41. The Poet’s Home   - Elaine White           

At last, after fording rivers, seas, and moats,

they lay down arms outside the castle walls.

Old souls gather where the water lily floats.
 

They’ve travelled far, the music in their throats

parched dry, their fine skin scorched by desert halls:

a test, after fording rivers, seas, and moats.
 

Through centuries, their many lives remote,

removed from ways that time and mind recall,

old souls gather where the water lily floats.
 

And when their hearts have bled, their fair lips smote

silent by non-believers’ scathing gall,

they rest, after fording rivers, seas, and moats.
 

Their crime? The wonder in their song denotes

the way they set souls free yet still enthral.

Old souls gather where the water lily floats.
 

But now they set aside their book of notes,

lay down their arms, their warrior wordsmith tools.

At last, after fording rivers, seas, and moats,

old souls gather where the water lily floats.

HIGHLY COMMENDED 

​

 42. The Seven Wonders of the World    JP Staunton 

I often wonder about electricity ,

How a switch can just turn a lamp on ,

And I wonder if the Periodic Table

Is where my sister's kept their tampons .

I wonder about Higgs - Bosun ,

The use of the Hadron Collider ,

And if an Apple a day keeps the doctor away

Why not two and a half litres of cider ?

I wonder about the history of Helium ,

How was it discovered ? It makes me frown ,

So I borrowed a book from a scientist ,

Now I can't put the flipping thing down .

But the biggest wonder of all ,

And it keeps me in a curious condition ,

Is , who chose Joe Bunn and Seamus Fox

To be judges in a poetry competition ....

 43. The Way Through The Trees  - Keith Willson 

​

One day you won't be satisfied

      with just looking, and you’ll yearn

             to walk the secret arc of the wooded way.

                     You might imagine your childhood

              is to be found there – when trees were

        all climb and peekaboo, where all’s as it is

                     and never should be else, with freedom to explore

                               mysteries with wonder. Or imagine youth is to be found, when

                                      trees were for photography, poetry, philandering or prayer.

                                       We can’t sit still, we’re just made to follow a way. We’ll                                       make one of it – whether or not it exists: the sketch that led

              to the Sistene Chapel ceiling; the compliment that led to a

lifelong love; the equation that led to the atom bomb.

                  The way is a path that no other soul treads – it is for

                             you alone. Who would dare intrude on secrets known

                                 only to trees?

                                             You would.

                                 Will you diffuse into confusion? Bruised illusions?

                        Mind rewind?  While wandering and wondering,

       between the trees, under the clouds – a journey to solitude or

                  danger – will you copse burst from this cabinet of dendritic

                               curiosities to eye feast a horizon of ziggurats, or stumble

                    on occult goblins burnishing plutonium from secret stores?

            Will you encounter a menagerie of stallions? Elephants?

Tygers? Or meet wandering folk? Sorcerers?  Epicures? Sages? Irresistible lovers?

One day, you’ll take a deep breath, you will walk

              around the path and live those trees. You will find

                         whatever is round that bend. You will take that path

                                 and confront it. You will, I tell you,

                                            You will.

44. The Wonder of Living on the Edge -John Demetriou

We Neapolitans live on the edge,

dwelling betwixt sea and volcano,
in the shadow of a powerful hand;

not knowing what the future holds,

in danger from invading peoples

or the seismic movement of the land.

Vast Vesuvius has erupted more than once;

the new cone cradled in the crater of the old

but the last, is what is remembered most

and established Naples firmly on the map.

Tourists still flock to come and see

the effect of nature's power and ferocity;
the remnants of great Roman towns,

some buried deep, beneath huge larva mounds.

Today we live among the ruins of the past

 and face the ruins of modern life:

 decaying buildings, unemployment and

  the dirt and smell of unsafe streets,

 filled with the rumbling of scooters and cars

 that weave their way and show their scars

 as they pass down steep, narrow, cobbled roads

 that have seen much traffic and heavy loads.

Yet new life springs upon the old;
vines, olives, tomatoes and citrus                                 

grow well in the rich volcanic soil.

New towns are built on ancient homes

and tourism thrives from the past.

Life continues as it did before:                         

snack food, lodgings, sport and leisure,     

politics, order and religious fervour,

                    as once in Pompeii, with its pomp and splendour.

Millions in the grip of a simmering giant      

who when aroused can smite with one blow.

Like the sword of Damocles, threatening from above,

not knowing when Vesuvius will again erupt

to end our lives, all too abrupt!

So in the shadow of death, let us stop and wonder;
how uncertain life is, it does not last forever.

Let us, therefore, seize it with wise hands

                                           and not waste time's fleeting, precious sands!

45. The Wonder of Love  Stephen Brown 

I wonder at the vastness of space,

and why my socks vanish without a trace.

How do birds know where and when to migrate?

Why does toast land butter-down when it falls off the plate?

How do spiders build such large webs overnight?

And why are some people left-handed, not right?

How do murmurations swirl with such grace in the air?

And why, oh why, is a boxing ring square?

Has nature evolved by chance or by plan?

How do they get Teflon to stick to the pan?

We spend lots of time puzzled by things that are small,

yet avoid the deep questions that matter most of all.

I often wonder at human stupidity,

ignoring the science, and continuing activity

that damages the planet with irreversible effect,

carbon emissions that still rise unchecked.

We've split the atom and walked on the moon,

yet hunger and conflict won't end anytime soon.

We've built incredible structures, mapped out the human gene,

yet our sons still fight wars where our grandfathers had been.

With our ingenuity, education, understanding of history,

our diverse creativity, still to me there's a mystery

of why kinship dissolves into anger and blame,

and why prejudice burns with such stubborn flame.

Yet amidst darkness there are small lights persisting -

quiet acts of kindness, hatred resisting.

Perhaps the deepest wonder isn't found in stars or seas,

but in willingness to hope, to forgive, to live at peace.

We're surrounded by beauty, below and above -

if only we'd dwell on the wonder of love.

 46. The Wonder of Words   Louis Wathen 

​

How long will it take until the library is filled

When the words have been conquered and the work of poets fulfilled

What will happen when every street with a name

Has had its story told, time and time again

When all the wordsmiths have lost their purpose

And tamed their vicious circus

When the songs have all been sung

When the words have all been done

Will writing still have meaning, when writing becomes numb

Will writing still have meaning, when the meaning comes undone

Will I still be writing, in twenty years or so

There are limited stories left, the seeds have all been sown

What will happen to this talent I call art

What will happen to my sullen art or craft

Will I just simply forget the wonder of these words

Or will I try and hoard the words like money in a purse

 47. The Wonder Years  Nicki Watts 

The wonder years have arrived, like I thought they might,

The universe decided that the time was right.

I wasn’t prepared for these days but here they are,

And this is what I have experienced so far:

I wonder why my neck’s hurting, did I lay wrong?

I wonder why everything takes so long.

I wonder what the day is and where I should be,

I wonder why this decline’s happening to me.

Why did I stand up? Why did I enter this room?

I wonder if I’m on track for impending doom.

Is there something important that I’ve forgotten?

My body doesn’t work at this brain fog’s rotten.

The wonder years have landed, are they here to stay?

I wonder if I can get them to go away?

48. Time Was  Sara Gunns

​

The Sovereign Light shone nightly, a beacon of hope in the dark. How

many people were saved as its light shone bright o’er the waves? The

foghorn called out through the gloom, like the Kraken disturbed in the deep.

The warning boomed out far and wide, making sure vessels didn’t collide.

But it wasn't all work for the Men of the Light, there was fun and frivolity too.

Who’s that dressed in red with a sack on his back?

Can it be? No, it’s not! Yes it is!

He came every year, bringing gifts for the men,

Christmas crackers and tinsel and lots of good cheer

A day off for Rudolf who stayed on the shore,

Then it’s back to the sleigh and the skies once more.

The pier was a welcoming place, with its lights and the penny arcades.

There was ice-cream and pop-corn, freshly popped just for us,

Toffee apples and candyfloss, yum.

The slot machines were hypnotic, spinning round with their fruity display.

An apple, two pears and some cherries flew by

As if daring us children to play.

“Stop there!. Please stop! Oh no nudge”. Too late.

We’ll never be wealthy this way.

.“Don’t kick the machines!”, yelled a man in the booth

“Or I’ll have you thrown out of this hall”.

“That’s fine,” said Marie, her cheeks burning red,

But how do we get the pennies to fall?

Madame Rosa, a gypsy, told fortunes from her stall at the end of the

pier, “I see three happy children, the man of your dreams,

There’s money in store for you”.

We believed every word that she said, but of-course nothing ever came true.

“Voulez-vous dancer?” “Ah oui, s’il vous plait.

I do love to dance in the old fashioned way”.

Dancers twirled through the day and into the night,

The Ballroom was such an elegant sight.

A Tea Dance for larks with tea and cream cake,

For owls there was dinner and then dancing till late.

The pier was lit up when they set foot outside

Just like Queen Mary going out with the tide.

They danced their last dance ‘neath the glittery lights

Then away to their homes as they said their good-nights.

49. TURN TO STONE  - Mark Durbidge

The increasingly despondent

Silently implore

The increasingly distant....

Touch me -

Kiss me -

Caress me -

Hold me my love

I yearn so

For all of the above

To feel your fingers, hands

Your lips and breath upon my face

Sensations tingling

Goosebumps quivering

Floating in your warm embrace

I wait....I'll wait

And then I wonder -

Does a stone that sits upon the shore

Who's needs are not

Yet still does feel the more

Caressed by frequent tides and sands

That have no fingers and no hands

I wait....I'll wait no more 

 50. Wanda - Melanie Botting

I wonder about Wanda

Was it a seismic jolt

or countless untold grievances?

Nobody moves 320 miles away without telling their sister

Memories, treasured and untreasured,

a sandwich ungiven,

a television taken,

there was a meal in a, now closed, pub

She called for her whilst she was dying

cajoling lullabies and

screaming incantations

but Wanda did not appear