Poetry
Annual Journeying Poetry Competition
Begun in 2021 the competition attracts entrants from around the world.
How it works
The competition theme for the year is announced in mid-September. Entries must reach the judges no later than midnight (GMT) on the last Saturday in October.
Poems of any length are invited. Just one entry per person. There is no charge.
Entries should be sent by email attachment, using the subject heading ‘Poetry Competition’, to: info@journeying.co.uk
Keep it original
Entries must be original and not previously published elsewhere. All entries will be judged anonymously.
The prize
The winning poet will receive £100 sterling and the Winner's Commemorative Certificate. Two further Highly Commended prizes worth £50.00 each will also be provided. The winning poem will be published on the Journeying website, social media platforms and in Sharing the Journey. Beyond this, copyright remains with the author. There will also be a press release.
Judges
David Arkell
David is the Organist at Sherborne Girls’ School in Dorset, where he teaches music and accompanies the choirs. Favourite pastimes include hill-walking and cross-country cycling. His book ‘Divine Loves’ was published in 2019 and can be obtained via Journeying. David has been a member of the judging panel since the inauguration of the competition in 2021.
Gill Page
Gill is Chair of Journeying. Her interest in poetry was ignited in childhood and resurrected 20 years ago. She enjoys going to poetry recitals and lectures on poetry and has a fine collection of poetry books, including Mary Oliver, R.S. Thomas, Ted Hughes and those friends who have published for themselves. Her love of the poetry of the Psalms inspires her for all aspects of life. She believes great poems come to life when read aloud and what nicer way to do this than on a Journeying walk or pilgrimage with friends, surrounded by God’s beautiful creation.
Winning Poems
Eagle’s Wings by Becky Isaac
Oak and beech, forlorn and naked, stretching heavenward, beseeching
Spring to reappear, to warm their gnarled and twisted branches, reaching,
Black against the steely mist, where dilute sunlight trickles through
melancholy clouds of coral, to light up pearls of morning dew,
that glint amongst bare earth and grass made sparse by mouldering leaves,
Where twigs lie scattered, broken like resolutions made on New Year’s Eve.
But through those bleak and dismal days, hope sparks a flame within our being,
Sending shadows of despair and spirits from dark places fleeing,
Though tiny as a newborn’s fist, hope spreads like ripples in a pond,
Penetrating morning’s gloom, like the blackbird’s daybreak song,
Hope is the sliver of light that’s dawn, the chink in Night’s black armour,
It’s the latent energy stored in a bud, nature’s ceaseless unfolding drama.
The olive branch, the ceasefire, an anchor in the storm,
It soars with eagle’s wings above where doubts like locusts swarm.
Longing by Jason Clark
The city recedes into the rear-view mirror,
a hushed echo of life left behind.
My soul stretches toward the cathedral of nature,
where trees rise like sacred columns,
and the sky arches – a hallowed roof over my path.
This is a pilgrimage in which the trail is the teacher,
each step a rosary bead,
whispering mysteries of stone and wind.
My longing to see where waters weep
and willows standing watch in silence – is more than I can bear.
With faltering steps, as if on a pilgrimage for mercy,
I bow my head to the heights with their crowns and to the meadows with their velvet,
and here, where earth gathers me to her bosom,
in every leaf and every root I discover
the holy site I was searching for,
an altar prepared by God.
Jill by Wendy Stickley
She hugged trees, did my whacky friend,
she talked to bees and flowers ... and trees.
She was the first ‘friend of the earth’ I knew.
She grew her veg organically, did nothing
much mechanically, but everything
with love. Summer evenings she would walk
up on the downs, with child and kittens
in a pram, six goats, bells tinkling, and a dog
following like lambs, through harebells sprinkled
at her feet, sweet scent of honeysuckle in the air.
Yes, there was love, and love to spare.
She had capacity, audacity, to love all
things; to rise above sorrows as if on wings.
She baked bread without bitterness, used heart
not head to listen; taught me we’re a part
of something greater. Later, then, there was
no trace of anger, when the diagnosis came.
Life without her has never been the same.
Iona by Wendy Stickley
I stepped where St Columba might have trod
and worn a path towards a sandy bay;
where he, too, might have paused and looked in wonder
before continuing along his way.
I saw the spouting cave he might have known,
leant into winds he also would have battled,
I smelled the seaweed, thick upon the strand,
and heard faint lowing from the highland cattle.
I crossed the shell-fragmented, ancient machair,
past lakes and thickets to a pebble beach,
imagining the great man’s humble presence,
the privilege of listening to him teach.
And here, where winds and waves so seldom cease,
I found a deep and elemental peace.
Glen Nant by Rosemary Power
That day before spring
The westering sun touched
brown boughs pale gold
and birch trunks glowed
soft silver.
Did once tired feet
seeking elusive Love
come down the glen and see
the pilgrim path alight with hint
of hope beyond their time?
Did the Nant wash
stained bruises, soil, off soles,
and Cruachan raise her crown,
white still and wheeled
with eagles, her flanks
sheltering deer?
Did the sun touch
plague-weary wanderers
of our time, rootless and yearning
for lands behind the light?
Was each enclosed in glow that day
embracing hungry body and defeated mind,
and shine pale gold?
(Glen Nant, near Taynuilt, Argyll, Scotland is part of a medieval pilgrimage route).
Becky Isaac, 2025 Winner with "Eagle's Wings"
Becky Isaac is a writer, mum to two adult children, and nature lover. Living in a small village in the heart of the South Staffordshire countryside, with her partner and miniature schnauzer, she finds plenty of opportunities to commune with creation. In fact, country walks are often the spark that lights the flame of creativity. After six years of studying alongside mostly full-time employment, Becky achieved a Bachelor of Arts (Honours) in Art and Humanities (Creative Writing) with First Class Honours in 2024. She enjoys writing poetry, short stories and flash fiction, along with nature-inspired devotionals. She is on a writer’s journey of her own, aiming to finish her first cosy crime novel within the next few months!
Jason Clark, 2024 Winner with 'Longing"
Jason is a poet, educator and contemplative, living in Oklahoma City. Inspired by nature, spirituality, and moments of quiet reflection, his work explores the intersection of the sacred and the everyday. When not writing, he enjoys crafting natural products and nature walks).
Wendy Stickley, 2023 Winner with "Jill" and 2022 Winner with "Iona"
Wendy lives in the beautiful New Forest. Now retired, she spends much of her time walking, sailing her little dinghy or paddling a kayak. These activities bring her into the midst of the natural world and allow her time and space to think, and to create. For her, nature and spirituality are inextricably bound.
Rosemary Power, 2021 Winner with "Glen Nant"
Rosemary is a member of the Iona Community. She has volunteered in the refugee camps of northern France, worked professionally in church ministry and the voluntary sector. She has also published a book of poetry, including her winning 2021 entry, “Glen Nant”. The book is called “Across the Narrow Straits – Place and pilgrimage” and is available from Iona Books.
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Poems Along the Way - from Journeying guests and leaders
Spring can be a strange time by Paddy Allen, Journeying leader
‘Look, they’ve put the cattle out!
See, just above that line on the hill,’
my friend says, pointing to black dots
that range across the khaki slopes
to the conifer ridge, scratched
against the snow-streaked crags of Ben Eich.
And I worry a bit.
What if the wind slices down those slopes
scalding tender skins with ice again?
What will happen
to the lambs I saw in Glascorrie
shivering on crumpled legs against their mothers’ flanks?
Or the tender leaves wrinkling open
on the tips of my plum tree?
Spring can be a strange time
as we hold in the body the memory of pain,
and peep out into the fleeting warmth
only to shrivel back from the slap of cold rain.
I wish I had the courage of the old man
I met in Musselburgh, stepping carefully
across the green from the council houses
to hospital, his face screwed up
in bliss at the blue March sky,
who called out to me:
‘What a day! What a day!
Will you just taste that air!’
as he unclenched stiffened joints
in his loose jacket
and opened his heart to summer.
Breathing with God by Cheryl Tettmar, Journeying leader
Breathe in His stillness,
Breathe out your cares
Breathe in His peace,
Breathe out your fears
Breathe in His compassion
Breathe out your pain,
Breathe in His infinite love
Breathe out your reluctance to receive
Breathe in the infinity of His presence
Breathe out the smallness you feel.
Breathe in The Incomprehensible
Breathe out all ideas of your self
Breathe in and receive all from God
Breathe out your heartfelt thanks
Breathe in and receive all of God
Breathe out and give all of you
May you know heaven by Iain Tweedale, Journeying leader
Through the breaking of the waves may you hear heaven
Through the stars in clear night skies may you see heaven
Through myriad grains of sand on the beach may you touch heaven
Through sweet crystal spring water may you taste heaven
Through all your senses may you know heaven.
The Lord in the Orchard by Jane Moffett, Journeying leader
I quietly sit in the orchard,
Deeply connected to You.
Praying for those I love,
And for those I don’t love, too.
I feel You near me, my Lord,
I catch Your whisper in the breeze.
I feel Your love in the sun’s warmth,
And Your creation in the trees.
I don’t need to see You to know You,
Because I’ve known You all my life,
But if You did want to sit awhile,
That would be rather nice.
If You don’t want to come too close,
I understand why that might be,
But I see a chair over there,
Perfectly set beneath a tree.
A chair where a soul might rest,
A humble throne made of wood,
Finches and blackbirds singing,
I’d sing too, if I could,
A song of glory to the Lord,
A song of thanks and praise,
For the blessings and love of our Lord,
Whose servants he will raise.
An apple drops on the grass,
And startled I look around,
To see a figure clothed in white,
His head beneath a dazzling crown.
He sits reclined in the wooden chair,
Then turns and catches my glance,
And smiles, his eyes so deep in love,
That my heart skips such a dance.
And then he’s gone and I stare and stare,
Amazed, confused, that’s true.
Did I fall asleep and dream a dream?
Or could that really have been You?
I sit transfixed right on this bench
For a hour, or maybe two
I saw such splendour, felt such love
That I know it must have been You.
Pilgrim Adventure by Carole Hodgkins, pilgrim guest
The hills of grey-blue erstwhile were green,
The pilgrims walked onwards through heather’s mauve screen.
Some chatting, some silent – over rocks and bog plough
While their spirit soars heavenward knowing that –
Heaven is now!
Ragged robin and orchid bring joy to the eye,
Mosses, soft green and springy ‘neath our feet lie.
The deer on the hillside, the stags on the brow,
Convince me more strongly
Heaven is now!
The mysterious water hides Neptune’s dark world,
The whale and the otter glide ‘neath ripples froth-furled.
The Lord shares our travail, this I avow,
And His glory in flowers and His people reveals –
Heaven is now!