Results of September 2026 Poetry Competition
The judge of our quarterly poetry competition is Dorothy Pope, the Society’s Poet in Residence, who also sets the theme for each competition.
Judge’s Report on the September 2026 Poetry Competition themed ‘Bird(s)’
The theme was variously interpreted as individual species, co-mourners, victims of guns, probers of shellfish and, as in the winning poem, ideas. Most were in free verse though there were a few sonnets and the one pantoum. The winner is ‘Fowl of Fate’ by John Keane. The runner-up is ‘The Uninvited Guest’ by Sally Steele.
‘Fowl of Fate’ is an extended metaphor with many birds for the many ideas the poet says he had for careers instead of having one definite plan — his raven, which would have earnt him a living. He looks back and regrets unfocused thoughts which have left him with no career and short of money. The poem is a sonnet, neither fully Shakespearean nor Petrarchan. Also, the iambic rhythm could so easily have been perfect with the removal of ‘truly’ from line 1 and ‘were’ from line 5. ‘Main’ is archaic and speaks of reaching for rhyme rather than being the best choice of words. However, this poem remains my favourite for originality of expression of the human theme of regretting what might have been.
The Uninvited Guest describes an ungrateful magpie which steals and stains and knocks over treasured ornaments of the one who feeds it. This form is not easy to write. In line 12, ‘in spite of’ should, I think, replace ‘despite’ to keep the iambic rhythm. Apart from this, it is a perfectly executed pantoum.
It was an interesting pleasure and privilege to read all of the poems submitted. Please note, however, that because of the sheer volume of work, I am unable to provide feedback other than on the two winners.
Dorothy Pope
The next poetry competition, themed ‘Garment(s)’ will be announced on 1 December 2026 on the Society’s website kingsenglishsociety.org and social media.
Fowl of Fate winner
Too many years ago, not knowing truly why
I sent untethered doves across the main.
A willing dozen, brightening the sky;
but none returned, in forms that I could name.
A futile exercise. All were surely lost
to hawks, to storms, calamities of fate.
Now none remain. Bereft, I count the cost
in squandered years and compromised estate.
I might have sent a raven, only one,
with wily eyes and wings of blackened steel
to ride the storms, and do what must be done
to spy the true, or truest road ahead.
Now ruin waits. A fate beyond appeal
to mock the errors of the heart unfed.
John Keane
The Uninvited Guest runner-up
The dinner-suited oast house guest
Stole from the kindly hands that fed,
Put thinning patience to the test,
Black spattered droppings stained the bed.
Stole from the kindly hands that fed,
Bruised pears and peaches marred the bowl,
Black spattered droppings stained the bed,
No luscious piece of fruit left whole.
Bruised pears and peaches marred the bowl,
Scattered shiny bedside treasures,
No luscious piece of fruit left whole,
Despite endless half-baked measures.
Scattered shiny bedside treasures,
Grown bolder daily by loose rein,
Despite endless half-baked measures,
With his pied and feathered brain.
Grown bolder daily by loose rein,
Put thinning patience to the test,
With his pied and feathered brain,
The dinner-suited oast house guest.
Sally Steele