Ver Poets Open Competition 2017
Poems of up to thirty lines on any theme.
For full details and entry form click here
Closing date April 30th 2017
First Prize: £600, Second Prize: £300, Third Prize £100. Selected poems published in The Ver Prize 2017 competition anthology
Adjudicator: Tamar Yoseloff
Tamar Yoseloff’s fifth collection, A Formula for Night: New and Selected Poems, was published by Seren in 2015. She is also the author of Formerly, a chapbook incorporating photographs by Vici MacDonald (Hercules Editions, 2012) shortlisted for the Ted Hughes Award; two collaborative editions with the artist Linda Karshan; and a book with the artist David Harker. She is a London-based freelance tutor in creative writing, and runs site-specific writing courses for galleries such as the Hayward, the RA and the Tate. She is currently a visiting guest lecturer at Newcastle University on the Newcastle / Poetry School MA course in Writing Poetry and the Chair of the Poetry and Spoken Word Group of the Society of Authors.
Ver Poets Open Competition 2016 Results – please scroll down
Ten-Liners Members Competition 2016
First Prize: Loss – Beliz McKenzie
Joint Second: Addiction – Finola Holiday
Joint Second: Children of Clay – Christopher Delaney
- Beads of Bialystock – David Mark Williams
- Heron – Sylvia Banham
- Clouds – Sylvia Banham
- Garden City Suburb – Sylvia Banham
- Stanley, Our Dog – Selwyn Veater
- A Care Home – Selwyn Veater
- “Not a Nail in It”– Brian Young
- Crowded Carriage on the 8.02 – Beliz McKenzie
- Fog – Valerie Morton
- First House – Valerie Morton
- Impasse – Roy Batt
- Garden in the Rain – Isobel Thrilling
- In our Times – Isobel Thrilling
- Just a scratch – Nancy Rutherford
- The Last Englishman – Frances Chilton
- Rainstorm – A.C. Clarke
- Order – Jean Cardy
- Eve – Finola Holiday
- Night Weather – Finola Holiday
- Love in the time of Tinder – Finola Holiday
- Ode to Autumn – Daphne Schiller
- The River Otter at Budleigh – Daphne Schiller
- A Gift Day – Helen Lovelock-Burke
- First Summer – Helen Lovelock-Burke
- The Rotating Writer’s Hut – David Jones
- The Dialysis Patient – David Jones
- Words on a Postcard – Terry Jones
- Brown Light – Simon Bowden
- Woman’s Power – Simon Bowden
Anthologies £3 (cheques payable to Ver Poets, P&P free) from Competitions Secretary, 181 Sandridge Road, St Albans, AL1 4AH
Ver Poets Open Competition 2016 Results
First Prize: Ornithology: Barn Owl by L. A. Watt
Second Prize: The hospital café is almost empty by Margaret Wilmot
Third Prize: Birdspotting in Palmyra by Maeve Henry
- West Kilburn by Deirdre Shanahan
- This year by Neil Elder
- Go for a 15 minute walk… by Adrian Buckner
- The Very Skin that Hurts by Geraldine Clarkson
- Loss by Alexandra Davis
- The Heron by Peter Cash
- Manhood by Simon Bowden
- Dr Who of the ice-box by Ian McEwen
- I took Frank O’Hara to bed last night by Maria Isakova Bennett
- The sadness of gift shops by Bryony Littlefair
- The year she asked for a scrubbing brush for Christmas by Bryony Littlefair
- The town we went to by Bryony Littlefair
- Wait by Peter Wallis
- Tuscan Church by Sylvia Banham
- Delivery by Cheryl Foo
- Dirty Magic by Mark Fiddes
- Watershed During Lunch-Hour by Neil Elder
- Wooing Lumber by Karen Francis
- The Proportions of Pity by David Sutton
- E Ferro Ferrum Temperatum by Malcolm Watson
- The Lab Technician’s Skin by Beth Somerford
- Ringed Plovers by Tista Austin
- Learning to Swim (at 23) by Remi Graves
- Old Pub Furniture by Nick Pearson
- Potatoes by Greg Smith
- Quartet for the end of Music lessons by Melanie Stephenson
- Choosing to live near the sea by Jenny Vuglar
- School milk by Jennifer Hunt
- Regatta by Jean Watkins
- Clinging by Lewis Coyne
- Berth by Sharon Black
- Trawling photos of David Bowie sporting eye-liner by Roger Elkin
- Daffodils by Anne Boileau
- Kathleen by Kaye Lee
- The animals, two by two by Caroline Davies
Our competition anthology, The Ver Prize 2016, includes all of the above poems and Andrew McMillan’s report. All those included will receive a copy. Further copies can be ordered by sending a cheque for £4 (plus £1 p&p), made payable to Ver Poets, to 181 Sandridge Road, St Albans, Herts, AL1 4AH.
Ornithology: Barn Owl
L. A. Watt
This is established: the crook in the eaves,
hidden enough, and the barn’s rhythms: hay’s sweats
drying from the damp, scuffle of hens, felines probing for kill.
The heat of the hunt. Soft implosion of the pounce
and pain’s short raw shout. Stink of blood. And men,
men and dogs, metal, machinery, chains;
patience from the old, swagger from the young.
And in her eyrie, a slipped tile, scuds of stars, wind, rain.
Or this, her other identity:
to be the white heart winging through the wood.
To stretch, focus, launch and row the air
with luminous oars, inscrutable eyes, the fledging of a ghost.
To unriddle the night. To be as accurate
in plunging and owning as the vole is secret and dark.
Silent but powerful, the wings of the mind,
inner compass, hunger of the heart.
And so to ingest everything: organs, entrails, bone.
To possess the savager extreme. Who knows she is so pale
and strange that tethered, or in flight, she feels less real
than a dream of herself. Polarity, not paradox. They call her owl.
So foreign, so slight. Haunting her barn. Coming for her pallor,
skimming the dusk with eyes that will never
meet theirs. For a face, that ghost of a heart.
And the little soft body, like something from myth. Like somebody trapped.
The hospital café is almost empty
I take my coffee to a window table notice
how the pavement outside actually continues
the floor same level but in concrete this wall
was probably prefab just a thin skin
between me and out there just a small op but
the anaesthetic when we are young chopping wood
digging this is unimaginable someone else’s life
poor chap and the sun shafts out there
making golden columns we can’t imagine
being shut in a white room with the nurse
and her smiling explanations and her needle
Birdspotting in Palmyra
It wasn’t a crow. We’d shot the crows already,
hung them on posts as a warning to the starlings.
No, this was exotic; wings as big as a flag
and an old bald head, reddened by many summers.
Yusaf caught it flapping around the temple precinct,
ugly and helpless, with a high, hoarse cry under torture,
but it told us nothing useful. Ahmed put a sign
round its neck and we strung it with red twine
from the traffic lights. The photograph I posted
from my phone went viral. Three thousand likes.
Tomorrow when the power comes back on
we’re electrifying a net across the sky. No spring
migration this year for the starlings, no murmuration.
It was a bald ibis, according to Google. One of a handful left.