Results from our 2007 poetry competition Here are the results of our 2007 poetry competition.   1st Prize: Golden Wedding by Dorothy V. Pope Runners Up (in no particular order): Colliding Stories by Caroline M. Davies Falling by Sarah Wallace Reflections by Rosa Johnson Until I Did by Pat Borthwick   Golden Wedding His anniversary gift, exquisite thing she gazes at and gratefully admires, adorns her finger, turquoise opal ring of old antiquity and quiet fires. They celebrate their fiftieth year today though only forty-nine years married. They're anticipating by twelve months the day he will no longer be alive to share. The opal tokens sorrow and October - the end and the beginning of their love: the Hallowe'en ball where they met each other, the days remaining being not enough. This opal, then, a twofold message sends of rapture and of heartbreak as it ends. Dorothy V. Pope   Colliding Stories Did I dream you? or did you dream me woven in time flitting between trees The slow spiral drift of a single white owl feather signalling change and initiation   In the dawn half light the woman who gazes back from the mirror is beautiful but tired as Cinderella must have been after fleeing at midnight. I danced and danced 'til you wrapped me in the cloak of your arms and brought me home. Caroline M. Davies    Falling Darkness paints the glamour on, To see her there you'd swear she shone, Across the room, gliding with ease, Perfection made to tempt and tease. Bewitching men caught in the glare, Comes from their lips a silent prayer.   Gossamer feathers roughly clipped, Down from grace to earth she slipped, Full of love, a burnished rose, For her sins to hell's pit goes. Ethereal beauty, downward winging, But deep inside her heart is singing.   Cold in spirit she was death, 'Til he warmed her with his breath, Cast in clay, imperfect soul, Emitting heat, eyes black as coal. They will worship her, not knowing, In which direction she is going.   To feel that fire was all she needed - Whispered warnings had not heeded. Draws them to her like a flame, Damnation is her favourite game. Satan's angel, burning bright, Will send you to eternal night. Sarah Wallace   Reflections He sees his eyebrows growing bushed and grey, his manly forehead creeping ever up, countenance in crease and fold descending, and red-rimmed eyes, their youthful twinkle gone. Inside he's still the reckless boy, seducer as before, but time has served a curse on him - Alas! He's not a young man anymore.   And she who now perceives a misty glass where once a fresh faced girl returned her smiles; with unction would restore her time-worn face to pastel blushes that belie her age. Face like a crumpled paper bag, fragile her wrinkled skin. Dewlap and several chins she wears, soiled packaging her youthful heart is in.   No one returns the crystal gaze of youth; though eyes are widened, touched with subtle tones, they will not see more clearly for the paint, and shadows will defiantly stay on. Bloom of youth can't be recaptured, lost time can't be replayed; when dimples leave those sallow cheeks renaissance is a silly masquerade.   The seasons have devised a better scheme, whereby a weather-beaten wintry face lifts and is restored to pristine beauty, transformed and vibrant in its loveliness. Mask of the aging year revolve, turn and display anew, another season and another time, the face of spring returns as always, right on cue. Rosa Johnson   Until I Did I never understood why my brother, at the bottom of his wardrobe underneath his Table Tennis Weeklies, kept a pile of magazines filled with slouching orange ladies. Of course, I could never ask, but I knew how being curious about the world was meant to be good.   I never understood why in the top drawer of their dressing table, under Father's laundered handkerchiefs with their embroidered monograms, were these strange shapes like cut off fingers from an industrial glove. Out of curiosity (and if he'd stand still long enough) I used to put one on the dog's docked tail then watch him wag it off.   There were many other things I didn't understand until one day, I did. Pat Borthwick