The Grace of Snowdrops Poetry Competition

Ten finalists were selected by our judge, Dunedin writer Carolyn McCurdie, and the finalists were invited to a prize-giving ceremony at Larnach Castle's Snowdrop Day on 20th August. The winners were chosen jointly by Carolyn and Larnach Castle's owner and Snowdrop specialist, Margaret Barker. 

These are the 10 finalists.

First place winner, Promise by Heather Bauchop

The plum tree's branches are heavy
with feathered fruit waiting for winter nectar,
a bellbird trills to a saturated sky
threatening to blossom with snow,
and see, through the crying windows,
milk-white with petal-tips dipped in Spring,
here is a promise, a nod to the timid sun. 

Second place winner, the galanthophil by Madeleine Child

oh snowdrop
drop me

in your inner and outer whorls
 all bulbous and fleshy

drop me on your tepals not petals

drug me with galamantine
milk me

hardy, vigorous
spread
spread

leave me
your basal leaf

you snow piercer
you heart piercer you


set me a drift 

Third place winner Gleaming the Ground by Elizabeth Pulford

sneezes of snowdrops
spirit upon the dark days
the dark earth

little lantern ladies
all gussied up
in green and white

slim of stalk
stretching upwards
on icy toes

shining bright
in the shivery
sunshiny spring

Finalists

SNOWDROPS by Kirstie McKinnon

Snow-bobbled tui sips sweet
from the protea cup bee
sleeps with the ladybug
indrawn air of the bulb
squeezed like bellows
green flames struck soft sap
through black frost breaths
in white puffs lamps lit,
wake up.

WHAT THE STONER SAID TO THE SNOWDROP by Sue Heap

You, jazz beat o the orchestra of spring,
do you rip down a mountainside,
or parade like an online bride,
not knowing you are sold?

Doctor Gaston was driven mad
because he says 'Quacks , wash your hands;
time proved him right, in the end.

And you snowdrops, only grow,
you dont want to know, the wind
adjusts your carefully pained
petals of white and green.

For mens pleasure of the times,
to stove in, drill, paint peoples minds,
for unchevalric novelty
drunk technological vanity,
to photoshop and persecute,
breaking limbs and bicycles;

like a lively line of rugby boys
that shadow a series of managed flings
you snowdrops only grow,
you dont want to know,
the wind hurls round
your carefully painted skirts
of white and green.

Sorry for the tanny, folks,
I am a briar rose, myself,
a great and curving yellow rose,
and a world lived under my boughs,
bulldozed like he poppies;

See, you snowdrops sayin Spring,
you dont want to know, the wind
drives carefully past graffitti
that is saying Free the Nig

Park Street, where, by cherry tree,
pink rose slouched over the fence,
and in spring, the fragrant rhododendron
briefly sends your nose to
the sweetness of faces with beer glasses on,
or Rubens heavens;
a triage of roses, in stately array,
 somewhat worn in recent years,
daffies fled to the hills,
friesias to the beach,
snowdrops kept well in their place
with regular applications of bleach.

As I walked up to the pool
in a blistering blizzard of lasers,
  found dead woodchips in solaces place,
its multitones and layers, it critters
and birds, all gone,

I felt quite out of breath,
and know this dont sound chill,
it is too much imagination,
but Jesus came in handy
when he pushed me up the hill,

and the snowdrops shed a tiny tear,
but they dont want to know,
for snowdrops only grow, drunk boots
adjust their carefully painted
petals of white and green.

to my snowdrops: a series in Japanese style haiku and tanka by Katherine Raine

i.

last night
hail from a starry sky
today snowdrops

                            (with a nod to Patricia Donegan)

ii.

bending down
to breath your honeyed
fragrance -
the iron tang
of thawing earth

iii.

snowdrop buds
remembering how it feels
to be a child

iv.

frozen white -
when we most need
to find hope
the touches of green
on our inner petals

v.

turning sixty
snowdrops open to
a scatter of sleet

vi.

shadowed
at the garden's edge...
yearning
to dissolve like your blooms
in winter's pure light

vii.

snowdrops
now is not
too soon

Snowdrops by David Schaumann

With quiet

botanical
curiosity,

exotic bulbs
swell, roots lick
thawing loam,

throats clear, alien
tongues press new
lover's language to
the lips of the earth.

The shriveled voice
grows wavering stems,
blossoms, whispering pollen
kisses, bursting louder, clearer.
Might it resonate across oceans?
Weave together continents, while
rhythmically, gracefully, chanting
gaelic karakia to the Dunedin spring?

The open gates of the garden by Ann Jacobson

When everything else is shut except
the snowdrop in bunches quietly
Waiting, waiting for a tourist.

Head bowed to the grandeur of a castle.
Leaves waxed, for run off, meant for resilience,
from water and cold, not to be picked.

The pixie flower with green dots and yellow
centre, pop up for you & me, a chandelier
in the crunch of blue white and purple snow.

Snowdrops & Prophesies by Hayley Rata Heyes

Snow

               drop

or onion weed?

Weeds &
flowers - 
it's an arbitrary
distinction

cautioned against
2000 years ago.

Still,
not many free dinners
for onion weed poets.

SILENT FRIEND by Paul Smith

Do I know you?
Silent friend
Head bowed
In quiet contemplation
Depression? Anxiety?
You are not alone
You are not so meek
Cold winds could not stop you
Snow just a blanket
To warm your feet
Softly on steroids
You push
And push
Giving Birth
On a sterile field.

Do I know you?
This time last year
Right here on this field
You sat, pretty bonnet
On your head
A young maid of honour
Not daring to look
At a big bad world
One careless boot
Could send Spring packing
But you don't look up
You don't want to know
It is enough to just nod your head
In the wind.