Thanks to everyone who came down to the Old Mill on Plumstead Common on Tuesday 12 November and made the 2024 Art Plumstead Poetry Competition such a great evening!

Around 60 people turned up to hear and vote on the 12 shortlisted poems, and congratulations to new Plumstead Poet Laureate Lviss David, who won with his poem Where I'm From.
Second place went to Jonathan Sellers, with Me Out My Shell, and Jack Wheeler was third place with The Croydon Bullfighting Society. You can read the three winning poems below.

The night began with last year’s winner Zola Jolobe reading a new piece of work, and then the audience heard and voted on the 12 shortlisted poems, which were read in three rounds of four poems each. The winner of each round came back on stage read again for a final round of voting. Zola then came back on stage to hand out the medals, plus crown new laureate Lviss with a laurel wreath made locally by Kevin Godby.

Vote counting for the evening was expertly overseen by Maggie Rastall and Erik Fuller.

A really fantastic evening, thanks to everyone who came to perform, to Andy at the Old Mill, and everyone who came and voted. See you next year!

Rob Thom

Plumstead Poet Laureate Winning Poem

Where I’m From by Lvis David

I AM FROM THE JUNGLE

THE CONCRETE JUNGLE

FROM HOLES IN MY SHOES

RUBBER BANDS AROUND MY SOCKS

I AM FROM THE SCHOOL OF HARD KNOCKS

I AM FROM THE DAMP WALLS

THE EARLY MISTY MORNINGS

FROM RATS CRAWLING TO YOUNG BABIES BAWLING

I AM THAT URBAN CHILD WHOSE SCHOOL DINNER

CAME FROM A GOLDEN TICKET

I SHOW GREAT PROMISE AND PLAY SCHOOL CRICKET

FROM DEEP INSIDE I SEEK APPLAUSE

I’M THE CHILD THAT CANT READ THE WHITE BOARD

FROM SCHOOL TO DARK

I PLAY IN THE PARK

I’M HAPPIEST CLIMBING TREES TILL DARK

I’M A CONKER CHAMPION

FETCH ME SOME STRING

TODAY I’LL BE YOUR DING A LING

I’M THAT SCARED KID THAT RAN FROM THE BULLIES

THAT HID IN A BUSH

TO ESCAPE FROM HIS FOLLYS

I’M FROM SARF LONDON! PROUD!

POLITE AS YOU LIKE

FROM THE GHETTO

PULSATING WITH LIGHT

Second Place

Me Out My Shell by Jonathan Sellars

At school I was invisible, shy, and meek, and cowed.

I’d have rather kissed a chainsaw than stand up before a crowd.

I just went about my business in my weird and quiet way.

But then…

Miss Hutch, the drama teacher, went and cast me in a play.

“Trust me, you’ll be fine”, she said, “it’ll bring you out your shell.”

“Fine?” I cried. “You sadist. You’re condemning me to hell.”

Well okay, I didn’t say that, but I did scream it inside.

In truth I nodded mutely as my soul lay down and died.

Rehearsals came, rehearsals went, I hated every one.

Gnawing all my skin off would, for me, have been more fun.

I only had five lines to learn, which may not seem that many,

But five’s a sodding lot when you never asked for any.

I prayed the night before for some disease to strike me down,

I even drank some water from a puddle that was brown.

But I wasn’t sick by showtime, God was clearly not my friend,

Thus death by public speaking was the way my world would end.

I peered out from the wings, I couldn’t see an empty seat,

The crowd felt like a pack of wolves and me their meaty treat.

Then just like that the stagehand, some twerp called Jamie Pup,

Pushed me onto centre stage and hissed, “Don’t screw it up.”

Well, obviously I did screw up, no word or sound came out,

But…

Rather than just stand there I began to stomp about.

I don’t know why I did that, or the thing that I did next,

Which was yell, “Beware, I’m coming, I’m Tyrannosaurus rex!”

The audience adored this, the other actors not so much,

And when I started biting them they wailed, “Oh help, Miss Hutch!”

Miss Hutch bulldozed towards me, her face awash with rage,

So I leapt onto a dangling rope and swung around the stage.

It was then, as I was spinning round, that sick for which I’d prayed,

Suddenly arrived. And over everyone it sprayed.

Chaos ruled and vomit flowed, and then the roof began to fall,

As it turned out low-grade concrete had been used to build the school.

I literally brought the house down with my swinging from the ceiling,

And when Miss Hutch cried, “The end is nigh!” I had a sinking feeling.

The bad news – well, I got expelled. The good news - no one died.

And though I’ve never acted since, I guess I’m glad I’ve tried.

But let this be a lesson for those teachers who mean well,

Be careful, very careful, when you bring someone out their shell.

Third Place

The Croydon Bullfighting Society by Jack Wheeler

He sits at the table and calls us to order

He’s at the head and we’re round the border

He reads out the rules and warns no impropriety

For we are the Croydon Bullfighting Society

Together we celebrate the Corrida de Toros

Drinking Sangria to drown out our sorrows

Middle-aged men all wracked by anxiety

We are the Croydon Bullfighting Society

Hung on the walls, our paraphernalia

Here we all sit contemplating our failure

There is no place here for useless sobriety

Say hello to the Croydon Bullfighting Society

There’s Andy divorced and living alone

And Keith who is always glued to his phone

The priest Father Jones sat drowning his piety

Just some of the Croydon Bullfighting Society

We don’t fight the bulls, its a room over a pub

We meet once a month, an avoid real-life club

We just sit and talk, we’re avoiding psychiatry

Thank god for the Croydon Bullfighting Society