Plumstead Annual Poetry Competition 2025
Another wonderful Plumstead Poetry Competition finals evening at the Old Mill on Plumstead Common, where over 70 people came out to hear and vote on the 12 finalists.
Jonathan Sellars emerged as the new Plumstead Poet Laureate, with his poem, A new attendee misjudges the mood of the local poetry group. Abby George was runner up, with When I Hear You Sing I Hear My Mum, and Karen Huggins was third with her poem, Where I’m From.
THE WINNING POEMS
First Place: Jonathan Sellars
A new attendee misjudges the mood of the local poetry group
First to read is Rita, a newly single mother,
Her husband’s just run off with the goldfish. And her brother.
Her poem drips with heartache, it’s sombre and downbeat,
My poem’s very different. I start squirming in my seat.
Paula’s turn, she’s just like me, tonight’s her first time too,
Though, unlike me, she’s competent and actually thinks things through.
Her poem shares the ways she feels our world’s being torn apart,
My poem shares the types of cheese that tend to make me fart.
After her it’s Tarquin, his cloak and pipe stupid,
But his writing’s so romantic it’s more powerful than cupid.
His poem makes the whole group swoon and tremble at the knees,
My poem makes seven references to sexual disease.
It’s Adil next, then Wendy, then Cherry-Ann, then Jake,
Then a man whose name is Brian yet insists we call him Snake.
Their poems question life itself, each with a personal touch,
My poem questions pubic hair, because do I really need so much?
And now, at last, the time has come, gazes turn my way,
The group awaits with interest, what’s the new guy got to say?
I stare down at my poem with a mix of dread and fear,
Why did I think coming here would be a good idea?
This feels just like a party where you have to bring a dish
And they’ve all brought artisanal meats, while I’ve brought battered fish.
But I haven’t got the speed of thought to cook up something new,
I’ll just have to read my poem. So read it’s what I do.
I try to stay relaxed, but I can’t help turning red
As each line receives wild tutting and great shakings of the head,
And the verse that shares, in detail, how I threw up in the bath
Gets an awful lot of retching, but not one single laugh.
The End is met with silence, then the crumbs of an applause,
And I notice how their eyes all flick from me towards the doors,
Then Hyacinth, who runs the group, clears her throat to speak,
“Thank you for that ‘poem’. Maybe don’t come back next week.”
Second Place: Abby George
When I Hear You Sing I Hear My Mum
When I hear you sing
I hear my mum
You never heard her
She died when you were very young
One particular moment
In one song, one line
I hear her all the time
‘On this pillow I can dream my nights away.’
That’s when I guess she’d say
“That’s my girl.”
She never even knew that song
But I reckon if she could
She’d sing along
She’s up there now
Taking credit I suppose
Because, unlike me
You have good diction
I loved singing
But there was some friction
When she’d tell me
To open my mouth wider
Pronounce my words clearer
Nothing I tried
Would ever endear her
To my voice
But with you I made a different choice
No tough love
To break you down
I’d build you up
And place a crown
On every dream
You chose to share
It shines up there
And I commit
To only ever polish it
Who would I be
To tell you
That anything you choose to do
Is substandard
Not up to scratch
Under par
Because my girl you are
My star
When I hear you sing
I hear my mum
And maybe, yeah
It skipped a generation
I bet she’s saying that
In her heavenly location
As she points you out on earth
To all the ancestors
Who’ll listen
And they’ll see your dream crown glisten
And possibly they’ll see me too
Doing my very best for you
And loving every note you sing
The ancestors will nod and grin
Remembering
They all would sing
“We had a hand in that.”
They’ll say right back
“Oh yes indeed.”
Mum will reluctantly concede.
3rd Place: Karen Huggins
Where I’m From
I am from the prayers and dreams of the minds of stolen bodies.
I am from the fears of the unknown of what will be
I am from the strike from the whip and the shackles of chains
I am from the strength of resilience even though there was so much pain.
I am from the secret of knowing where I’m really from
I am from the whispers of hush of the unspoken code
I am from the dance of the rhythm and the songs of the soul
I am in disagreement of lies that I have been told.
I am from the wish of the hearts who travelled the seas
Who dreamt of a life so much better for me
The ones who aspired regardless of the spite
Whose hearts were enchanted by flight, stay or fight.
I am from the surprise of not knowing what life really brings
From the door of the mothers whose souls sit within
The shame built from others who won’t understand
That everything given is already in my hands.
I am from the class without class that is placed on the shelf
The bruises from ceilings placed lower to my head
The passed over torch not handed to me
The lower life status they want me to be.
I am from sparks of knowing who I really am
The hand that would guide me to where I should stand
When light shone upon me to show me the way
My life full of future all written with praise.
I am from sparkles of joy as my soul truly sings
Whenever I wake it shines deep from within
The genius power, of a thread never broken
From the prayers, dreams and wishes that once was spoken.
This is where I am from
… and my journey goes on.
Plumstead Poet Laureate 2025
