December was a great month for poetry on WOL ��" very many voters confirming my thoughts and finding it difficult to choose just one poem.  Nonetheless, one winner/ one poet did shine through ��" with two of her poems Rejection and Little Clock receiving 3 votes each.  That winner is Rachel McGladdery, a very welcome and talented new addition to the WOL ranks.   I was surprised that men didn’t also come out in their droves, voting for Rachel’s Stockings.  That poem was so sensual and well written, that it certainly had me reaching for the old ‘sussies’…

 

Two new poets Ann Foxglove and Thomas are to be congratulated for making it onto the list of nominated poems.  A warm welcome to both of you ��" it is good to see fresh talent, particularly from poets who input as much as they output…

 

I would like to put a word in for 2 poems that didn’t make it onto the list because I can (tee hee) and because they both stood out to me.

 

Firstly,  Dave Bradley’s Softer.   This poem wrong footed us all - appearing initially to be a poem about Dave’s aging member, before suddenly maturing into a eulogy of modern toilet paper….  I did consider having a second prize ��" Wipe Out Loud Outsanding Paper of the Month, but thought it might prove a hard act to follow -  unless, of course, Dave could write a poem called Harder??? The only problem being that, bar one exception, very few things improve by getting harder…In fact, I struggle to think of anything that might get harder with the passing of time.  Certainly not exams, polar ice caps, police entry requirements….Can anybody help me out?  Joking aside, I did love the humour in this poem.  Anyone who can get educated, intelligent people competing to outdo each other with arse wiping anecdotes, has to be a winner! 

 

My second overlooked poem is Darren Thomas’s  Arbeit Macht Frei.   A few of you cynics out there may think that I have chosen this poem to curry favour with the site’s leading critic.  Not so, say I.  I have no plans to publish any ‘Wigan Winter Words’ - this winter or next.  Had it been some boring poem about a boy fishing with his dad, it really wouldn’t have rung my bell ��" but a poem written about one of the greatest human tragedies of the last century, certainly deserves to be remembered ��" forever… I found the poem to be beautifully understated, poignant and with an ending that left me struggling for breath.

 

However, I do find it ironic that the sign Arbeit Macht Frei which has, after all, hung over Jewish concentration camps for more than 60 years, should have been stolen and dismantled in the same month that Darren submitted his poem to WOL.  If I were as cynical as Darren, I might just suspect this was a cunning marketing plan, to grab public attention and assure the winning of WOLOP! Commiseration to you Darren ��" it failed…. Anyone wanting to take another look at this poem will struggle ��" because Darren has removed it.  I will ask him to put it up on his profile ��" but you know what an awkward bugger he is…

 

Below, I have listed all the nominees for the month together with a few salient comments.  A small number chose to give 2^nd and 3^rd choices and I have included these also.  As usual, I will be asking all nominees to tag their poems with WOLOP.dec  in case people would like to read them as a group.  Thanks to everyone who took part.  It has been a lot of fun compiling this - I hope you enjoy the results. A Happy New Year to all. xx

 

 

Sit Rep                                       Mike Robinson

The Staffroom Celebrates            David Morgan

The Sentinel                               Thaumaturgically Charged (because he makes me think)

Repeat to Fade                          Marianne Daniels

Lacrymose Nesting                     Marianne Daniels  "This one for me is full of sorrow and

                                                                           loss. Missing people, lost moments,

                                                                           half forgotten dreams searching for

                                                                           a home. Brilliant"

Cycling Home ��" No hands     John Darwin

Harvest Moon                            Augusta Darling     Love the dark, understated threat and

                                                                                    ritual. Lovely rhythm echoing the

                                                                                    inexorability of the (unstated) outcome. 

 

Decree Absolute                       Winston Plowes

Bedouin                                    Deborah R Jordan  She weaves so much beauty and

                                                                               passion with her words ��" I am

                                                                               spellbound!

Bereavement                            Ann Foxglove

Walking the Coastal Path         Ann Foxglove

Why  So Blue Sweetheart        Thomas

Last Train to Shitsville              Paul Blackburn   (it made me remember being on that 

                                                                           train ��" many times before!)

Cosmic Fairy                           Emma McCourty  (For its delightful imagery and fantasy element)

The Journey of your Life          Jeffarama            He touched me!  Tres romantique!

                                                                           (I bet he does that to all the girls…)

 

WOLOP    Winner for December

 

 

REJECTION

by  Rachel McGladdery

 

I couch myself, crouched arse out, towards you,

Smooth and perfumed, polished clean.

Your eyes should travel down my back, flared like a cello at the hip.

Down the length, white and shining of my legs

To the shiny red heels.

See the contrast, white and soft, warm dimpled

And the shiny, brittle, violent, vinyl shine.

Ohh, that you would be the hard to my soft

Tense to my dimpled

Taut to my submissive.

Yet you throw yourself down on the down.

Your meaty arm flung slack across the pillow

And your breath lengthens

To sleep.

I draw my face towards the wall

And weep.

 

LITTLE CLOCK

by Rachel McGladdery

Her eyes fast forward through the scenes she's played.

A warm and milk rimmed baby boy, sleep slack against her shoulder as she hefts him for a burp.

A sturdy legged toddler kicking round a ball, skenning against the sun

A leggy youth awkward in his best shirt smiling, shoulder shelfing on his mum,

A son to grow, to outgrow her.

All halted like the stopping of a little clock.

She shyly shows the card they gave her on the ward.

I marvel, tears rising like fear in my throat to see the tiny print they made.

Who unfurled those tiny fingers?

Of a hand no bigger than my nail.

His weight five ounces

His length that of his mummies hand.

She wouldn't hold him though

But she's glad she has the polaroids they took.

She won't show them, they are for her alone.

Grief rises from her like a stink.