Monday, 10 January 2011

And the winners are...

Congratulations to Richard Falkus, Tom Stone and Rachel Beckwith who have won the January Food Poetry Competition! Please read and enjoy their poems!

Restaurant de Sanctuaire

I yearn for the days I held up my head,
Before my principles were left for dead,
I was born in 1806 and since have grown,
Remaining modest yet proud of my skin of stone.

I was once a restaurant where many would dine,
Heartily sharing their memories whilst sipping vintage wine.
Whether they were in group, on a date or on their own,
They felt safe within my body of stone.

Wars and developments rattled my friends,
Yet I thought not once to change, not once to amend.
People would retain or regain with me their lost smile,
Whilst the tragedies of the world would unpredictably compile.

As decades passed my wrinkles were noticed and removed,
Keeping arguments against change consistently proved,
I barely survived as my neighbours were forced to convert,
The values of drugs and alcohol took over, regardless of who or what was hurt.

As long as my customers kept coming in on more than occasion,
We'd hold on longer against the new generation,
I inevitably aged and gradually lost my appeal,
All it took was an offer to sign my last meal.

With no voice to scream nor the human expression to frown.
I stood still as they climbed me and stripped me completely down.
For years my futile tears flowed from my gutter,
As my skin of stone melted down like a reluctant butter.

My modest name was kept in the past,
As my wishes were lost to make my dignity last,
I was refurbished with white walls and glamorous lights,
Soon to be labelled like my friends, open merely at night.

I was now a repulsive setting of sin,
As the broken bottles grazed my once invulnerable skin,
I was tortured with sights I'll never escape,
The end of relationships, the beginnings of rape.

My privilege to see the patient development of a kiss,
From the first date peck to the instinctively passionate bliss.
Empty meaning is now all people bring.
As stumbling tongues aim and carelessly swing.

Post-humiliation all I can do is remain humble,
As I watch society's values become corrupt as they crumble.
Humanity has removed it's meaning and removed my skin of stone.
Marching over me indifferently, singing in a different tone.

by Richard Falkus

New Beginnings

I look out my window
For somewhere out there
A child is crying
I have left
So very many
Nails in its crib.
I'm no parent
It's time
For a new beginning
First, I shall
Head to
the nearest orphanage.

Tom Stone


You said my way of cooking
was decisively slapdash.
You couldn’t understand why
I didn’t weigh and measure flour
like I weigh and measure words.

You were surprised, I think,
at what a kitchen does to me.
Jealous of the way my head
tilts back at the smell of yeast;
jealous of the way I touch the dough.

You said that I write poems
that I couldn’t show my mother,
but I would cook for strangers,
and how did that make sense?

You stepped closer. Brushed the flour from my hair.
I licked a dab of honey from my thumb.
I explain that in my life
many things must be laboured,
but food should only ever be for love.

Rachel Beckwith

February's competition is now up and running! Please see my previous post for more details. I look forward to hearing from you and reading your poems!

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