Students Win National Poetry Day Creative Writing Competition 

Exeter College’s English Literature teachers organised an internal poetry competition to mark this year’s National Poetry Day. The competition was open to all students, and received submissions from learners in a range of faculties. 

Read the three winning entries: 

1st place 

BOOM – Lucy Howden 

I’m playing with my toy soldiers, parachutes, and guns, 

Storming the pillow fort, up on the bed. 

They have the high ground, 

But I’ve got my imagination. 

BANG 

Windows rattle 

As my army charges forward. 

No one can beat my unicorn cavalry! 

CRASH 

What was that? 

A book falls off my shelf. 

It has to be the pillow enemy, throwing a grenade to slow me down! 

But it’s okay, I’ll defuse it with my blanket. 

There, all safe now. 

My soldiers are now inching forward for a surprise attack then… 

SCREAMS 

Where are they coming from? 

Are they okay? 

It must be… the war cries of my soldiers. 

They’ve jumped out of their hiding places! 

And the pillow army have surrendered just like that. 

I won! 

“It’s all good now, everyone’s safe now, no one’s hurt” I tell them, 

Because right now I can control the entire world inside my room. 

BOOM 

Was that louder than before? 

Does that mean it’s getting closer? 

Maybe it was… 

Maybe it was my toys staging a rebellion? 

BOOM 

I should hide in my new pillow fort. 

Just in case. 

I’ve got my toy soldiers to protect me. 

BOOM 

As long as I’m playing with them 

I’m in control. 

As long as I’m playing with them 

The real ones can’t get to me. 

2nd place 

Thus another year has passed us by – Abel Fisher-Cavell  

Thus another year has passed us by, 

An endless loop of dusk and day, 

Onwards, as the final act grows ever nigh. 

In the lea I sit and dream, mesmerised by the wine-coloured sky, 

With my friends, we whittle the weeks away. 

Thus another year has passed us by. 

But all of a sudden into my head a thought does pry 

That our dialogue is all pre-written; elaborate theatre is at play, 

Onwards, as the final act grows ever nigh. 

In rumours, deified, star-studded Fates shall roll the dreadful die, 

Senselessly, the faceless are stripped and shall with their lives pay. 

Thus another year has passed us by. 

While in the heavens, actors bask in election-honor, others can but comply 

In hope that His humor may be kind, they pray, 

Onwards, as the final act grows ever nigh.

 

All at once, a frightful truth devours the barren coal mines: that this play is rigged and dry, 

And hence its sense is yours to bring; a patchwork of nostalgic love, someday. 

Thus another year has passed us by, 

Onwards, as the final act grows ever nigh. 

3rd place 

PLAY.  – Cecily Fox  

My hair is not yours to toy with, 
Not yours to 
Cut and style and 
Not yours to admire. My hands 
Were not made for worshipping you, 
my bones do not ache 
for your touch. 
My lips do not long for yours, and if they did 
Then I would paint them red until they 
forgot the taste of 
Vigour and violence. My eyes are not 
For holding your gaze, your glare. My look 
Of adoration 
Is gone. 
It has no grave and 
Among the ruins of sandcastles, sieged, 
There is a whisper of resentment. You cannot 
Play with what is broken.