Our judge Alan Buckley placed seven poems in the highly commended category. These were
- Dear Agony Aunt by Angela Pickering
- Less is More by Michael Eyre
- Love Sick by Liz Jones
- We Play the Music of Food by Syd Meats
- A Festive Villanelle by Tracy Davidson
- A Kindly Sonnet by John Gallas
- Mixed Messages by Julie Burke
Third prize
Third prize was awarded to Carol Caffrey her poem 'Ciao, Baby'. Carol writes:
Carol Caffrey is an Irish writer living in Shropshire and has been writing poetry and short fiction for a number of years. Her poetry chapbook The Untethered Space is published by 4Word Press and her work has appeared in a number of journals, including Poetry Ireland Review, Pushing Out The Boat, Lunch Ticket and The MIR Review. She has been shortlisted and a runner-up in a number of competitions, including the Fish Anthology, The Ironbridge Festival, Poetry on Loan and the Chrysse Morrison Prize, and was the winner of the inaugural Blake-Jones Flash Fiction competition. She is delighted to have been placed third in the Charm Poetry competition.
Ciao, Baby
When I said I’d join you
for a gentle stroll, andante,
I didn’t think your pace
would so outmatch my own
I’d be left gasping in your wake.
Allegro ma non troppo, I begged,
but on you went, your feet devouring
the yards until at last you realised
you were a capella and had left me
far behind, dolorosa.
You did come back, I’ll give you that,
but I knew you’d be inquieto before
too long and so I said I’d sit and wait
while you continued because I knew you
loved to walk appassionato.
I watched as you strode out, almost
grandioso, feeling quite maestosa myself
for being so unselfish. Poco a poco
your form diminished until you disappeared.
I had the birds for company.
Years later (no, I didn’t wait that long)
I wondered if your leaving was impetuoso
or planned a la marziale, a scherzo that
was no longer funny. Never mind,
whisper it sotto voce, pianissimo:
Va' al diavolo, compositore, I move to my own music now
Second prize
Second prize was awarded to Drew Dewhirst for his poem 'Fossil Words'. Drew writes:
Drew Dewhirst is a Yorkshire-born, Yorkshire-based writer. He’s always loved writing but only began regularly writing and sharing poems in 2024. He posts a daily poem on his Instagram account @spare_poems, on topics ranging from the writing process itself to his two children (three if you count the dog). This is the first poem he has won a prize for, though he did once win second prize in a beauty contest whilst playing Monopoly.
Fossil Words
We’re only ever champing when we’re champing at the bit.
There’s no call for caboodle when it’s found without its kit.
It’s easy to come hither, but come thither won’t go well.
You never sound a knell these days unless it’s a death knell.
Things never, ever walk amok, they only ever run.
You have to have the whole shebang, or else you can have none.
You rarely hear of anyone in mediocre fettle.
Mettle’s only tested when you’ve got a score to settle
Can anything at all except a motive be ulterior?
It’s possible to wend one’s way, but going’s now superior.
Shrift is only given short, it’s never given long.
Batten anything except a hatch - you’ve done it wrong.
If we are to bandy, we must bandy things about.
There’s only ever much ado - a small ado is out.
You’ll only find some jetsam if some flotsam’s also moist.
There’s no call for petards these days, unless it’s to self-hoist.
Things happen out of wedlock but they rarely happen in.
We only think about our kith when pairing them with kin.
We’re full of vim and vigour but what’s vim when it’s alone?
Things are in the offing, but that’s offing’s only home.
Sleight of hand’s the only thing that kind of sleight is for.
Bygones can be bygones, but they cannot be much more.
We find ourselves at loggerheads, we wait with bated breath –
Sometimes it’s only context staving off a certain death.
First prize
First prize was awarded to Alexandra Denman for her poem 'Fair Ellen'. Alexandra writes:
Alexandra Denman has been a copywriter since the late 1980s, and did not write any poetry apart from advertising jingles (sorry, nothing famous) until the COVID lockdown in 2020. She was then persuaded by a friend to join an online poetry group, and was surprised when her unashamedly comic verses were enjoyed by the other writers in the group. Encouraged by their comments, both kind and critical, she has learnt to use wit and charm to convey serious messages as well as fun. This is Alex's first poetry prize and she is absolutely delighted.
Fair Ellen
Oh, young Lochinvar, take me back to the Hall,
I’ll see that it doesn’t turn into a brawl.
You’ve ruined my wedding day; don’t wreck my life;
My dear, I’m already his sworn wedded wife.
You’re daring and dauntless – that’s useful in war
But won’t keep me warm on this rain-sodden moor.
Oh, young Lochinvar, let’s head back to the east;
You shouldn’t have gate-crashed my marital feast.
We’re thumping and bumping o’er Cannobie Lea;
My buttocks are raw and I’m desperate to pee.
Your steed may be fast but my heart’s in my mouth.
If he steps in a fox-hole we’re all going south.
I’m cold and I’m cross and my finery’s soaked;
Unlike you, I’m not suitably booted and cloaked.
Behind us my clansmen are howling for blood;
Before us the Eske will be roaring in flood.
Perhaps you could swim it; I surely would drown
With the weight of my wedding dress dragging me down.
Oh, young Lochinvar, please go back to the west.
I’ll tell all my kinsmen it started in jest,
But first your horse bolted and then the girth snapped,
And next thing we knew the cruel Eske had us trapped.
Just drop me back home, out of sight of the house;
I’ll scuttle back in like a wee sleekit mouse.
Ah, dearest, it has been a wonderful ride.
Life with you would be thrilling, that can’t be denied,
But real life is dull, dear, and all passion fades,
And you’ll choose a bride from your local fair maids.
Each year on this day, think of me for a while
And remember – my firstborn may well have your smile.
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