WOLOP for November
Dzien dobry folks! We have come to that popular time of the month again where everyone gets to know just who won the most coveted prize on WOL ��" of course, Write Out Loud Outstanding Poem of the Month!
November saw the posting of some 352 blogs ��" a fascinating mixture of prose, advertising, pornography and arguably - some poetry…
Thirteen people voted and happily some even managed to agree. First place goes jointly to Marianne Daniels for her poem ‘The Sons’ and to Augusta Darling for her poem ‘Love me until Morning’. Both received 2 votes each, which is something of a miracle given the low numbers ��" well done girls!
I have compiled a list of all the nominations below and will be asking nominees to tag their poems with WOLOP.nov in case any enthusiastic WOLOPers should like to read them as a group. If anyone is curious as to why the maths doesn’t add up (and there is always one) that is because one poet gave me a few of his favourites. I included them because his reasons were interesting and it had no effect on the overall winner.
I feel I cannot let the month of November pass without making some concluding commentary on a poem that attracted 36 comments ��" surely a record for a blogged poem. Even October’s poem of the month only collected 53 before dwindling as angst ridden poets switched allegiance with the wind…
I refer of course to Augusta Darling’s Voyeur on the Wall (Date Rape) which nobody has yet commended for its beautiful and understated expression of the subject matter…. Maybe that had something to do with its steamy nature ��" it certainly got one or two people hot under the dog collar. I initially saw it as light hearted piece of work, since I’ve never been averse to reading saucy material. Having discussed it further with an ex member of the law, I see that there are deeper implications to associating rape with pleasure, that should not be skipped over so lightly. Augusta, darling ��" do stick to less controversial subject matter in future ��" frigidity, promiscuity, buggery, necrophilia ��" so long as it’s consensual or at least not non consensual, you’ll be OK. Even better if some narrow minded, opinionated, uptight poet gets you censored ��" you’ll have the whole site singing your praise….
I am really enjoying running this competition. I love to reward poets with praise for their hard work and there is nothing better in my books, than knowing that others have genuinely enjoyed your work. I do hope that more of you choose to get involved next month. Thanks to all who have voted and a very Merry Christmas to you all. xx
Nominated Poems ��" In no particular order
(Comments added, are those made by nominating poets)
“Winter coming, do you want to have a warm boots.”
“Men just go here order top quality and lowest price nike shoes.”
both by linfp2009
(Simply because their unexpectedness and naiveté made me smile on a dull day!)
“Dark Art” by Barrie Singleton (For its joyous, cerebral and very effective manipulation of visual imagery.
“drenched” by John Darwin
(For succinctly creating a mood of utter desolation and loss).
“Under the Wire” by John Aikman
(For its beautifully understated expression of extreme emotional pain in relationships)
“Ignition Disaster” by Winston Plowes
“….” By Jessie
“Shapeless and Transcendent” by Wytchewoode
( For its wow and gulp factor)
“Kilim” by Deborah Jordan
“The Taking Away of a Lady’s Tear” by Stefan Wilde
“Human” by Emma McCourty
“Those Ever Neglected Friends” by Pete Crompton
“New Brighton Lament” by Steve Regan
( On steve’s profile, not a blog but I couldn’t wait for a replacement…)
The Sons by Marianne Daniels
The coil of summer is spent, and we bruise in the cold
like litmus papers, with ogres scowling in our bellies
and death knuckling our jaws. We repent
our steadfast boots, our gallant wooden toys, our rampant
springs of duty, swallowing hard, and tasting theft
with every buckle around our waist
and every scar stitched on our coats. We slide the reds
around our mud veins, our slug trails of war, like draughts
on boards littered with graves - all names
lost in the futile stretch of an atlas on earth ripe
with decomposition - and we bury our heads, our souls,
our friends, in the glacial silence.
Our love is home but home is dead; a compass
in No Man’s land, roused by the shivers of the shredded
iris that has sped our youth,
the enlisted mothers, propping each other up
to save the face from the puddle. We do not trust sleep
in it’s comfort and our fear is a walking wound to save
Our sons that leap into action
Like hares into the jaws
of a trap.
Love Me Until Morning
by Augusta Darling
Love me until the morning
Love me through the easel and canvas of your day
Love me to your everywhere
Love me into the singsong of your smile
Treasure my moments
Moments of madness
Given up like a child
Love me through my kissing
Kisses that fall to you like mist stingle hangs upon a leaf
Kisses like two swans upon still water
Wear me close to your dream
Watch the which way of my going
Love me until the morning