlwind of the north,
And radiations of the sun's glow though cold hot.

To soar like the eagle in the sky,
Apts better off than the low high
Stirs of the aqual vessel defying the expedition,
That mayhap leads to overwhelming doom and destruction.

As I traverse the Universe,
It's length and breath;The Multiverse,
Of realms,planets,and domains unknown,
and yearning to sojourn I in the regions known.

Thus far,my proceeding ferry halts ashore,
At a glance, awaits I a panache regions afore.
But on an unadorned planet have I arrived ,
Where raw and earthy souls have not thrived.

Plebs,savage and uncouth folks are they,
Non compared to the civilized and cultured race is to-day.
Anyhow, my water borne vessel lands at an harbour,
So the inhabitants entreats me not with abhor.

Bedwell lede of the crude spheriod beholds me in awe,
Cos, my arrival grasp them by terror.
'Tread he on the mighty sea', said the natives.
For assertion and truth, their find out seem imperative.

Yet on the sea, my footprint were faintly seen,
Hence, enthralled were they the more by their ween.
As they thinks me alights from the celestial sphere,
With agape,said they;'In our midst descend he here'.

Still, they chew over my survival through the upstirs
Of the sea; hubbub, brawl and ruckus as I astir.
'For would no ordinary being outlast the mighty sea's wave',
If I be extraordinary, they strive to know and crave.

Nonetheless, they thought I be a demigod,
Perhaps, Zeus the supreme ruler of the Greek gods.
Others perceived I to be Hermes,the deity of the road;
A herald of commerce and crafty inventions to their rode.

But I, within knew I wasn't a god nor immortal ,
As they were, I was, a mere mortal.
Yet I allowed their perceptions of me to keep on,
While I bedwell and defer amongst them and won.

Still and all,as I inhabit amidst the primitive species,
Encountered I with barbaric deportments and friendly hostile faces.
But my life's period portends lengthy days,
Than the homelings of the planet in rustic ways.

My existing moments seems largely prolonged,
While quotidian, I abide in the region, a twenty and four hours long.
For on the arms of seasons and year times I hung.
But the natives lifetime is just a brief long.

In the uncouth sphere, experienced I daytime and light;
Midnights occurring after sunrise and sunset in sight.
Also experient of the yeartime variance; summer,
Spring,autumn which betides yearly with the winter.

However, one year to me is like a thousand year annually
To the inhabitants; for thousands of year perennially.
Would I have lived one to three yeartime,
So sojourn I on the planet without a spent dime.

Oh,my days on the planet I abode are numbered,
For as the years passes by I pondered.
Thither have I lingered a timespan of twice square and three;
Thus equates seven year on the planet I tarry.

© Victor Isaiah Idowu 2018  Nigeria

The Circus Chimp
They’ve no idea what happens behind closed doors.
That I’m trapped.
That I’m abused.
They don’t know that I was once free.
That I had a life. A purpose.
They laugh and jeer. They support him. If only they would support me. If only they would notice. If only they would care. But they only see what they want to see.

He takes pleasure in my pain.
He thinks I’m simply another experiment to be broken. To be destroyed.
A toy he can claim, can cruelly chain, can steal away any happiness in the blink of a heedless eye.
He ‘teaches’ me tricks. ‘Disciplines’ me when I remain incapable.
I’m sorry if it is unnatural to my species to bend into a misshapen specimen. To have people stare and mock. I was meant for the trees, not a wire cage.

I cannot speak their language of greed. Cannot call for help. I remain pleading in agonised silence.
Does anyone notice me? Is there kindness in the heart of a single one of these controlling beings?
I don’t belong here. I want to go home, before I lose my survival instincts. Then it will be too late. I will be eternally trapped.
Some throw me pitiful looks. “Poor monkey,” they murmur. Others stalk past, too wrapped up in their own pathetic ‘disasters.’
Try being in my position.

Open your eyes. See what needs to be seen. Hear our cries. Fight for righteousness.
Just be selfless. Just be kind. Just try.

© Hannah Earl 2018  New Zealand

I find a bound chest - an oaken fortress.
Inside I know lies nothing pleasant.
Amber orbs - a predator lurks.
With gently shaking hands, I unpick in fear.

Lustrous yellow eyes with slit noir pupils,
whispers, glances, in my direction.
Penultimate thoughts before I plunge
Into the crevices of my mind.

Curling like a soft snare drum
sizzling out
the memory slithers out.
It straightens to face me -
his eyes adjusting to the dim light of the room.

Focus into eye contact.

My mind forged monster,
at last,


© Anna Cornish 2018  Wales

A New Day
Morning, a dawn chorus rouses me from my slumber,
Its song intensifies with the rising of the sun,
and with its ascension, a world awakens to a new day.

A day filled with promise, hope and newness,
How can I but smile and rise with optimism and dreams,
A world alive with sounds, inviting me to enjoy with vision.

My steps light, that of a much younger me, inspired,
Dew still lingers, birds sing, a sun shines in glory,
Time, no, there is no time to waste, a day is but a day.

But, all too soon, descending notes give way to dusk,
A moon awaits its turn, all must end, all must close,
Yet, I am thankful for the day, for tomorrow and all my yesterdays.

© JULIE ACHILLES 2018  England

The Ocean
Waves of the ocean
High as sky
Great as god
Devouring your waters
Predator, killer, murderer

Here I stand at the shore
Cool breeze touches my bangs
My cheeks go frozen
My lips go blue
My eyes go dry

There is no end to this ocean
The ocean so wide
The ocean so deep

Here you come another wave
I brace myself
Devour me, eat me, kill me
I'll touch your bed
And rise to the sky

© Sugandha Pallan 2018  India

Beyond the sea She lies

Breathing in rhythm with the waves

Waiting for someone to discover

The wonderment She will inspire

With great winds, a ship appears

Empty, but for One Soul remains

The Soul with infinite power and gentle strength

Blooming like the lotus

Lightening ignites the sky

As the Two Souls entwine

And beyond the sea they both lie

Waiting together, realizing together

They have become Destiny

And the only color that matters...


© Christina Turrin 2018  United States

I walk my dog
a log pile sits abandoned
beetles lost in wooden
maze, grass dithers in a line
above, a kestrel soars
flies swoon in sunlit shafts

© Fran Egan 2018  England

Working Life
From the tired clicking of the keys,
to the tired clicking of the tracks,
And the slow, shuffling rush between.

I close my eyes and want a bed,
I take a breath and want a meal,
And try to keep stable as the train careens.

Nearing home I share a glance,
With a passenger that seems to say,
Some days working life seems obscene!

© Andrew Hines 2018  England

terraces swallow
the last stranded clouds.
she settles
out over the sky’s gentle hue
and they’re blue,
light and cool
as the nightingales swinging
in the thin winter still.

in the garden she tilts up
the canopy of the oaks,
branches stir the evening into a rustle
of the palest tangerine
and they’re green,
fresh and bold
as the ripe conkers
splitting the turf like marbles.

she rolls under the lamplight,
fawn skin bronzing
in the glacial dusk
and they’re hazel,
deep and round
as horses’ sinking gaze,
earth’s grains.

her face rises to mine
so hopelessly expectant
that for a moment

I’m looking at a stranger.

© Henry Wright 2018  England

A Patriotic American Does not Exist.
A patriotic American does not exist. There would be no confederate flags A patriotic American does not exist. There would be no statues of confederate leaders A patriotic American does not exist. Police officers will not murder innocent, unarmed citizens A patriotic American does not exist. Murderous policemen are guilty of their crimes. A patriotic American does not exist. Marijuana would never be an illegal herb. A patriotic American does not exist. No oil pipelines would pass through sacred Native Indians’ land A patriotic American does not exist. Trump and Hillary can never be candidates for the presidency. A patriotic American does not exist. No imported goods from foreign sweat shops in stores A patriotic American does not exist. No homeless citizens in any city in the country. A patriotic American does not exist. Babies getting too many dangerous vaccines A patriotic American does not exist. Doctors murdered for curing cancer A patriotic American does not exist. GMO products in the supermarkets. A patriotic American does not exist. USA no longer the land of the free, A patriotic American does not exist. Now the land of the greedy and heartless. If a patriotic American did exist. He would be a voice in the wilderness.

© Ahadd Ali 2018  Trinidad and Tobago

Tell me what to think and do

For I have no-one to turn to

Tell me how to dress and say

The things that matter day to day.

© Miss Aminatta Kamara 2018  England

I, Xenomorph
I don't enjoy killing people,
I don't really enjoy anything,
It's just impulse, instinct,
It's there, then it's gone,
I could blame the fact that they try to kill me,
But that's not why I do it,
I can't help myself,
Having acid blood is painful,
But that's not why either,
Metallic skin gives me discomfort,
But that's not why I kill them,
I don't know why I do,
I don't know why they try to kill me,
Neither of us can stop it,
Neither of us wants to,
I, Xenomorph kill people,
There's nothing more to it.

© Paul Christian 2018  England

The only
Still after all this long years,
I find my eyes filled with tears.
And still every night lonely,
I pray to see those eyes only.
Sometimes I'm horribly afraid,
And my only hope starts to fade.
But then in the terrible darkness,
I saw new eyes that are fearless.
Never I would thought this,
But my heart is now only his.

© Milica Tesanovic 2018  Serbia

A Private School Game
How does disappointment feel? Sheer embarrassment pushes the maroon through your veins, anger molests your brain and worst is the aching pain of failure dancing on your conscious.

Your thoughts ridicule you, mesmerising, burrowing then fermenting in your head. The moment is weeks in a few seconds. Your weightless, stopped in motion and hung to suspend in a room of mockery. The snarky looks of those who oppose you rip through your confidence to fuel your insecurities. It is not a room of those who want to listen but those who are there to prove their superiority hoping for you to burn. The tang of vomit corrodes your throat and you grow to become flaccid, compelled to fall but fear keeps you dangling from a silk string. Ironically all this stress is brought by a quintessentially cowardly private school game, so why do it?

© Nikhil Baid 2018  England

It burns my fingertips.
The flame, but also the light attached.
Agony— loving is pure agony.

Sharp memories pierce the mind
Like the daggers that were spoken to his mother.
Dirty smoke creeps down the ceiling—

Ghosts. Not of the past, but of the future.
I fear the future, the suffocation
Of not knowing, of blissful ignorance.

Half-closed eyelids, heavy from sleep,
Merge into thoughtless murmurs that soothe
the pain, the pain; rock me forth and back.

Your very skin cries ruby tears.
Yet while gems are priceless, these are cheap
And mined from thoughts of infliction.

Metal falls, tinkling loud
In the presence of turmoil— the thin sliver of
Space that keeps brine and freshwater apart.

You are that hateful space which divides,
The agony that is so wretched,
Yet so tranquil, and purifying, and real.

Like the ocean’s tide influx,
Like the moon that disappears and returns,
This thing that is inevitable is not love, but

The dizzying fear and euphoria of looking
Down from a great height, or rather—
The temptation and indelible desire to fall.

© Rita Chun 2018  Hong Kong

Loving in Vain
A young girl treads softly it's more than she can try to contend
A lover as lonesome as you, always pays the asking price
One who peeks through the curtains of innocence and cries,
when the winds of your words return and blow so unkind
But the flowers of a field sway gently and take time to rise

Though you complain, that there’s nothing as lonesome as knowing your own mind
The east and the west must know sunsets each once in their lives
Your majestic movements still defy the pangs of my mind
Still the crimson of your lips, gives me the freedom to wander in lines
But it grieves my soul to see you dampened by unfettered chains
So tell me is all of my loving in vain?

You've been fooled into thinking that life is playing your hand
And I can see that your once sweet eyes have been turned when I ask
When you don’t know the footsteps that you call your own
Well maybe it's time, it's time to turn back
You see, a loser can never win no matter how hard they try
So please ease the pain, i’ll ask it again, is all of my love in vain?

So lover please listen, I’ll give you the keys to your traps
There is nobody listening, just you and your tears that you follow like maps
Deep within your self, no answers you know can fill in the gaps
There is no one to beat you, no more vice and nothing without sacrifice
When time brings you pain, you’ll return to me and complain
And i’ll ask if all of my loving was in vain?

© niall badcock 2018  England

An Autopsy
Im as sick as a dog
But my mouth opens
Cat wide
A pink house for you
To draw circles
your finger growing ever-present
As an aeortic tick

My veins bristle
As you draw closer to her
The waxen figure
The flickering flame
her sparks have hooks around me
And I hang

Dont be scared to find
The sacred reason for your journey
Amongst my body

It is to distinguish any part
Of me that threatens any part
Of you

Isn’t it

© Chloe Bell 2018  England

Groggy Afterthoughts
A dozen murmured conversations
The clink if half-filled glasses
The smell of sticky tables, always
Soaked with spirited laughter

What holds fast moments, long after
Closing time? Our separate ways
Waiting for us past this street
With good-byes to warm cool air

Your road, now quiet and bare,
Homeward bound, rests at your feet
A chuckle, hushed but ringing
In our ears, and then we part

Taking a breath I start
Then find my bearings, grinning
Thoughts rest gentle on my mind
Mingling with the rhythmic sounds

Of snooker balls downed
And merry cheers far behind
As darts pock dartboards and walls
Joy for the game, hang the score

Life at its core
We knock 'round snooker bals
With as much aim as we can
And hope for luck in the game

One Big Game.
Enjoy the ride in the pram
On school buses, in first cars...
This life comes once, make it count

The sound
Of distant, stuttering cars
Cuts through my thoughts as they cough
Down lonely streets. Sea winds moan

Shoes off.
Take a bath.
Crawl into bed,
Think about the night.
Wait for eyelids to droop...
Restlessly shift, squirm, wriggle;
Get up and open a window-
Slip back in the sheets, drift off to sleep

© Kaz Uriu 2018  Austria

Carnage - A Sestina
It was verdant here in a distant time
The trees are gone - now stands concrete and glass
Roses once turned their heads towards the sun,
but have faded to nothing in Time’s flow
which makes all that is vibrant turn to grey
and dulls even that which once had been light

Here, steel now glints - a different kind of light
It is a reminder of the first time
they came with machines, cloaked in charcoal grey
Maniacal smiles behind darkened glass
Oblivious to beauty in the flow
of the stream, glistening in the midday sun

One man had cast his gaze towards the sun
Squinting hard in the perpetual light
He wiped his brow interrupting sweat’s steady flow.
He was old, and was alive through the time
when this place was a jewel, not merely glass
Its joy faded - as did his hair to grey.

It was no fault of his that green turned to grey
in this valley, once blessed by the bright sun
which won’t be outshone by pillars of glass
dark during the day, but at night they light
A mockery of true passing of time
A jarring intrusion to nature’s flow.

Smoke has begun to consistently flow
Painting the sky in melancholy grey
As far as wars go, it took them no time
to destroy what thrived - now even the sun
is naively attempting to shine light
through the smoke. Not one beam reaches the glass.

No matter, for curtains cover all glass
and concrete has set where streams used to flow
Garish neon signs are the only light
A sickening contrast to the stifling grey -
colouring landscapes secluded from sun.
Pale phantoms of what has been lost to Time.

They turned the lush valley dead and grey
made feeble and weak the glorious sun
the beauty of nature, ravaged by men and by Time.

© Jamila Badis 2018  Qatar

Let you find her...
In the moon night,
I've found my love.
Suddenly, my heart told me:
Your love is coming to you.
She was so beautiful,
Such as a sunrise.
When I saw her for the first time,
My eyes saw only hee eyes.
My heart felt smth strange,
After looked at her.
It ordered me to go and
Talk to her my feeling.
I did not realized what happened,
Everybody was not interesting for me.
I was standing in front of her,
With non-telling any word.
She has smiled me and,
Went home.
I could not stop her for a couple of times,
To tell her my admiration,
All my passion.

© O'tkirbek Sobirov 2018  Uzbekistan

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