Ngā mihi ki a koutou for sending your poems with the five words from the girls of Our Little Roses, Honduras. We received 167 poems and have chosen 35 to publish here on Given Words. The winning poems have been selected by Mikaela Nyman, Sophia Wilson and Charles Olsen. (You can read about them here.)
Charles comments on behalf of the judges: An ancient warrior, roses as warriors of the night, a wounded warrior, warrior girl, eco-warrior, a yoga pose, a soaring warrior, a different kind of warrior, a warrior beast for God. It’s not the easiest of words to find a place for in a poem—alongside the other four words, thankful, help, different and dream—but many rose to the challenge and we have enjoyed reading them all. It is so interesting after our close readings to compare notes with the other judges and I’m very grateful to Mikaela Nyman and Sophia Wilson for their reflections and insights into each poem. I will highlight below some of our reactions to the poems, but you might like to scroll down first to the winning poems and read the poems from adults here and by under-16s here before returning to compare notes.
In the adults category, I found different dog very moving, carefully composed with pauses as if searching for the right words, or changing thoughts mid-sentence like a gramophone skipping tracks or an elderly person with a head full of memories and thoughts. Sophia commented it is ‘a complex poem teeming with lush imagery. Fluid associations and the poem’s creative flight of ideas contrast with allusions to incapacitating grief and anxiety. There are many images to love. The last line in particular stands out for me in its capacity to convey a sense of being removed or cut off from life / observing life through depression’s painful and isolating lens: “I’m a spiracle / a glass eye a window pane”’. It is a poem to listen to the voice of, and, as Mikaela commented, it needs time to ‘percolate’ and ‘show itself in full’. She also highlighted the ‘wonderful mix of archaic, unusual words and turns of phrase with “hairspring turntable”, “a gurney frayed to blisterhood”, “sizzled cambium” and “spiracle”… such a pleasure to savour them’.
4 points on a compass captures for me the sense of having to create your own story and trust in your own personal compass. Divided into four cardinal points: Bird, City, Parent, Ocean, these themes play back and forth throughout the poem. Mikaela commented the poem is ‘pared back, yet lush somehow; quite wordy despite the first impression. Its deceptiveness impressed me.’ Each pair of lines makes you stop and think, “a flight test or / parent of destination”, “rising like clarity / something to work toward”, and they come further into focus as the poem continues.
A short video shared on television and social media at the beginning of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, is the inspiration for a handful of seeds on air. I always find it surprising when the five words so deftly form part of the narrative. Mikaela said it is ‘a poignant reminder of what is going on right now in Ukraine’ and she highlighted how the poem is ‘quietly devastating in its surprise ending.’
This place also caught our attention. Mikaela described the opening stanza as ‘a beautiful meditation that captures a specific place as well as state of mind.’ It opens slowly giving a context and reason for the poet to write, a place (the port hills) and a subject (a cat), and gradually builds a picture around unsaid or difficult to express feelings, that are paralleled in the phrases “caught in my throat”, “holes in their throats”, and “the fluttering in their throats”. Sophia described it as ‘A poem about identity and belonging—the poet is “somewhere between pain and port” / the “fault jolting the haves and have-nots onto the streets below”. In the midst of biological and ecological fragmentation, they draw comfort from the “the spines of books”. A “puriri caught” in their throat suggests the painful but creative re-imagining that is inseparable from the writing process itself’.
In the end we were drawn to the poem Prognosis, which Mikaela describes as ‘A well-crafted and measured poem that opens in an intriguing and utterly gorgeous way, with “building cities out of boxes” being the normal and desired state of affairs’. Sophia highlighted its ‘evocative, engaging imagery and a moving, relatable narrative that keeps the reader with the poet throughout’ where ‘the protagonist is both a “warrior razing cities” and the “tired soldier doubled over the bathroom sink, wrung out like old laundry.”’ I wonder if, as Mikaela commented ‘the poem hones in on the specificities of the devastating effects of war on soldiers, resulting in possible PTSD, painkillers and illness’ or if this is a metaphor for a younger person facing new challenges following some kind of accident or illness? Sophia highlighted how the 'final lines place personal trauma and a “do or die” breed of resilience in historical context: through a haze of “pain-killers” and nightmares, the narrator is confronted by “the ghosts of Spartan mothers with the bloody / halves / of pomegranate seeds / lodged in their teeth”, who warn against giving up'. An unforgettable image.
Although we received poems from around the country in both categories we where surprised to find all the poems we selected by under-16s came from Ōtautahi Christchurch. The judges know the age of each poet but have no idea of the names or towns until after the winner and selection are chosen. It was wonderful to see a number of schools and writing clubs encouraging their students to participate and maybe other cities and towns would like to see if they can feature in the selection next year! Here are some of our highlights from the Under-16s.
The title Counting a sunshine of sheep captured our attention and Mikaela and I both described it as made of ‘brushstrokes’, short verses that create a lovely rhythm and gradually build a picture. Mikaela described it as ‘evocative and a bit mysterious—makes me wonder if it is about the ocean heating up or perhaps a rescue mission of a swimmer (or perhaps sheep) in dire straits.’
fragile courage, like another of the selected poems Boy and Grasshopper, communicates empathy for suffering creatures and highlights the plight of prey. Sophia described fragile courage as ‘a thoughtful and sensitively written piece, with rich and evocative imagery: “trampled amaranth flowers / fragment the forest floor” and “a russet rabbit labours / over the cracked, dry lips / of a fallen tree / a warrior in its own right”’. I liked the play of sounds, the t, th, f, fl, ff, in the first stanza and the rr and ss in the second moving into the k, kek, in the third—the sounds of the forest floor and the call of the kārearea as the rabbit lopes on.
From one of the younger poets, Crazy Dreams caught our attention with the fun rhyme running through it: head, beds, sleds, sheds, legs, and Mikaela highlighted ‘its originality and the imagery used: "fill my head with spears", “cloud warriors stealing blankets” and making “blanket sleds” to be able to travel from cloud to cloud.’
Sophia commented on the untitled poem beginning “She dances / beside the Avon River” as being ‘a well-constructed and moving personal narrative. The themes of loss, grief and yearning are clearly communicated as the protagonist mourns their confident, loving father who is now an absent and “wounded soldier”’. I thought the simple directness of the poem only added to the anticipation, the hope something will happen, and was drawn to the subtle connections with the magic of water with “Her rain-soaked hair / Clinging / As she spins” and a dance “Helping the river / Whisper its secrets”. Mikaela thought it ‘a beautiful and gentle poem that in its very form seems to evoke the dancing the poem speaks of’.
‘“at age 9 / I gutted a swan”—the first line of Doubt sets up its compelling and uneasy narrative. Detailed and striking imagery vividly portrays both what is happening externally in the poem and the narrator’s inner ambivalence. A complex, sophisticated and unique poem with a sinister underbelly,’ wrote Sophia. Mikaela also described it as ‘a narrative poem that is highly original and startling in its subject matter … Rather than being gruesome, a fascinating ritual plays out in front of the reader, with evocative detail. It contains some fabulous slant rhymes and line breaks that keep the readers on their toes, time and again surprising the readers with the word choice and urging us to read on, for example: “I opened the box, choked with / crayon-smudged paper and / ceramic cats. There were my dreams / gathering dust”’.
We are delighted to announce the winning poets. The winner of Best Poem is Sarah-Kate Simons for her poem Prognosis and the winner of the Under-16 category is Saphra Peterson for her poem Doubt. They will receive books courtesy of The Cuba Press. Congratulations from Given Words and The Cuba Press.
Below are the winning poems. We also invite you to read our selection of the rest of the poems from adults here and from under-16s here. All entries had to include the following five words: help, different, thankful, warrior, and dream.
Prognosis
You dreamed of a different life,
building cities out of boxes
as if you could role-play yourself into
blooming, into blossoming fat-petalled
and lively—
instead, you learn to be thankful for
small mercies, like the days you can
accomplish the stairs without help
and it feels like conquering Everest.
in your head, you’re a warrior
razing cities, not the tired soldier
doubled over the bathroom sink, wrung
out like old laundry and
plugging their mouth with painkillers
to get some sleep tonight
and in your nightmares you’re confronted by
the ghosts of Spartan mothers with the bloody
halves
of pomegranate seeds
lodged in their teeth,
reminding you
come back with your shield—
or on it.
Southbridge, Canterbury
Doubt
at age 9
I gutted a swan.
You arranged intestines
into smiley faces.
In a practical voice,
you pointed to the crop
guided my trembling hands
(clasped around a rose-pink shard
of Mother’s beloved
perfume bottle)
and helped me slice.
You picked the rocks
made sure they weighed enough
before filling its carcass.
I removed the crop
thought, for a moment,
how I could use it as a bag—
your hands slithered over my shoulders,
your fingers lukewarm—
we had a job to do.
I opened the box, choked with
crayon-smudged paper and
ceramic cats. There were my dreams
gathering dust
in the shadow of ignorance,
fear of being different
forcing my ambitions
into seclusion.
We dropped each crumpled
ball of paper into the crop
and stitched up the swan.
Over the frosty grass
we came to the oily-black
mouth of the well.
I did what you told me to.
With an ever-thankful smile,
we dropped that pristine white carcass
into the water
which shuddered as
it sank.
'How brave,' you whispered.
'What a warrior.'
And still,
I felt like a coward.
Doyleston, Canterbury
About the Poets
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