Prepare to be inspired and in awe of this year’s Happiful Poetry Prize winning and shortlisted talent
“Poetry is thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.” Thomas Gray expertly relayed the essence of the miraculous power that poetry holds. More than a collection of words, poems bridge the gap between emotions and expression, conveying a familiar feeling before we even fully understand the context.
Where prose can paint a picture, poetry captures a sentiment. From the moving to the melancholy, the relatable to the raw, and the heartbreaking to the hopeful, when words alone seem to fail you, writing to a rhythm, rhyme, or structure can help to reveal a story that previously seemed trapped in your mind.
Sharing that with others can have untold ripple effects, making them feel seen and heard, sometimes for the first time in a long time. You never know the difference the right word or phrase could have on a person, letting them know they’re not alone, no matter what they’re going through, or offering a hopeful glimmer through the darkest of times.
That’s why the Happiful Poetry Prize is so important to our team. Offering a platform for readers to share their innermost thoughts and feelings, connecting across the page, and resonating around the world, what you have to say matters. And we are beyond privileged that this year we received more than 950 entries, each one depicting mental health and wellbeing from a fresh perspective. The talent and openness of these fantastic entrants has truly moved our team, and we couldn’t have been more delighted to read every single one.
It’s been no mean feat whittling down our winner and shortlisters this year, with so many incredible and insightful poems to choose from, but the five featured throughout this issue are truly a testament to the power of words, the subtlety of syntax, and the strength of a shared feeling.
This year’s winning poem by Val Ormrod puts hope firmly on the horizon, with phrasing that feels like a loving embrace of a dear friend who’s by your side throughout your darkest moments. Immersive and comforting, our team were left feeling like a friend was guiding us forwards, which is so reflective of what we aspire to do at Happiful.
Our shortlist is packed with a range of topics and twists to capture both your hearts and imaginations, from Becky Bennetts’ ‘Dirty Laundry’ exploring the freedom following a toxic relationship to Emma-Jane Barlow’s ‘Where The Light Gets In’ offering a linguistic masterclass as an insight into depression. Oliver Berry’s ‘Correlation’ relays a moment in time where our lives overlap and intersect, while Leeonie Mignott’s ‘Drum Kit’ captures the crescendo of anxiety becoming a panic attack in a visceral way.
Take your time to reflect on each one, and allow yourself to feel fully. There’s no wrong or right way to interpret a poem, so consider what each means to you. Whether a guiding light, like looking in a mirror, or shining a spotlight on difficult shared feelings, hopefully these poems offer you comfort, connection, and perhaps even some inspiration to pick up the pen for yourself…
The winner: Val Ormrod
Val Ormrod is a writer and poet from the Forest of Dean, UK. Her short stories and poetry have won many awards and been widely published in anthologies and poetry journals. Her memoir in My Father’s Memory, about caring for her father with dementia, was adapted for the stage as My Favourite Dog.
When this is all over
I'll come to find you,
hold you and hug you once more.
I'll wheel you out from your musty room,
wrap you in a fleecy jacket,
wind a scarf around your neck,
pull a wooly hat down over your ears,
and take you for a drive in my car,
even have the roof down.
We can have the heater turned up high
but you'll be free to breathe the country air.
We'll drive through the forest
with sunlight slanting through trees
and leaves will spiral down
like confetti on your shoulders.
We'll stop for fish and chips
and I'll pass you the warm parcels to hold
with their tantalising aroma of vinegar.
We'll eat them from paper in our bare hands
and lick the salt off our fingers.
Then we'll drive on
and your hair will lift in the breeze,
and you'll laugh again,
and the sound of your laughter will be
the best music I've heard all year.
The runner-ups:
1. Leeonie Mignott
The pounding in my ears drums to a beat of its own
with every hit, my heart quickens
With every blow, my body stiffens
The bass becoming deafening
People are starting to surround me,
Starting to look and stare
The pins and needles race down my spine,
As though caressed through the bushes of a snare
Palms and feet sweating
Lips numb, body trembling
Seconds turn into minutes
Minutes turn into hours
The sharp sound of the hi-hat is added
Stacking onto the confusion, chaos and erratic beat
The pedal pace increases
More sound is produced,
My anxiety induced
I'm loosing control,
Losing my bearings,
The thumping becoming louder,
I can't hear myself think
Thump, thump, thump
It continues to rise
As I deepen the lids that shelter my eyes
...until the crash
2. Becky Bennetts
I was never allowed a washing line.
Such things were for other, lesser people –
The sort that aired their laundry in public.
Those folk that cared not that the neighbours saw
Every hole, every stain, and every fray.
Behind closed doors piled laundry and secrets:
The price of keeping up appearances.
I know now it was not my dignity
That he was trying so hard to protect:
His was always dishonest perfection.
Who needs therapy when you can hang clothes,
And watch your underwear dance in the wind?
Now I hang my washing on the front lawn.
My garden proudly wears each tattered thread;
Our grief garlanded for passing strangers.
Echoes of fear festooned for all to see.
With each peg I pin my truth more firmly:
It happened. It happened. Yes, it happened.
With each garment I am free, unloaded
From the burden of ill-gained privacy.
With each sheet I watch my future unfurl
And the past is blown away beyond reach.
3. Oliver Berry
I saw you crying on the church steps
Stranger
I tried – in earnest – not to attract your gaze
but it took an age for the lights to change.
I had tears in my eyes too. Always,
though I (always) blame the cold. I
am not presumptive: we did not share
‘a moment’, as those unknown to each
other do. We, in separate worlds, with
separate causation, were simply in the same city,
at the same time. There is nothing
more to the sorrow of which we beg
to mean something, no more than we
can beg of the endless tides to have purpose.
And yet still I saw you, halfway to heaven
Strange
How you can see through closed eyes,
feeling out the world like some emotive
echolocation through the fog. I sometimes feel
I am never truly looking; only ever rushing through
one sadness to the next. But you, I notice
just because it took an age for the lights to change.
4. Emma-Jane Barlow
That’s where the light gets in.
In the narrow nooks of nothingness.
When darkness is as deep as the
ocean’s feet anchored to dying coral.
When the sky is as black as freshly
poured tarmac and you can’t see
beyond the density of its power.
That’s where the light gets in.
In the crevices of calamity.
When all hope is swimming in
spirals, wrapped around shipwrecks
like solemn seaweed, weeping.
When all the stars are in a coma,
cocooned by their own sadness.
Then, and only then does the light
appear, opening one sleeping eye,
and then another.
We have to know
the chill of the darkest places,
before we can truly appreciate
and experience the warmth
and embrace of the universe’s
love for us.
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