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Meet the winners of the YorkMix Poems For Children competition 2019

Meet the winners of the YorkMix Poems For Children competition 2019

A spellbound audience at York Discover library congratulated the winner of the first YorkMix Poems For Youngsters Competitors on the weekend.

Laura Mucha, of Canonbury, London, scooped the £250 first prize together with her poem, Rapunzel, a witty retelling of a basic fairytale. Another poem of Laura’s, Compliments Of Shakespeare was also honoured, with a Recommended award.

Our decide, Carole Bromley, YorkMix‘s Poet In Residence, stated :

  • It was a joy to guage the first YorkMix Poems for Youngsters Competition.

    Any preliminary anxieties concerning the organiser ending up out of pocket have been in a short time dispelled as poems started pouring in from all corners of the globe, together with Australia, The States, Canada and Europe in addition to from everywhere in the UK and lots of, many local entries, a number of of which, to my delight, ended up in the winners’ and recommended pile.

The decide’s verdict

The profitable poet with a young fan…Carole Bromley reveals why she was stunned by these poems

Obviously I had no concept when judging a poem if it was the work of an area writer who had by no means written for youngsters before, or a world writer, or even (and I soon began to suspect I used to be receiving various these) someone well-known and really gifted from the youngsters’s poetry scene within the UK.

It felt like a really massive duty! I couldn’t just assume, Is that this by someone actually good, perhaps somebody I’ve met or heard of? I just needed to stay calm and determine if I favored it, or, relatively, if I assumed a toddler would really like it. If I was not sure I might present it to a toddler (I’ve 13 grandchildren so no scarcity of second opinions) before I made up my thoughts.

I know judges typically say this however I actually imply it. I wanted there were more prizes. I wanted I didn’t should determine one poem was higher than one other. I wanted we might simply make a marvellous anthology out of the perfect fifty poems as a result of I do know youngsters would love all of them and for various reasons.

I had a ‘robust contenders’ folder and to get from that to the shortlist pile or greater was a huge achievement. Several actually well-known names didn’t make that leap as I later came upon.

I observed a number of things concerning the entries basically. One was that there have been tons of poems about dinosaurs and even more about food! Many of those found their means into the winners’ folder but some didn’t, simply because they have been up towards stronger poems on an analogous subject.

One other thing that struck me was how very few poems have been aimed toward teenagers and the way few additionally for pre-schoolers.

⁦@JayneWriting⁩ reading her recommended poem ⁦@theyorkmix⁩ awards on Saturday pic.twitter.com/ykdPusqpKv

— Carole Bromley (@CaroleBromley1) August 20, 2019

Philip Waddell Studying his recommended poem at YorkMix Poems for Youngsters Awards pic.twitter.com/HXOoQzvhJJ

— Carole Bromley (@CaroleBromley1) August 20, 2019

⁦@janeburn1971⁩ reading her recommended poem ‘Bogie Toad’ at YorkMix award ceremony pic.twitter.com/U9x5xl4P8y

— Carole Bromley (@CaroleBromley1) August 20, 2019

The vast majority of entrants knew youngsters nicely and their poems have been focused on the younger. There were virtually no no-hopers. There have been a number of that advised the reader about their grandchildren and, though properly written, these had much less sense of audience and have been actually for adults who can be amused by the child’s antics.

My advice can be to rewrite these within the voice of a child. Viewpoint is very important. I might additionally inform if a poet hadn’t learn any youngsters’s poetry because the 1950s!

You actually do have to familiarise your self with, for example, the superb poetry within the collections and anthologies which are shortlisted yearly for the CLiPPA award. Poems additionally don’t need to rhyme (although it helps) and you may permit your self to be funny.

Any poem that made me snicker aloud went straight into my Robust Contenders/Longlist folder.

Choosing the winners was agony. Not as a result of the winners aren’t sensible. They are. However so are most of the highly recommended poems. In the long run I had to ask if we might have three poems tying for joint third. I beloved, liked, liked all five of our winners.

The first prize-winner, Rapunzel, is an outstanding, funny, unique retelling of the fairy-tale. I was delighted to seek out it was by Laura Mucha, an excellent youngsters’s poet and writer whose first youngsters’s collection can be revealed by Otter-Barry Books.

Our second prize-winner is that uncommon thing, a shape poem which is not only creative and intelligent but in addition a superb poem in its own proper. I couldn’t consider it once I was informed this poem, A Diplodocus Thumbs A Raise After Being Retired From The Pure Historical past Museum, was by York poet and retired GP, Richard Carpenter.

Claire Schlinkert studying her poem at YorkMix award ceremony on Saturday pic.twitter.com/GNVzbSWnDM

— Carole Bromley (@CaroleBromley1) August 20, 2019

Sandra Horn Reading her poem at YorkMix award ceremony on Saturday pic.twitter.com/68GcX433Il

— Carole Bromley (@CaroleBromley1) August 20, 2019

⁦@SarahZiman⁩ reading her prize profitable poem ⁦@theyorkmix⁩ award ceremony on Saturday pic.twitter.com/dJtNSHyGUh

— Carole Bromley (@CaroleBromley1) August 20, 2019

The three poets sharing third prize, Sarah Ziman for Packed Lunch, Matt Goodfellow for A Special Badger, and Geraldine Durrant for A Change Is As Good As A Rest, all nicely and really earned their place among the winners for his or her humour and inventiveness.

Listed here are three poets who actually know what they’re doing. In truth Sarah and Matt had different poems which have been very robust contenders too so that I virtually needed to toss a coin to determine which of their fantastic poems most deserved a prize. I feel the reply is all of them!

And I liked the off the wall humour and bouncing rhythms in Geraldine’s poem.

So, all in all, a joyous if very troublesome course of. I used to be so excited by the clear evidence that there are various, many truly gifted youngsters’s poets on the market. Some, I do know, are revealed and the remaining need to be. Youngsters want poetry this good. Thank you to everybody who entered, for entrusting your fantastic poems to me.”

Alan Payne studying his two recommended poems ⁦@theyorkmix⁩ award ceremony on Saturday pic.twitter.com/dVDFnSRKfH

— Carole Bromley (@CaroleBromley1) August 20, 2019

Harry Bayman Studying his recommended poem ⁦@theyorkmix⁩ award ceremony on Saturday pic.twitter.com/m1Q1lHutEc

— Carole Bromley (@CaroleBromley1) August 20, 2019

The winners

First prize (£250) was awarded to Laura Mucha, for her poem, Rapunzel

Second prize (£100) was awarded to Richard Carpenter, for A Diplodocus Thumbs A Raise After Being Retired From The Natural History Museum

Equal Third prizes (£50 every) went to: Geraldine Durrant for A Change Is As Good As A Relaxation; Matt Goodfellowfor A Special Badger; and Sarah Ziman for Packed Lunch

A complete of 560 poems have been submitted by 225 poets.

All of the profitable and recommended poems are under.

The profitable poems

First Prize

Rapunzel
by Laura Mucha (Canonbury, London)

Rapunzel’s mother and father, though fairly wealthy,
stole veggies from a wicked witch,
who caught the foolish thieving fools.
She screeched, “You’d die if I have been cruel,
but I’m sort… And so you’ll reside
but solely – ONLY – when you give
your youngster to me.” And so they did.

When the little doll turned twelve
the previous hag locked her in a cell
situated in a ghastly tower –
Rapunzel couldn’t have a bathe,
brush her tooth or comb her hair…
However wait! Don’t panic! Don’t despair!
I promise you a cheerful ending –
that is, at the least, what I’m intending…

The witch would visit day by day,
and on arrival, she would say,

“Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let your hair down.”

And sweet Rapunzel’s golden curls
would slowly tumble and unfurl
permitting Witch to clamber up
(sometimes getting stuck).

Someday later, within the wood,
there rode a prince, both truthful and good.
and when he reached the ghastly tower,
(you realize, the one with no shower),
he stopped. He sniffed. After which he screamed
“WHAT’S THAT SMELL? It’s quite obscene…
I can’t abide such nasty pongs.
Perhaps I’ll see what’s happening
as one thing have to be very incorrect.”

He clambered up the crumbling bricks,
determined that he’d discover and repair
the horrid stench. He reached the odor,
and climbed into Rapunzel’s cell.
He discovered the beautiful woman and sniffed.
“AHA”, he stated, “IT’S YOU THAT WHIFFS!”

Rapunzel, startled, stared at him –
his good-looking face, his strapping chin,
and yelped, “My prince! You’ve saved the day!
You’ve come to whisk me distant!”

“Oh no,” he stated, “you’re far too foul –
you odor like you’ve been disemboweled!
Your physique odour makes me frown!”
And identical to that, he climbed again down,
and shortly trotted into city.

And that was that. Or so it appeared,
Rapunzel sat there, sad, unclean…

But you’ll be relieved to study
that shortly after, Prince returned
and got here to candy Rapunzel’s assist
along with the hearth brigade.
The firemen scampered up the tower
and gave the filthy woman a bathe.

“I’m clean!” Rapunzel cried, “Yippee!
And now the Prince will marry me!”

Prince went up to have a sniff.
“Oh pricey,” he wailed, “you actually whiff…
We hosed you down with plenty of water,
so now I feel you actually oughta
odor quite good. But you do not.
You odor like mouldy cheese and grot.”

A couple of days later, in the wooden,
he came across Miss Driving Hood
(who carried spherical a bar of cleaning soap
and all the time took the time to soak).
They shortly married, moved away –
and sadly, on their wedding ceremony day,
Rapunzel lived alone up there
with filthy, rotten, smelly hair.

However wait, don’t panic! Don’t dismay!
Why it was simply the opposite day
I saw Rapunzel dressed in brown
and now she runs a store downtown
with soaps and perfumes, toothpaste too –
(I have to say I purchased a couple of).

The woman had very bravely jumped –
and landed with a mighty thump
upon her filthy rotten locks
(which made a cushioned touchdown spot).

We spoke a bit, and she or he appeared properly –
and there’s not far more to inform.
Besides, in fact, she didn’t odor.

Second Prize

A Diplodocus Thumbs A Raise After Being Retired From The Pure History Museum
by Richard Carpenter (Strensall, York)

Click on on the image to read the poem


Equal Third Prize

A change is nearly as good as a relaxation
by Geraldine Durrant (East Grinstead, mid-Sussex)

AN anteater, whether it’s fat or it’s thin,
pretty much does what it says on the tin:
it eats ants for its dinner and ants for its lunch,
and ants for its supper and snack time and brunch,
and whether or not it’s Christmas, or Sunday or Easter,
a modest repast, a quick nibble or feast, a
‘n anteater has what an anteater needs –
which is dozens and dozens and dozens of ants.

Except Eric.

Eric stated firmly “What really bugs me,
I had bugs for breakfast and bugs for tea.
I’m not being fussy, I’m not being hasty
I would like something to eat however I would like one thing TASTY.
I’ve had pink ants and black ants, I’ve eaten them boiled,
I’ve eaten them fried and I’ve eaten them broiled.
I gained’t clear my plate. I don’t need extra grubs-to-root.
I don’t need them skewered,
I don’t want ant substitute.

I hate ’em.

“I’ve had it with ants. I’ve had greater than enough.
I need to attempt cheeses and gateaux and stuff.
I simply need to gorge myself, eat with out stopping
on pates and pizzas – and select my very own topping.
I don’t need ants flambé-ed, I don’t want them entire,
or chopped up in pieces, or served in a roll,
I don’t them frittered or in an ant-ball,
or satayed or seared – I don’t want them in any respect.

NO more ants.
Or cockroaches.
I really don’t need to attempt the antsi pasti.
Nope – don’t need spiders.
Nothing with a thorax or greater than two eyes.
Chips can be great.
Thank you.

Equal Third Prize

A Special Badger
by Matt Goodfellow (Cheadle, Manchester)

I’m a particular sort of badger
in a particular badger den
writing special badger poems
with a special badger pen
learning special badger lessons
in a particular badger faculty
earning particular badger kudos
for my special badger cool
sporting special badger badges
saying badgers are one of the best
passing special badger interviews
and special badger checks
consuming special badger espresso
from a particular badger mug
but my special badger drawback:

I am truly a slug

Equal Third Prize

Packed Lunch
by Sarah Ziman (Watford)

On Monday,
I opened my lunchbox and I had:
A ham sandwich,
Some cheese and onion crisps,
And an apple.

On Tuesday,
I opened my lunchbox and I had:
A cheese sandwich,
Some ham and onion crisps,
And an apple.

On Wednesday,
I opened my lunchbox and I had:
A ham and cheese sandwich,
Some apple crisps,
And an onion.

On Thursday,
I opened my lunchbox and I had:
A sandy ham,
Some crispy onion,
And a cheesy witch.

On Friday,
I had faculty dinners.

Extremely Recommended poems

The Fib
by Stephen Bastable (York)

I informed a bit of fib someday
To make myself look intelligent.
However everyone believed my fib
And now the fib’s endlessly.

A brand new child joined our class at the moment
And it seems he’s a Viking
I’d really wish to be his pal
But I’ll fake that I don’t like him.

They all say I ought to speak to him
However then they’ll know I lied.
When he’s out enjoying with my pals
I’ll have to stay inside.

I really hope no one finds out
That I can’t converse Norwegian.
I assume I simply gained’t go to Norway
Or that common region.

I informed a bit of fib at some point
To make myself look clever.
However everyone believed my fib
And now the fib’s eternally.

Catcall
by Janet Dean (York)

I’m a cat,
don’t patronise me.
Puss puss indeed.

I was not your cuddly kitten.
My baby claws mauled
the ball of wool,
when you keep in mind.

I mew for meat,
mice are spicier
than the mashed up meal
you set out.

I purr for pleasure,
your stroke is dry;
I would like the damp paw
of my mother.
The place is she?

Don’t assume I arch my back
in anger, or in worry;
I’m practising the pose
of my Egyptian forbears,
on your info.

That curl-up in your lap
just isn’t contentment,
it’s just a little time-out
from resenting you.

There’s nothing you can do
to make me love you,
I’m not the domesticatted sort

So – where’s the flap?

There Is All the time One
by Susan Glickman (Toronto, Canada)

There’s all the time one who’s late for sophistication and one
ready by the door for the instructor.
There’s all the time one who forgets his homework.
All the time one who can’t anticipate health club and that other
who hides within the corner, one who will get picked first
and one who performs by herself.

The one with incredible hair jewellery may additionally love
stuffed animals and the man whose shoelaces are in knots
spends all his allowance on magic playing cards,
however the chess champion in all probability isn’t a goalie and the one who has
a dog, a cat, a tank of tropical fish and two gerbils
can’t be the one who’s allergic to animals.

There’s all the time one everybody needs as a good friend
and one other no one knows.
One who breaks all of the crayons.
One who’s read every ebook in the library, one
who can’t read in any respect and one
who never says a phrase.

Have you learnt the one who’s so tall
everybody thinks he’s a lot older and the one who’s so little
all of the academics assume she’s cute?
There’s all the time one with freckles, one
who twirls her hair and one
who interrupts.
Then there’s that guy who’s all the time singing.

Is the child who bites his nails the same one who’s good at math?
Is the red-head the category artist?
There’s all the time one who drives the instructor crazy,
one whose mother and father don’t know English, and one
whose grandmother could be very sick.

There’s all the time one who holds your hand at recess
and one who likes to sleep over,
and one who says “Greatest associates
ceaselessly.”

There’s all the time one.

Nuts
by Matt Goodfellow (Cheadle, Manchester)

I wouldn’t need a burger or a curry or a quiche
I wouldn’t push a pasty past my lips and tongue and tooth
I’d hate to have a thousand issues all swimming in my guts
‘cos I was born a squirrel, so it’s: NUTS! NUTS! NUTS!

selection nervousness isn’t what squirrels do
we don’t want sausage sandwiches or chunky hen stew
no jelly-pots that wobble like your massive fats human butts
‘cos I used to be born a squirrel, so it’s: NUTS! NUTS! NUTS!

once I’m in your garden stealing peanuts from the birds
take on board my reasoning, it’s truthful, not absurd
don’t shake a fist or do me down with disenchanted tuts –
keep in mind I’m a squirrel, so it’s: NUTS! NUTS! NUTS!

Quetzal
by Sandra Horn (Southampton)

In case you get confused between
A Quetzal and a pretzel,
Listed here are some useful hints:
A Quetzal is a crunchy snack
Like cashew nuts or mints.
It doesn’t have a tail or beak
It could possibly’t lay eggs or study to speak.

A pretzel, however’s
An Amazonian parrot.
You can’t munch a pretzel
Like a lollipop or carrot,
It can chew again, squawk, fly away,
And name the RSPCA.

PS I wrote this late at night time –
I’m not fairly positive I’ve acquired it right…

Dinosaurs for dinner
by Joanne Lloyd (Wolverhampton)

‘It’s pretend’ stated Jake, slicing nice chunks of cake
But his knife was now visibly starting to shake

‘Simply maintain cooking’, stated Suze, as she switched off the Information
‘If it isn’t a hoax, we have now no time to lose.’

‘It’s millennia too late’, stated auntie Kate
As she set down a bin lid to function a plate

‘It’s bologna’, stated Tony, as he boiled macaroni
In a saucepan the dimensions of a miniature pony

However then, ‘shush!’ cried Maria, her eyes bulging with worry
‘I can really feel that they’re now getting terribly near!’

Then they stopped with the stirring and chopping and poaching
In the hush they might hear heavy footsteps approaching

Peering out by way of the curtain, Kate let loose a yelp
‘They’re coming’ she gulped, ‘oh no, oh assist

‘There are three of the issues, they’re monumental and inexperienced
‘They appear indignant and scary and hungry and imply.’

‘Just hold calm’ bellowed Suze, with a shake of her head
‘Kill the panic, and assume for a second as an alternative.

‘Like they stated on TV, we should always maintain a relaxed bearing.
‘We must take out the feast we’ve been busy getting ready.
‘They’ve travelled via time, they’ll be needing a snack,
‘They’ll simply gobble you up for those who run out the again’

So, with trembling arms and with jelly-like legs
They emerged from the house with trays brimming with eggs

And with pasta and pies and potatoes and peas
And with pastries with raisins and crackers and cheese

The dinosaurs looked at each other with glee
‘How divine!’ stated the most important ‘there’s walnuts and brie!’

‘Oh, my word’ stated one other ‘they’ve made guacamole!
‘And for pudding they’ve carried out us a jam roly poly’

Then the creatures sat down they usually ate they usually ate
Until the solar had lengthy set and the night was late

Then they sweetly stated ‘thank you’ and received to their ft
‘We must depart now’ they stated ‘to seek out something to eat.’

This Poem
by Heather Reid (Abernethy, Perth, Scotland)

When you would somewhat be kicking a ball
or climbing a mountain in furthest Nepal,
when you’re not a lot into poems at all,
this poem’s for you.

This poem’s for you when you’re underneath the climate,
on prime of the world, on the end of your tether.
This poem’s for you when you’re questioning whether or not
this poem’s for you.

This poem’s for you if baked beans make you sick,
for those who’re first on the staff or the last to be picked,
if your favorite topic is arithmetic
this poem’s for you.

This poem’s for you should you’re sassy and vibrant,
should you can’t get to sleep with the light off at night time,
if your writing’s not great however your spelling’s all right,
this poem’s for you.

This poem’s for everyone out there who’s received
a make-believe good friend whom they speak to so much.
For women who like soccer and boys who don’t,
this poems for you.

This poem’s for Emily, Sanjeev and James,
for Mina and Tomek and Declan and Jade,
for everybody who has a vowel of their identify,
this poem’s for you.

This poem is sturdy, it gained’t break or squash,
it gained’t cause a rash and gained’t shrink within the wash,
carry it with you endlessly as a result of
this poem’s for you.

Past Examine
by Robert Schechter (New York, USA)

A circle colored in with chalk,
a football someone kicked too high,
a nightlight making dim from darkish,
a peephole minimize out from the sky,
an eye fixed with out the middle half,
a head and not using a bit of hair,
a canvas waiting to be art,
a sun, except without the glare.

A clock without the shifting arms,
a coin without the royal face,
a wheel that’s given up its spins,
a doily reduce from cotton lace.

I attempt my greatest to liken it
to something else. A unfastened balloon?
But no. It’s nothing however itself.
The dizzy, pretty, good Moon.

Tyrannosaurus Vexed (Notice to the Edtor)
by Claire Schlinkert (London)

Pricey Sir/ Madam,
It seems
that your biased views and smears
have been inflicting my group some stress.
All you poets and you writers
seem quite clearly out to spite us,
for you give us such a really dangerous press!

You revere the golden eagle,
and declare the lion regal,
yet they present no extra compassion to their prey.
Though our neighbours may be wary,
and some seem to assume we’re scary,
we are NOT the imply previous baddies you painting!

To conclude, whilst robust and agile,
our esteem may be fairly fragile.
Extra unkindness, and we’ll soon be nervous wrecks.
We don’t want the world to hate us,
so please give attention to our greatness.
A lot appreciated,
Variety regards,
T. Rex.

Ice-cream for breakfast
by Michael Shann (East London)

Sofia, what would you want for breakfast?
Emm… ice-cream.
Pardon?
Sorry Dad. Ice-cream please.
Ice-cream! For breakfast!
Yes, ice-cream. Mint-choc-chip please.
You want mint-choc-chip ice-cream for breakfast.
Truly no. Can I’ve strawberry please.
Strawberry!
Sure, strawberry.
But you possibly can’t have ice-cream for breakfast.
Why not Dad?
Because you possibly can’t.
However why?
As a result of you’ll be able to’t. Whoever heard of anybody having ice-cream for breakfast?
Me.
You?
Yes, me.
When did you ever hear of anyone having ice-cream for breakfast?
This morning.
This morning!
Yes, Mummy stated I might have ice-cream for breakfast this morning.
Mummy did! When did she say that?
Just now. She stated seeing because it’s a big day I can have what I like for breakfast.
However did she say you would have ice-cream?
No, but she stated I can have what I like. And I’d like ice-cream.
But I don’t assume she meant ice-cream. Anyway, why is it a big day?
Mummy says it’s twelve years right now since she first gave you a kiss.
Is it? Oh yes, it’s the ninth of March.
Yes Dad. That’s why it’s a big day.
So it’s Sofia. Come on, let’s have ice-cream for breakfast.

The Faculty for Ghouls
by Kate Wakeling (Oxford)

The varsity for ghouls
is where ghosts and spooks of each type
study the tools of the commerce.

The ghouls are schooled
in how you can go bump within the night time,
or carry out a LEVEL 7 FRIGHT
by standing weirdly on the steps
within the crisp moonlight.

Classes start at midnight
(until the clock strikes thirteen).

And the ghouls,
in fact,
must keep on with the principles
for the varsity’s headmistress
gained’t endure fools.

(Word how she carries her head,
chopped off neatly on the neck,
beneath one bony arm.)

They are saying her punishments are
GRAVE.

The ghouls study chain-rattling
and teeth-chattering
and the way to get on-line with a spider’s net.

For the more basic white-sheet ghost,
the laundry module is a should.

So, roll up for a time period
at the faculty for ghouls.

Be a part of the creepy crew.

I heard
the spelling exams
solely cover one phrase:

BOO

On the Degree
by Stephen Williams (Appleton Roebuck, York)

Turns out I’m Degree 5 in maths
‘Cos I can do some sums.
I’m Degree 3 in music
As I solely play the drums.

In English, I’m a Degree 4 –
I wrestle with my spelling.
But I’m Degree 6 at appearing
So at drama I’m excelling.

In science, I’m a Degree 5
‘Cos I can draw a chart.
I know which means a pencil goes,
So Degree four in art.

I’m good with dates and World Warfare II,
So Degree 6 in historical past.
However why I’m solely Stufe Drei
In German is a mystery.

However I’m off the size at listening.
And I’m pretty with my cat.
I’m all the time sort to all my associates
However they don’t measure that.

The varsity’s obsessive about numbers
And the academics’ minds are shredded.
But I don’t take a lot notice –
Because I’m level-headed.

Recommended poems

Bogie Toad by Jane Burn (Consett, Durham)

has a face like a welly boot toe,
eyes like soapy moons, blinky caps of lid,
no use for lashes. Mouth all smiley cut up –
curled inside a roly-poly, roly-poly,
roly-poly tongue, long as a mile,
fast as twenty lightnings, sticky-stuck,
lick its personal brow, out and in!
Catching all them yumptious bugs,
legs and wings and every little thing –
taste of liquorice, dead-fly pie
all wriggle-taste. Scrumptious bugs!
Skin like teabags, leafy, leatherbound
stretchy-wetchy, twixy-tween her toes.
Knobble-burp and bubble throat sing,
leg, leg, bounce, bounce, hopper-jump.
Floated jelly eggs in a mish-mash,
tadpole blisters, babies waggling
from their snotty pods and croaking pleasure.
Water splish-splash, gulpy track of ribbits!
Flip-flop, leap-frog, rubber-foot boing!

The Museum of Chairs
by Fiona Calvert (Acomb, York)

In the Museum of Chairs there aren’t any pairs,
Because each chair is a particular sort of rare.

You’ll be able to sit on a chair that is coated in hair,
And giggle on a chair manufactured from spotty underwear.

You’ll be able to spin on a chair from a experience at truthful,
Then hover on a chair that isn’t actually there.

There’s a specific chair you’ll be able to sit on for those who dare
(Although it seems like a slightly giant grizzly bear.)

There’s a very pretty chair that’s large enough to share,
And you may bounce on a chair like you simply don’t care.

There’s a rickety chair in a state of disrepair,
And one that’s made totally of a chocolate éclair.

You must actually pay a go to and treat your derrière;
There’s nowhere, in your backside, that can fairly examine.

Wonderland
by Jeremy Grant (Woodhouse Eaves, Leicestershire)

No ideas however in thingamies.

It was the type of dribbly day
you get in goals,
rainbrellas opening
like flowers in the street
and hairyplanes leaping
from puddle to muddly puddle.

I used to be half-expecting to see
a hippyhoppymus
sploosh down our street,
its great physique shifting
like a heavy gray cloud
floating too close to the bottom.

Downstairs, the growing-ups
have been consuming suggestive biscuits
and consuming it’s-hot tea
in careful cups.

Me? Hen pops
for 5 long get-ups.
They got here in the night time
once I wasn’t listening,
exploding over my body
like bubble wrap, a life-
sized dot-to-dot of me.
You’re clementined,
mum stated. Finish of.

Factor is: I’m a lonely baby
(no bothersome sisters to talk of)
so I make and consider in
magiciany worlds in my head.

There’s a personal eye
in my magnifying glass
that sees things I can’t see
right beneath my nostril,
and my sausage dog
referred to as Shmutt
is scorching on his tail,

however the tale of the dastardly villain
crinkling his fourth head
and twirling his waxed moon dash
is way too horrible to inform.
We search for crooks and grannies,
faculty unicorns,
find strangled eggs
lying chilly in class canteens.

(I urge your backyard, Ma’am,
however I ain’t getting
peas and noodles
over some Yr One
simply because she flies
on the jumpoline,
not even for those who stuck us
together with oopsaglue.)

Imply Shmutt
in our spaghetti automotive bananas
with our wee-wah prepared
for emergent sheeps,
snotrils flying in the wind,
as we leap the toll bridge,
every part underneath the troll.

Or he in his uppity
and me in mine,
bumbling like bees
via the cockadoodle dawn,
speaking on talky-walkies
in Gobbledygook.

The guests are gone now
and rising on the odor waves,
sweaty bolognese,
and what’s that?
Dalek bread?
(Reality is the boiled ogglets
we had for lunch
have been a bit dipappointing,
if you understand what I imply.)
Ex-ter-min-eat!

Quickly Dad’ll crawl residence
from his Insect day at work,
his face all pink
like someone spilled his beans
(he’s in all probability on the George
Garrick Method proper now)

and it’ll be time again
to go downstairs
in the same clangernackys
I was sporting when he left.

Armboobs off the table
when you’re consuming, he’ll say.
Doughnut squeak whistle mouthful.
And for pud, a deal with, a trifle.
Marks and Spensive. Really jumpers!

Tonight, when the dark
comes smooky down from the timber,
mean Shmutt’ll sneak out
when the neigh-birds are sleeping in their nests
into the night-night night time,
where the owls can solely rely to two
and the booby-whackers prowl,
their clicker-clackers
tucked up in their coats.

Or later, with my hockle-bockle
comfortable towards my skin,
when the wakey-wakey world
has sung its lullabyebye,

I’ll dream of mingos,
kamins skating on ice,
cockledeer grazing
in fields of booboo bells,

and artsy stinkpots,
sporting French-style hats,
completing me dot for dot
and making me nicely.

Three Little Pigs
by Heather Reid (Abernethy, Perth, Scotland)

In a bit picket house by a sycamore tree
Lived an previous mom pig and her household of three.
Day after day the little pigs grew
Till Mom Pig stated, ‘Now, this gained’t do!
We’re squashed in here now you’re all grown –
You should go and build houses of your personal!

Lazy Pig One went searching round,
Found a couple of sticks in a heap on the bottom
Pushed them together, tied them with twine
‘It appears a bit rough, however it should do high quality! ‘
Stated Lazy Pig One. ‘There’s a wonky bit there –
But that doesn’t matter and I don’t care!’

But later that night time while the Piggy was sleeping
Something came slinking, Something came creeping –
Something took a deep breath and huffed
Opened his toothy mouth and puffed…

Piggy awakened and jumped away from bed
Simply as the wonky sticks fell spherical his head.
‘Gotcha!’ stated Something, however he was mistaken –
(He’d counted his pig before it was bacon)
Piggy ran off, squealing, ‘Can’t catch me!’
Back to the home by the sycamore tree.

Lazy Pig Two roamed about; by and by
He came to some hay-stooks overlooked to dry.
‘A ready-made home!’ He stated with a grin –
‘There’s nothing to do, I can transfer right in!’
And that’s what he did – he crept underneath the hay
Where he snoozed and he snored for the rest of the day.

Late within the night time, our pig was still sleeping
When One thing came slinking, One thing got here creeping –
Something took a deep breath and huffed,
Opened his horrible mouth and puffed
Up in the air went the house made from hay,
Tossed by the wind it just floated away.

‘Gotcha!’ stated One thing – mistaken once more –
Pig Two was off like a shot down the lane
This little piggy went ‘Wee wee wee!’
All the best way residence to the house by the tree

A wise fellow was Little Pig Three
He borrowed two books from the library
One was ‘Making Mud Bricks’ and he learn it all via.
‘Right, then,’ he stated, ‘now I know what to do!’
He moulded his bricks from the mud, one by one
Then left them to dry in a row, in the sun.

On a flat piece of ground, he marked out a sq.,
Fetched all of the mud bricks and constructed his home there.
He put locks on the windows, a bolt on the door,
After which settled down for a well-deserved snore.

While he was sleeping, Something got here creeping –
One thing came huffing, One thing came puffing,
However the little house stood, as our pig knew it might
All One thing’s huffing and puffing did – nothing!

However Something was hungry, he wouldn’t give in.
‘I can climb down the chimney,’ he stated, ‘I’m fairly skinny,
What a shock Pig will get when he sees me seem.
There’ll be chops on the menu tonight, by no means worry!’

He’d just clambered up to the chimney stack,
When Piggy awoke. ‘I fancy a snack,
I’ll boil a nice egg,’ he stated, ‘over the hearth.’
He threw on some coal. Because the flames rose greater,
‘Yowow!’ yelled Something, ‘that’s blistering scorching!’
He leaped to the bottom, away like a shot,
Right down to the river to cool off his nose
(And his tail and his ears and his fingers and toes.)

Little Pig watched with a broad eggy smile
As One thing went by at a-minute-a-mile.
Then he sat down for an additional good look
On the notes in his second library guide:
‘Artful Concepts for Pigs, quantity four:
Retaining the wolf away out of your door.’

‘These books saved my life!’ cried Little Pig Three,
‘Hooray for my local library!’

Compliments of Shakespeare
by Laura Mucha (Canonbury, London)

A poem impressed by Shakespeare’s insults.

You toxic, slimy, bunch-backed toad,
you coward, beggar, shallow rogue –
your villainous odor offends my nostril!
You’re rank, you make me sick.

You elvish, starvelling smelly hog,
if solely you’d been born a canine
I’d like you more.
However no. As an alternative, you’re like a sore,
you’re like a boil I’d wish to pop.
You’re speaking but I want you’d cease.

You’re lily-livered, knotty, proud,
your February face is filled with cloud –
you’re lumpy, foul, all froth and scum.
I have to say I feel your bum
is the perfect thing about you.

Grim Fairy Tales!
by Heather Reid (Abernethy, Perth, Scotland)

Tell me a narrative, a long-ago story
and make it deliciously scary and gory;
with pale, headless riders on galloping horses,
and dragons who drink maiden’s blood between courses.

Inform of giants despatched crashing down overgrown shoots,
and a step-mum who visits, with toxic fruit,
and a disgruntled piper who makes youngsters dance
to a tune he once used to put rats in a trance;

Tell of youngsters who comply with a path by way of the wood
to a house where a witch needs to eat them for pud;
and a princess who finds, when she goes for a sleep,
that a pea in the bed can inflict fairly a bruise.

No, don’t spare the small print, I need to hear all
about wolves eating goats, and goats head-butting trolls;
about porridge and bears and a golden-haired whinger,
an ill-mannered biscuit whose flavour is ginger,

who provides his previous mother and father a run for their cash
however ends up as dinner inside fox’s tummy.
Yes, inform me a story that fills me with fright
and then close the door slowly and depart on the light!

Centuries of Questionable Kings
by Shauna Darling Robertson (Frome, Somerset)

Did Pippin The Middle long to make it to the highest?
Did Ivar The Boneless generally tend to flop?
Was Stephen The Valuable virtually all the time in a strop
and did Ferdinand The Bomb ever drop?

Did Louis The In style have a lot of Facebook pals?
Was Haakon The Loopy absolutely round the bend?
Did Piero The Unlucky sustain a sticky end
and Llywelyn The Luxurious simply spend?

Was Edward The Eloquent ever lost for words?
Did Domnall The Speckled get mistaken for a chook?
Did Vasily The Cross-Eyed see the world as principally blurred
and was William The Silent ever heard?

Was Louis The Unavoidable glued to your aspect?
Did Alfonso The Candid despair of those who lied?
Was Olaf The Titbit uncooked or sautéed, baked or fried
and was James The Rash just itching to be tied?

Was Harold The Bluetooth the world’s first wi-fi king?
Did Haakon The Broad-Shouldered are likely to take issues on the chin?
Was Ferdinand The Fickle up and down, then out, then in
and did Louis The Debonair wear bling?

Was Brochwel The Fanged recognized to bark after which to chew?
Did Frederick The Bitten cross his path one fateful night time?
Did Constantius The Pale turn a pasty shade of white
and Garcia The Trembler get a fright?

Did Alfonso The Slobberer give something but drool?
Was Childeric The Fool a mug, a chump, a idiot?
Was Bolko The Strict uber-stern and super-cruel?
And have been any of them actually match to rule?

P.S. These have been all of the nicknames of actual historic monarchs, royals and nobles.

Grandad’s Going Fishing
by Miles Salter (York)

Grandad’s going fishing,
he’s heading for the stream.
He’s hoping he may catch
a carp, or trout, or bream.

Grandad’s going fishing,
will he get right into a muddle ?
I noticed him out final Sunday,
he was fishing from a puddle !

Grandad’s going fishing
he hooks all types of things –
bicycle wheels and bottles,
rusty radios and comes.

Grandad’s going fishing
for socks and sticks and stones.
He’ll come back with a internet full
of bats and bricks and bones.

Grandad’s going fishing
I heard him make a wish –
perhaps immediately will be the day
he finally will get a fish!

This Poem Is New
by Robert Schechter (New York, USA)

This poem is new. I made it up.
Earlier than I sat and wrote it,
you can not read this poem in any respect,
recite its strains or quote it.

It didn’t rhyme, it had no phrases,
you possibly can not sing or hum it.
If there’s a Mountain of What’s Not,
this poem was on the summit,

the King of What Had By no means Been,
to Not But There, a hero,
the empty area you find within
the circle of a zero.

But now this poem exists for positive,
so please be happy to learn it!
It’s on the Mountain of What Is
in case you ever want it.

And someday when this poem is previous,
keep in mind that this doesn’t
mean there wasn’t once a time
when it most certainly wasn’t.

Who?
by Philip Waddell (Oxford)

Underneath the leather-based gear
Underneath the slicked again hair
Beneath the moody sneer
Who?

Underneath the studs and lace
Underneath the Goth-pale face
Beneath the dental brace
Who?

Beneath the graceful veneer
Underneath the steady stare
Underneath the surface cheer
Who?

Beneath the maintaining heat
Beneath the uniform
Beneath who we perform
Who?

First Dolphin in Area
by Stephen Whiteside (Northcote, Victoria, Australia)

The dolphins acquired collectively, and commenced to type a plan.
They’d been watching very intently the activities of Man.
“Let’s put a dolphin up in area!” an eager dolphin cried.
“Don’t say it will probably’t be executed! We won’t know till we’ve tried!”

“Animals in area?” stated one. “There’s nothing new in that.
We’ve had both canine and monkeys, and most likely a cat.
We’re just one other animal. We show that we will fly,
And none will give a second thought. They won’t bat an eye fixed.”

“No, no. You don’t perceive. All that was carried out by Man.
We’ll do it by ourselves, you see. I’m constructive we will.
We’ll construct a rocket secretly, upon the ocean flooring.
We’ll prove that we are vibrant, and never be servants any more.”

That acquired the dolphins considering. There was definitely little question.
If they might construct a rocket, it will pack loads of clout,
Nevertheless it wouldn’t be a simple thing. They began taking stock,
To see what might be normal out of seaweed, sand and rock.

It took them two entire summers, and the winter in between,
However eventually they constructed a rocket a pleasant shade of inexperienced.
They all drew seaweed straws to see which of them would type the crew,
However people who weren’t going nonetheless had tons of labor to do.

Eventually the day arrived once they may end their disgrace.
Man’s equal – clever dolphins blasting dolphins into area.
They lit the fuse, then swam properly again, with flippers held to ears,
And watched the rocket rise amidst a throng of squeaky cheers.

The rocket was a terrific success. It lifted with a roar,
And headed for the heavens as Apollo’d finished earlier than,
And at the rocket’s tip, within a capsule dim and dank,
Have been three courageous dolphins in a tiny little tank.

They weren’t content material with that, in fact. They needed equal standing.
They all donned particular area fits for the fateful lunar landing.
It took a mild contact to put the tank on overseas soil,
But they did it – nicely rewarded for their many hours of toil.

So then they headed homeward in triumphant state of mind.
What welcome mat awaited them, what greeting would they find?
Alas, they met with silence, for it seemed Man hadn’t seen
The intelligent dolphin rocket, a pleasant shade of inexperienced.

At first they felt quite indignant, but they schemed and planned as soon as extra.
“Man thinks he is so clever, but we’ll even up the rating!
We’ll put a dolphin up on Mars. Yes, we’ll win that race,
And that may certainly wipe the sickly smile from Man’s smug face!”

So that’s what they did, you see. They labored with may and primary,
While Man did very little, being conceited, and useless.
Then when, eventually, Man laboured in a fast, belated burst
To put a man on Mars, he discovered…the dolphins acquired there first!

Sick Word
by Sarah Ziman (Watford)

Please excuse Zac from swimming; his leg is quite unfastened,
His hair’s just not behaving, and his sweating is profuse.
That rash nonetheless seems alarming, we’re considering that it’s spread,
The spots upon his backside have migrated to his head.
He didn’t get a lot sleep final night time; he’s not shaken that cough,
His complexion’s pale and clammy, and his left ear’s fallen off.
He’s obtained an ingrown toenail; he’s allergic to chlorine,
He’s acquired the worst verruca that the nurse has ever seen.
Briefly he’s feeling dreadful, there’s nothing more to say,
He’s undoubtedly too poorly to teach swimming to 3A.

Three shortlisted poets attended the awards occasion to read these poems:

Night time Out
by Harry Bayman (York)

I went to sleep on the back seat.
I was dreaming about spaceships.
I landed on a blue planet
with big craters and hippos.

The most important one stated “Welcome
to our planet, Malcolm,
however the place is your special helmet?
Our air is green soup, toxic to people.”

I’m being carried along a road.
The lights go past, one , two, three.
It looks like I’m in a ship; up, down.
I’m on the sea with fierce pirates.

I’m lying in a heap of sentimental garments.
I’m in a cave on an island,
with a storm howling outdoors.
I’ve been right here years and years, dwelling on nuts.

I’m on a magic carpet, high enough
to look down on all the houses,
above me only the moon and stars,
and I’m on my approach residence, or perhaps, to Mars.

Alligator
by Alan Payne (Sheffield)

Once upon a time, there was an alligator
with eyes like two full-stops.

. .

Once upon a time, there was an alligator
with claws like commas, five on its two entrance ft,
and four on its two again ft –
making eighteen altogether.

,,,,, ,,,,,
,,,, ,,,,

Once upon a time, there was an alligator
with a tail like a question-mark.

?

As soon as upon a time, there was an alligator
with tooth like exclamation-marks –
tons and plenty of them –
between seventy-four and eighty altogether.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

At some point, this alligator lay on the ground,
wanting very elegant –
like a sentence on a page.

So long, alligator.

However then, my pricey previous grandmother came along,
wearing black, wanting very composed,
and sat on the alligator’s again!
Oh no! Look out!

SNAP!

Billy and the Snail by Alan Payne (Sheffield)

There’s a snail on the door!
Come and see it!

I’m busy, stated his dad.
Not simply now, stated his mum.
I’m doing my homework, stated his brother.
Another time, stated his sister.

There’s a snail on the door!
Come and see it!

All right, stated his dad.
Very properly, stated his mum.
If I need to, stated his brother.
Just this as soon as, stated his sister.

However the snail on the door
wasn’t there any extra.

Oh, stated Billy.

B-i-l-l-y! stated his dad.
I don’t know! stated his mum.
Waste of time! stated his brother.
Snails ! stated his sister. 


Then

Billy drew
an image of a snail
and pinned it to the door.

There’s a snail on the door!
Come and see it!

Nobody replied.

Silence.

He despatched a textual content to his dad,
a text to his mum,
a text to his brother,
a text to his sister.

Hello, take your time,
no have to rush.
The snail on the
door could be very
patient. It’s
waiting for you.
It’ll be there for at
least every week.

The Donkey with Two Left Ft
by Jayne Shipley (Scarborough)

You see that donkey on Scarborough seashore,
With the social gathering hat and two left ft?
Which two, you ask. The entrance or again?
The aspect, I say! Don’t be so daft!

Aha, you say. But can he dance?
Solely on Thursdays, given a chance.
Salsa or Rumba? Does he dance at The Grand?
Here’s the seashore; he’s a donkey, he dances on sand!

 
Carole Bromley’s most up-to-date collection, Blast Off, is for youngsters and is accessible from Smith/Doorstop. She is the writer of two pamphlets and three collections and has a new assortment for adults, The Peregrine Falcons of York Minster, out next yr from Valley Press. She lately gained the Poetry Society’s 2019 Hamish Canham Award.