Poetry Comp 2008

[cormack15]

The Speed

Wait for the race, wait
For the race.
Wait.
Wait.
Shaking racked gates
Wait!
Clatter sprang.
Rattle their escape, leap-
-ing
They’re off!
Striving, straining, reaching, ground-grabbing;
The burning snap and bulge of muscle
Gaining, swinging, bounding,
Rolling powerful herd,
Bringing down that steady thunder.
Rattling mud plates, dust of summer

Sinking away distant into far side heat haze
Under ocean-wide open blue skies.
Pure air warming bright faces,
The picnics and stalls of summer fetes.
Light pooling lazily on parked cars;
The merest breath of breeze;
The bumbling humming of a heated crowd.

Buzz saw tannoy warnings cut the lull.
At the back of hearing,
A never quite ending low drumming;
A shuddering horizon.
Out of extremes comes the gathering judgement

Descending, sweeping down reckless slopes
Hurtling the bend’s camber.
Rumble rising, rising terror;
Shiver the levels of trembling grass,
The whirlwind’s giddy onrush.
Velocity’s tongue-lolling,
Slamming headlong into aching walls of air
Tiring,
Flailing,
Hauling effort
Gathering, rowing with numb worn muscles
To white post
To line of
Neck-stretching
Nostril-flaring
Eyes closed
Head down
Glory!

The roaring wave breaks
To burst in pounding ears;
The pulling up of madly thumping hearts;
A champagne surge.

[cormack15]

(Not) Fooled by Randomness

Shoeshineless eyes pick out the names on the screen.
A hand in the pocket feels for a five,
But pulls out a ten. Is this what they mean
When they say that it’s real? When they say you’re alive?

I’ve been from bar to street to bookie, and no
devil was required to tempt me; I’ve pretended to be
Nothing more than something I invest in, for no
Reason that makes more sense than it became me.

That was ten years ago. Cradling my broken pride,
and a hipflask. High above there, on Cleeve Hill,
Where I sat and shook, and solemnly made my
Vows to bet in a way I manage still.

Off tilt. Off chance. With the odds on my side.
And much to my surprise the notes came falling
To me. The winning horses; the winning rides;
The better bit; beyond the noise; became a calling.

I walk past stables every day – them riding out.
No thoroughbreds here. But noble still, as is.
I stand and stare and think of those who doubt
That I could make a living out of this.

[cormack15]

Cheltenham Hill

Dont spill my Cheltenham hill
get home the browns the greys
the dappled bays dont fill
the landscape with a chill but
gently bounce their warm hearts
still their nerves till
through soft sensuous grasses
they finish to hear the cheer
hey hey

[cormack15]

Horsefly

Zilzal and Polish Precedent ….
waited nonchalantly in the wings
It was the race before the big one
the starter was fussing on other things
not who was to be crowned the rightful heir
as a fly rose from his nose into the air
to settle in a lively mare
he blew it as the gates opened
his nose and it flared
and all heels broke loose
as away they teared

hooves rose
grass married with mud shot and flew
high up to mix and spatter hue
of bigger shirted colours
the race was on
the first bend upon
a shout a pull
a squabble for position
jockeys bones bent
in single concentrated mission
forget the rest its a one man crew
the fly clung on shaken by speed
just hating the hulabaloo

Reds greens
yellows – blues too
shimmied and startled
filling the creature’s
little black eyes
so full of surprise
four hours left to suck
and live on muck
what will he do to chuck
the unceasing ticker tape
that is time unstuck
to stop that sieve of life
having just the one take
his hair type legs stuck badly
little rakes
atop a tirelessly
raging waterfall of running time
how will his eyes survive
his wings arrive

Purple people flashed by
four legs bent on victory
Git out of the way
I’ll not survive
cant see
Get off the mane
onto the rail
avoiding spittle and beaten tail
he’d left the pain
of whips
the rest
then spread his wings
into a sail
to catch the queen Elizabeth sun
de-rail
on a slither of grass
a crumb
a cabbage patch
or might have been
all was so blissfully
silent and unseen
nothing attached
not even a hum
He had landed
surely on cream
but a cussed hard
dirge followed
to unsettle the scene

They got him on the second circuit
a deadly run
or so it seemed
eyes in the back of his head
that had not seen
the classic
that started with a scream
and he’d snoozed for a
fortieth of a lifetime
to be woken by a god
with metal feet
who forcibly fashioned
him out of line
into a being unclean
his future shipped into the breeze
of nothingness
He was shaped like a dime
Oh deathly gust
Oh Jesus
surely its not his time
With such ease
Zilzal stretched his
post race legs
lifting the death hoof
with unknowing tread
the same hoof he had dented
and teased the French
there was no polish president

The Ascot oak was lighter
it sighed
for its acorns
shed by the victor as he
rocketed by
like a big calf racing car
and picked up by little boys
into a jar
It was just another race for
the thundering hooves
for the bigger boys that
capture the mood
with their bundled easy ploy twenties
crumpling Elizabeth into cow pat faeces
to sit above their losers vests
just a normal end to a day at the races

Think on their quest
the beaten the sodden
the little lives
societies forgotten flies
for where is majesty
without their trifling tribe
of downtrodden tiny lost dreams
no longer alive
Imperious ones if you now dare
point your scissor sharp wits
not at their myriad minuscule
beaten up eyes and badly cut hair
cut them not to bits
Or you at your peril you that rule
You can join them in the same fly pit

Patterned wings terribly torn …
excreta shafted into mud
a creature forlorn
no sound of the thud
a smudge of black tar
worn down
his fur long out
spread into the crud
flattened on a blade of grass
by a four legged slave
who’d butterflied his bottom half
into an emperor
Zilzallied into history
with the blood of a fly
on his hoof
and he aloof
to the lifeblood
he had snuffed and shortened
as he stretched a powerful leg
for a large fee
of immortality

The other flies cried
lifting their heads drunk
with grief
not a dry eye
as a fellow had died
and they sat on the rail
so pale and denied
no one heard their wail
The bookmakers necks
looked all rather frail
as their satchels
whimpered and sighed
for fresh chalk another race
and a weaker forgiving god
who possessed a blind eye

No anger to vent …
no time for a why
what a classic way
for a fly to die
No cup for him
no sugar just slime
spread out in lumpy cold winds
defying the lords of time
and a stiff wait for
the answer to sin
and the ghost of Zilzal
the only god to touch him
and a roar to settle
in time

Oh why Oh why …
as you live on
as a god
did I die as a fly ?

[Drone]

Thanks to all for their efforts

Enjoyed reading them

[cormack15]

The winner of the Sportsbooks.ltd.uk competition is [b:1c20c2ha]‘A Cautionary Tale’[/b:1c20c2ha] by Aaronizneez. His second competition win in consecutive weeks following his victory in the Daylight Cup last weekend. A copy of Jim Anderson’s ‘Shergar and Other Friends’ will be on its way to you tomorrow Aaronizneez.

Our own forum vote was in favour of ‘Horsefly’, by none other than Gamble.

The other authors were as follows –

Saturday Monring – Aaronizneez
Trapped – Gamble
The Last Fall – Cormack15
The Speed – Andrew Hughes
(Not) Fooled by Randomness – Tooting
Cheltenham Hill – Gamble

Many thanks to all participants – very interesting and perhaps something we should do again. Perhaps a short story competition next time?

[tooting]

Well done all.

Last year I finally stopped waiting my long overdue call-up to the England team.

Looks like I’ll have to stop expecting the call from the Nobel panel as well!

[Andrew Hughes]

Congratulations on winning the competition Aaronizneez and on winning the other competition to Gamble.

I thought all the poems were good and though I was strongly tempted to vote for myself just to boost the poll, I thought that would be perhaps on the sad side of tragic.

Chin up, Tooting. There’s no reason to give up on the Nobel Prize or indeed the England team. Can you kick defenceless women, swear at referees and pretend to be injured at a moment’s notice?

[gamble]

I think we are all a bit injured in here Andrew and your nicely bright light pooling lazily on parked cars might well describe the seven lights and four parked cars that represent this notable but dimly lit competition.

Congratulations to Aronizneez on creating Bamp who I found a very personable entry in Saturday morning and of course his excellent A cautionary tale.

I have spent the last two hours reading and re-reading the poeds (minus mine) although I did skip and flog myself once through the fly. All highly interesting and each poed deserving of merit.

I really would like to comment on each but as a fellow entrant it looks pig headed and anyway I am distracted with my head mentally in red square and I am having a really lazy day with baird feet at five in the afternoon

Every poed and all poedry has a secret and secrets – Hughe’s itchy finger for instance

I wrote the fly with a mirror in front of me.

[gamble]

it takes four hours of pushin’ broom
to buy a four by twelve two bit room

[gamble]

Well no big surprise I am back
and with some small agenda on my return.

Firstly I do believe Andrew that your
finely crafted poed The Speed has taken the popular vote. You share top vote but win on goal
difference due to your single entry. Obviously the initial votes had the advantage of anonymity, but I am quite well liked in these houses and unless Jim declares himself as being on Speed I would say it was fairly won and offer my congratulations to you.

Initially I had a high competitive yearning to win the main prize but the words took over and led me away from the rostrum and down a hole into mad hatter land. ( I do not believe I was alone down there catching sight of another entrant chewing his trotters whislt devising a title )

I had a special highly personal reason to enter this
as my only previous experience with poedry tainted me at a very tender age, and I wanted to exhume that particular nasty ghost and certainly I had to battle with demons to get the first words out

I may well return to this theme.

[Andrew Hughes]

Welcome back Gamble

Very kind of you but your horsefly buzzed into places that the other poems couldn’t reach – it was a genuinely enjoyable read and a worthy winner.

my only previous experience with poedry tainted me at a very tender age, and I wanted to exhume that particular nasty ghost and certainly I had to battle with demons to get the first words out

I’d like to know what this experience was. I’m imagining you being trapped in a lift with Pam Ayres after she’d had too much parsnip wine?

[lollys mate]

Heard a great poem today from a 20 stone Irish plasterer, as he was pushing the pink fluffy stuff up a wall. He spotted a spider.

Billy said.

"Spider spider on the wall,
Have you no brains at all?

Can’t you see this walls to be plastered?
Now your stuck, you stupid b@stard."

I was simply moved to tears by such eloquent words.

Ho Hum!

[Andrew Hughes]

A work of true genius

[gamble]

I got the impression Billy might be forty one
but the poed, like the spider is in a mould of its own.

Andrew the internet is a strange even unfathomable place.
I have only just read your message due to
a strange set of circumstances
whch gives me further evidence
that the curse is still with me.
I will be back with more

[gamble]

I am indeed back sooner than I thought….
and far more relaxed than before
when I was in a hotel back lobby
and very time pressured.

Lolly I would hazard the spider
is in your own hand
Is this what they mean by underground ?
I like the sadly late Beryl Cook but it took me
several large ladies to fully appreciate her.
and likewise I would probably need some
more david brady expletives to get you or your leggy mate.

Andrew I thank you for picking up my grotesquely deformed yet humble offering
and placing it on an undeserved plinth
– however your rating of the spider
puts my fly right in the back seat
happily fumbling in the dark
and feeling for his second inadequacy.
In fact if you carry on in this vein
I will vote for you and settle the matter

The eye’s sexuality is unconfirmed.
He is reputedly male
as writes as such, and if stuck in a lift
in an adam and eve situation with the holding rope
as the snake, certainly it would test his dubious literary talent.
and as for Ayres, welll she wouldn’t be spouting
Oh I wished I’d looked after me teeth
but Good grief
I do believe
you wrote the fly
beneath the beast

[gamble]

Air is refreshingly damp tonight
just been out to stretch ’em
and had dry thoughts
of Mr Frisks National.
I am pleased that Jeremy
made a side swipe at it in racing
as I had a spring in my step
just remembering the weeks before
and the actual race.
it was a dry one
with iced drinks follow

[Author]

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