The judges report and poems are here for you to read and enjoy. Jilly O'Brien (one of the judges) said that Poppy "did super well reading her poem to a huge audience in Toitu for the Burns Supper event, and it was to her credit that she had her wee book that she had written out her poem in so she could practise from it."

THE BONNY FIELDS O’ HEATHER

The bonny fields o’ heather
Sway gently in the breeze
My large feet crunch the delicate wee flowers under them
I fill me lungs wi’ th’ fresh air of the delicate golden dawn
And wish tha’ the peace an’ beauty would ne’er end
I can hear the plovers calling to each other,
The souls of young mothers
Who died giving birth tae their bairns
Runnin’ around their nests
Searchin’ fer another bairn tha’ they willnae find
The ice-cold wa’er skips over the stones o’ the burn
Tinklin’ like the bit o’ an impatient gelding
Th’ wa’er runs down the burn teasin’ the midges
As it hops an’ skips o’er the rocks
An’ carries wi’ it the salmon down intae the loch
Down in th’ loch I can see the smooth heads o’ selkies
Gliding through th’ dark wa’er as though it were velvet
I stand hypnotized by their fluid movements through th’ wa’er until they dive
and disappear intae their underwa’er home
I stand abruptly an’ make me way back up tae th’ stables
To begin breaking in the devil o’ a stallion Donas

- By Poppy Henderson

FIRST PRIZE Judge's Report:

There is no water in the world like Scottish water – how it tastes, how it looks, how it moves. The imagery that flows through this poem is magical and evocative. From the rushing Spey, to the tiny Gloy, the Feshie, the Spean, the waterfalls of the Etive, the banks of Allan Water, the numerous wee drips and puddles that collect into burns on the brae, this poem entices us into the water, where life is. It’s also a poem that isn’t neat and tidy – it has an edge about it, a bit of unease, and we really liked that because it gives the reader room to think about why that might be. Poppy wins the Stan Forbes Medal, and $500 from the Dunedin Edinburgh Sister Society

ODE TAE A THISTLE

Ode tae a thistle
The truth is ye are na a flower,
E'en thouch ye snoke nor sweet but sour,
Rememberit symbolically for graciousness an nobility,
Ye show this a yer best ability,
For a prickly weit thon juist somehow grew,
Thare is na other word tae describe ye,
Coverit A shades o purple an evergreen,
Makes ye bricht tae be clearly seen,
Bi the folks thon belong A yer toun,
Ye are are a tradition thon has come around,
Consistently ye bow yer heads tae show respect,
Because this is whit the villagers expect,
Whan ye are droopin yer head,
An ye stem is hangin on bi a thread,
The sun turns ye golden brown,
But another ane o appears oot o the ground.

- By Emma Kinney

HIGHLY COMMENDED Judge's Report:

This highly commended poem is classically Burns. Sitting in a field watching nature do its thing and wondering on where that particular glen or flower, or animal or stream goes after it has passed you by is a lost art, but one that this poem and poet are reviving. This poem muses on the goings on of one of Scotland’s best known (and oft cursed) plants – the national emblem of Scotland. We really enjoyed the time the poet created for the reader within this poem.

In this issue

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