manroy's blog No 14

Posted by manroy | 2008-02-24 | Comments: (12) | Hits: 762

Hi Folks.
What a great week I have had.
Has anyone got a trumpet to lend me? no!! OK I'll blow my own.
It started with a phone call from the Managing Director of United Press. "Remember the poem you entered for the 2008 National Anthology Of Poetry?" He asked. "Yes" I said. "Well you have won the overall prize for the best poem, voted for by the other poets in the book" "Wow, brilliant" I said. "So" he went on, "We shall have to arrange for the presentation to take place in your own town of Merthyr Tydfil. How about the Library? Do you think the Mayor will attend?" By now I was thinking, this is a wind-up, why have that sort of a ceremony just for winning a poetry competition. Then he went on to say, "Yes, your poem came first out of over 3000 entries, and the trophy is a lovely big cup which you keep forever." "Oh" I said, "Great" feeling a little less like I was at the but end of a joke. "And, don't forget the cheque" he said. Cheque, I thought, I can't remember anything about a cheque, by now he had my complete interest. "Yes Roy, I will be presenting you with a cheque for £1000-00"
"Oh, thank you" I said, trying hard to act as if it was nothing out of the ordinary. And I tell you Folks, I didn't scream untill I put the phone down.
Ena came running in to see what was wrong, and when I told her, she said, "I'll get you your cocoa and medication.
The prizegiving took place last Friday 22nd Feb, and my great friend Les, aka, davles on MyShots, was amongst the photographers and guests, inc The Mayor who attended the ceremony. Les has put one of his pictures on MyShots already.
Here's the poem.

LADY IN RED

He glanced at the picture that hung by a string,
Then looked again at the Lady within,
So aloof yet alone, so silent, withdrawn,
An impression so gentle, yet sad and forlorn,
In misty surroundings she walked through the wood,
He longed to be with her if only he could.

Alone and lonely, walked the Lady in red,
With a scarlet umbrella to cover her head,
Lovely and lonely like a painting of old,
A picture to hang in a frame made of gold,
A picture of dreams so vague yet so deep,
Does she laugh, does she cry, does she sigh, does she weep.

His chair is now empty; he’s gone from the place,
Where he gazed at the Lady dressed in crimson and lace,
But glance at the picture then look once again,
Look past the umbrella that’s shielding the rain,
Look through the mist, just past her head,
And you may see him waiting for the Lady in red.
Roy Lewis.

Ah, here's Ena now, with a steaming mug of cocoa and my medication.
Respect to you all. Roy.