inspired to write competition blog

Welcome to the entry page for the Jupiter Artland Inspired to Write Competition. Here you can find all our fantastic submissions of poetry and prose inspired by the Jupiter Artland artwork as part of our summer writing competition. Please use this link for more information on our Inspired to Write competition and to find out how to enter. 

You might also be interested in our Poet in Residence, Marjorie Lotfi Gill's blog.

Prophets 16th October 2015 / Rafael Torrubia Prophets in the forms of birds the branches of trees their hymnal and their incantations run rik-a-tik down the spines of forests   Prophets in the forms of birds their wings a quiet clatter against the sky the dream of them beyond a window that holds chipped cups grounds waiting   Prophets in the forms of birds wasp-beaked and quarrelling scripture out into the branches down into the leaf-mould unheeded   Prophets in the forms of birds and a weight in the heart like a great black stone   Prophets in the forms of birds shrink-wrapped sandwiches wet plastic, damp boots a weight in the heart like a great black stone that bows your trees, your ribs   Fingers on the dial and an empty tone that suck the pips away down the phone lines Replacement clicks, kettle hisses chipped mugs, grounds in the sink. fingers on the windows ...
Read More
Suspension 16th October 2015 / Rafael Torrubia Hoarded within the boles of trees spin-legged, gem-footed waiting for the first long stretch deep dreaming before that in a dark of coiling and twining not quite fingers, to not quite arms, to not quite breaths waiting for the first cut of the plow remembering the gold push of the corn a sky pushed by starlings blood on the soil sudden colder winds Inspired by the whole of Jupiter Artland
Read More
Swallowed 16th October 2015 / Rafael Torrubia Come here you swallowed thing in from the rain, in from the shadows let me see you, your sucked bones your torn frame sit drink tell me your becoming tales how did you find yourself here what nets what snares what black bindings let your teeth catch the firelight let your lungs swell with smoke put a glass in my hand rest your head on my shoulder it’s a poor thing this place I remember it brighter larger stronger pushed out of shape by all the living in it come here, let your limbs unwind chase the damp from your hair tell me your dreaming tales how did you make yourself here what times what tides what etchings you swallowed thing let me remember the shape of you sting as it may sit drink with me in from the rain in from the shadows Inspired by Andy Goldsworthy's Stone ...
Read More
Therefore 16th October 2015 / Rafael Torrubia Therefore                   we cannot                   we regret                   we believe                   we send our condolences   Therefore                   repent                   recant                   cast off                   devour   Therefore                   desist dissolve delink deliquesce   Therefore                   retract                   retreat                   refrain                   reflect   Therefore                   we know                   we see                   we concur                   we will not Inspired by the whole of Jupiter Artland
Read More
Waiting Spaces 16th October 2015 / Rafael Torrubia Put me there in the waiting spaces in the stillnesses hew me roughly from memories and when the bombs drop the dust will not touch me I’ll have grown forested uneven, unfamiliar you’ll call your fingertips liars and I’ll rise unsteady before your eyes and hold you steady, strange, unfamiliar grown in the waiting spaces Inspired by Andy Goldsworthy's Stone House Bonnington
Read More
Winter Shadow 16th October 2015 / Kriss Nichol Eight months have fallen from the earth, the weight and depth of its dark a collection of memories from a thousand winters. Earth shows its secret rhythms, enormous as night, in the dampness of grass where wet bubbles of dew glazed by ice spring to life, released from spasms of snow as dawn slips across the horizon.   Wind drags through branches, sculpts them to another shape, pools shadows made by live oaks, shifts waves of measured sunlight. The sudden crack of submerged bulbs, like a chorale of ghosts, and scents of bruised freshness greet fistfuls of sky over-run with blue and another kind of waiting begins. Inspired by Proposal 47, Winter Shadow by Peter Liversidge.  
Read More
Set in Stone 16th October 2015 / Rebecca Johnstone Your smile set in stone lichen-lined, sly smirk to the sun wild with echoes dancing, roaming, singing manifesting moss-stitched lies a sundial glowering in the gloam or a wind-chime girl with a high-pitched scream weeping malevolent tears; a siren call to curious children seeking solace under your cool canopy of teal and jealous green, that murky realm haunted by silent prayers to parents who are no longer there, confusions brooding speckled and cold, as cold as your stone lair wriggling, still alive, weeping salt-less tears into the sighs of Medusa’s hair. Inspired by Laura Ford's Weeping Girls
Read More
Night Eternal 14th October 2015 / Piotr Nowakowski There are flat people crawling throughout the fuzzy walls, Weapons of Titans abandoned in the forest Suspiciously close to a giant spider web. Faceless children keep running between The shrine of the sun god and a cottage Ruined by the worms of the earth. Layers of reality peel off round the corners. It may look innocent in daylight but the Sun is weak, Daylight only an illusion. The universe is plunged into darkness, Drowning in eternal night that is dark and full of horrors. On a cosmic scale no one can hear our screams.  
Read More
High Heavens 14th October 2015 / Piotr Nowakowski You can see it if you go into the woods at night. You have to peel off a few layers of crumbling dry realities. (Don't worry, it really is that easy. They are visible under UV light). Take the path-of-the-right-hand and be careful not to rustle any of the trees and bushes. You will pass close to the cage that protects the bottomless pit. It keeps the Worms of the Earth away, But only while they sleep. If you hear the screeches run towards the abandoned house and stay there Until it gets quiet. (The rocks inside are not from this world but from theirs and act as a repellent.) The Onyx tomb protects against things much worse But don't think about that too much – it only attracts the Dark Pharaoh. When you finally make it to the giant spider web And wait for the moonlight to align ...
Read More
Cats of Jupiter 14th October 2015 / Piotr Nowakowski I was convinced there was such a thing Lovecraft must have written it “Cats of Jupiter” - I remember…? Do I remember reading it?   I started searching through my books Then went online and – nothing Have all the copies been destroyed? Every trace erased? My cat gives me that weird look As if he knew much more   One day we will follow the sign and we'll get there To Jupiter, I mean As usual To discover strange new worlds and such And we will meet the cats on Jupiter Graceful and civilised Giving us that weird look again  
Read More
A Gentle Reminder 14th October 2015 / Piotr Nowakowski That pit in the forest that seems to reach eternity Is a gentle reminder The skeletal frame, an invisible man whose shape reveals the deepest of heavens Is a gentle reminder The faceless children prancing around Apollo's temple and near the house not empty Are a gentle reminder The spider's web, the weapon fit for a giant, the Cyclopean cemetery with nameless headstones Are a gentle reminder The gleaming cave, that ancient tomb filled with amethyst and onyx, The alien landscape of rocks that grow on trees They are a gentle reminder Of a cosmic horror lurking in plain sight A reminder of the Old Ones Reminding that they might be asleep Yet still They are watching
Read More
A Friendly Conversation 14th October 2015 / Piotr Nowakowski They are not natural I tell myself Those hills with their geometry Their fractaled shapes What immortal hand?   The Muse just laughs at me You silly You see dread everywhere Fear everything   Indeed I do, my dear Muse There's always something lurking in the shadows In the corner of the eye Beyond the veil Just waiting   In the wires and mirrors and shapes that separate the evening?   Especially in that They tear the world into pieces Open cracks in the sky and light To the other side Who knows what may crawl through them?   You're hopeless The Muse sighs Even in the hundred waters Of a hundred British rivers? What menace could simple bottles invoke?   My dear Muse Don't even get me started.  
Read More
Mousai 14th October 2015 / Freya Tugwell “Go tell the stories of men and women of old” said Apollo to his Mousai. “Art is humanity in its truest form. Capture in song and writing the hopes, fears and pains of humankind. Arrest the beauty of a woman in a painting to never be seen by another except he who paints.” With this, the divinities danced from Mount Helicon on the wind that carried them to those who invocated them. Calliope of the beautiful voice settled down in her crimson aegis beside a young man who wrote poetry inspired by the resounding anger and grief of war. He wrote of a young child who ran forward with his wooden sword to meet the sword of a Trojan, only to be followed by unforgiving Nemesis who ensured his fate would be met by the time the last grain of sand fell from her hourglass. Calliope sang the passion ...
Read More
Peek-a-boo 14th October 2015 / Frances Ainslie I remember my mother knitting for weeks as if she was obsessed. There was a deadline to meet – a new addition to the family. The Shetland yarn twined round her hands and etched her skin with fine lines. The skinny pins click, click, clicked between her deft fingers, agile as a spider. Her arms stretched wide as she held the final section of gossamer shawl up to the light. Sunshine filtered through the windows of spider-web and threw patterns onto the bare walls like stars scattered across the sky.                                     ‘Peek-a-boo,’ she said, when she saw the wonder on my face, as I watched her from across the room.            Thinking about it now, those bright, blue eyes blinking back at me through the lacy peep-holes saw me at once changed – that bittersweet moment when she sensed that I’d no longer be the centre of her ...
Read More
Leaving the Brownies 14th October 2015 / Yvonne Dalziel Leaving the Brownies ‘Lily, look, who does that remind you of?’ I pointed to the little girl with thin legs, long curly hair obscuring her face as she leaned against the tree in the dappled wood, emitting a general air of misery and hopelessness. There was something in my voice, despite its intentionally light tone, that alerted Lily, seemingly unreachable in that moment. ‘Is it me?’ she asked sullenly, and started to cry. ‘I didn’t want to come to this stupid place to see these silly statues! I’m tired of walking and Daddy says I’m a nightmare, always having meltdowns, and that Rosie might be my new mum.’ She sobbed. ‘I’m sorry, love, I was just teasing you.’ That weeping girl with the thin legs had stirred a memory deep in my unconsciousness and wafted by the image, the feelings rushed back. ‘I remember crying a lot when I ...
Read More
GUN AGAINST A TREE 14th October 2015 / David Subacchi Why insult my living body My outstretched arms Decked with greenery Inviting only peaceful embrace The brush of bird wings And the squirrel’s caress   By placing against me This grotesque object, Made more ugly By being oversized, As if to mock My immobility   With Its stock Cut from the body Of one of my own, First hacked down With blade of saw Then left to dry   Fitted to a barrel Of bored metal, Designed to kill When aimed In anger towards Unsuspecting prey   Why position This symbol of death, This hunter’s weapon, Here by my trunk That yearns only To feed life And not to kill. Inspired by Cornelia Parker's Landscape with Gun and Tree
Read More
JU 88 14th October 2015 / David Subacchi Junkers JU88 the Schnellbomber So fast no fighter could catch you At least that was the theory, But you fell from the sky Taken apart by gunfire And you buried your nose In the mud of Hare Hill, The rest of your body Scattered elsewhere Across the once peaceful soil, Such is war Another myth broken Another life lost   Before your death roll You released bombs Desperately, maybe To lose weight And regain control, Maybe in a spiteful Attempt to cause More destruction, A final act of defiance Before lights out And all your instruments Read zero, Disintegrating   The wreckage was left To rust and rot, Your defeated remains, Attracted no interest But gradually the curious Came, first to record And then photograph And finally to sculpt A small metal image And a larger replica Of one of you bombs, Optimistic charms to protect Against further aggression. ...
Read More
Buying Time 14th October 2015 / L A Traynor slipping fingers stretched knuckle popping hold on. the urge to let go float the pain away float on the sea of medication islands of morphine signposting a route to respite from the bite of pain Inspired by Antony Gormley's Firmament
Read More
The Weeping Girl 14th October 2015 / Lynsey Hansford She weeps for the rough hands that shed diseased skin poison glitter: it sticks around forever you know how glitter does She weeps for all the grazed knees that went without counsel until the tears themselves took mercy and sought to clean her wound She weeps for spilled blood like melted wax, it's globules jostle to form an emblem of misplaced pride honour or death: ride or die She weeps for Lay still and Be quiet check your dignity at the door and your continence on the floor now nothing's the same anymore She weeps for every rainbow boasting about the way that magic can happen when light hits water in just the right way because it's the opposite with tears Inspired by Laura Ford's Weeping Girls
Read More
Manifesto 14th October 2015 / Helen Boden For each of the weeping kids waiting outside courtrooms like Chloe and Kate while grownups reached the bedrock of childhoods endured at eight on the Richter Scale took weeks to excavate the heavings demonstrate effects of daily smashes on girls with no play-grounds for superstitious skipping but only fault-lines                                      hazards grykes in the emotional karst of what passed for home:   a roof Inspired by Andy Goldsworthy's Stone House and Laura Ford's Weeping Girls
Read More
Load 20 more posts