This poem won the Hampshire Cultural Trust’s Millennium Poetry Competition in 2015. The competition was judged by the ‘Hampshire Poet’ Joan McGavin and poet and writing tutor Aoife Mannix (writer in residence at the RSC and Radio 4’s Saturday Live show). Joan commented, “it encapsulates a striking moment and uses that as a way to access emotion and ideas effectively. What starts as a careful description of a moment where some boys peer down at a passing train turns into a realisation of the effect of war both on those directly involved and on those at home. A thoughtful, well-crafted poem”
Railway Bridge 1915
Warm red bricks glow
in the afternoon sun.
The may blossoms quiver
and the blackbird is quieted.
The boys, intent and curious
peer down at the dull metal lines,
shadowed by heavy-leaved branches,
curving away to places unknown.
They have been shouting, pushing,
playing tag, but now they are stilled. Waiting.
Wisps of white drift in the clear, blue sky.
A distant whistle blows.
And now, in a snorting cloud of steam,
a great engine chugs towards them.
The bridge trembles in anticipation
and the boys shout with joy.
Then they are silent, staring down
at the open wagons of wounded soldiers.
Bandaged. On stretchers. Laying still.
One raises a hand in salute.
Warm red bricks glow
in the afternoon sun.
The steam has subsided
and the blackbird sings.
…….
This poem was used as a poster to raise awareness of Alzheimers for a series of exhibitions in Hampshire.
A Recollection of Blackberries
Hunched uncomfortably in the chair,
her gaze was blank, uncomprehending.
We exchanged polite greetings.
She did not know me.
Struggling to find a connection,
she asked me, who I was.
Who was she?
I explained. She nodded.
I spoke of the past, her children.
Her eyes gazed cloudily
at the brightly patterned carpet.
Struggling to find a connection,
she asked me, who I was.
Who was she?
I spoke of the weather, the autumn leaves,
the hedgerows and the brambles.
Her head tilted,
her eyes alert, like a blackbird’s, fixed me in their gaze.
“I went blackberrying
when I was girl.
My mother made lovely pies.”
She fell silent again.
Then she asked me, who I was.
Who was she?
…….
This poem was published in an anthology “Lost Things”
Photo by Agung Prakoso BayuAdi on Pexels.com
Mary Prior - Catching Thoughts. 