anne • sikking
Society of Authors • Royal Society of Literature • Federation Writers Scotland
Poet Laureate 2021/2022 - TESS - Los Angeles • founding Chair Glasgow's City of Poets
Listed among City of York's100 influential women 1918-2018
​
• current 2024 prize winners •
UK MAGNETICS SOCIETY
MagNews - international academic journal
Prize 2024 - £100
a new prize inspired by ideas from the film Oppenheimer,
where science and humanities are seen as essential partners.
​
MAGNETEERS
In the tiny, hard-fought, magnetic hold and lift,
we switch, to avoid wear and tear.
We generate this part and that, we test and sift,
among motor, wave, toward some goal –
all too often, way over there.
​
Long hours bent over magnetic Earth's prudent thrift,
few strokes of genius compare
with thorough filtering, as understandings shift...
Unseen, unknown, and little praised –
we carry on, without fanfare.
​
The race is on to heal the climate threat and rift.
Words are 'combat', 'fight' – like warfare.
Our meek part is to hitch and use what does exist:
the positive and negative,
that stir beneath a nom de guerre.
​
The myth of one tsar casting axioms adrift,
walking as if on holy air,
is staggeringly far from the full truth of it.
Scarce one discovery results
from any games of solitaire.
​
Would that others might see us, not scientific
but part of a firm whole – foursquare.
Let them think of us more like a swallow, a swift,
darting in summer's evening sky,
soaring, god-filled, a spirit's dare.
​
For in science there is a spirit, a shape-shift –
old, archaic. Let us beware...
...beyond the study, probes, experiments, and gift,
a meditative mind creates
fused fuel, changed charge... Sometimes a prayer.
​
©Anne Sikking, 2024
Glasgow's City of Poets
TINY PRIZE - £5
a monthly award for 16 lines or fewer, on a set theme.
This was the theme for February 2024
​
REDEMPTION
Who of us will be redeemed?
Saved by ourselves from what we've dreamed?
Or, saved by others who may have seemed
cruel at the time...
Redemption needs a long long arc
to wrap its ointment around this heart,
to wash out the stains that from the start
were bequeathed.
No more masquerading, no absolution-chat
nor self-congealed mirage like that.
Instead, take me, as I am, to combat
the past's leavings.
There without rod, staff, or redemption,
there I enter my holy fifth dimension,
break history's fourth wall of tension
and face them down.
We cannot clear or reclaim
anything without a name.
Redemption, I fear is the same,
a shadow, fleeting shot of shame.
​
©Anne Sikking, 2024