![]() ![]() Who preferred playing a tin pipe she’d boughtįor tuppence in the market, said how she liked He tells a story of the lute player’s daughter Out of the sheep gut strings, and the kidsĪvoided the next new school, the next house, Leaning against his desk like a rock star, To his high school English class, held it, Had owned one, could play it, had brought it The strings that are made of sheep’s gut. The depth, the back that’s called a shell, Look at the shape of it – like a teardrop, She lives and writes in the Peak District National Park. Her poems have featured or are forthcoming in journals such as Magma, Mslexia, The Guardian, and The Moth Magazine. So thank you Rosie, and Poetry Space – I’m still on cloud nine!Ĭheryl Pearson is the author of ‘Oysterlight’ (Pindrop Press) and ‘Menagerie’ (The Emma Press), which was the PBS Autumn Pamphlet Choice 2020. I was absolutely delighted to hear that I had won first place in the Poetry Space competition – there were more than a few happy tears! It’s been a strange 18 months and at times writing has been difficult, so it was especially lovely for my poem to be recognised in such a way – particularly as the judge is a poet whose work I really admire. And it’s pity, mostly, I feelįor her, and I bless her. With names passed down – Florence, Frances, Olive, Jean –Īll fuss at my knees and the cupcake spoon, a drama a minute,Īnd the days arranged around school runs and ballet classes,Īnd the evenings nit-combs and maths workbooks.Īnd I watch the little wren weave in and out of ivy, beak fullĪnd beak empty, accosted by noise, and I cannot helpīut marvel at her industry. ![]() Kitchen shrink to fit them, shrieking, sticky-handed ghosts ![]() When every now and then I feel my cool rooms and sunlit This is how I settle my wanting when it comes. Mum she’s taken it, and it’s mine! And all the foam long You seen my slipper socks / my Etch-a-Sketch/ my gym-kit, Other pyjamas, a glass of milk and a fig biscuit, have Our red heads, repeating in sequence at the cracked door: And the heels of bread.Īnd when she bathed in our grey water, still she answered I believed she loved the cooled and congealed best.Īnd the brown French Fancies. Than a bag of air, and I haven’t seen her stop to quell Up for the span of a double gulp then opensįor further business. One blind chick at a time receives her, shuts The country slugs (dark as treacle, muscular), Purple hearts and all that clockworkĪnd blue wire. The little yellow alarms of their tongues going off, relentless.īruises for eyes, skin so thin you can see the faint Her crowd of mouths is riotous, indignant, First Prize WrenĪll morning she’s in and out of the neighbouring eaves, None of it would be possible without your support. Moira Andrew’s long awaited Poet in the Kitchen is now with the printer, Kaye Lee’s debut pamphlet collection, A Gum Tree in a London Garden, came out at the end of October and several other books have been published in the last year including, Locked Down, an anthology of poems, diary extracts and artwork from the 2020 pandemic. Poetry Space is run for love of poetry, not for profit and any profits made help us to continue publishing new work and giving more poets the attention their work deserves. Congratulations to everyone on the list and thankyou so much to all who supported this competition by sending in your poems. Here are the top three along with a full list of shortlisted poems. I am pleased to announce that judging has been completed, our lovely judge and award winning poet, Rosie Jackson read all entries and really enjoyed the process. ![]()
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