Four hundred years of male domination came to an end today with the election of Carol Ann Duffy as poet laureate. Duffy, the widely-tipped favourite for the post, only agreed to accept the post ahead of poets Simon Armitage and Roger McGough because “they hadn’t had a woman”. Alison Flood, The Guardian.

About time too – still ask me to name living a poet and I couldn’t – however I do remember one poet having a poem removed from the GCSE syllabus last year.

Education for Leisure

Today I am going to kill something. Anything.
I have had enough of being ignored and today
I am going to play God. It is an ordinary day,
a sort of grey with boredom stirring in the streets

I squash a fly against the window with my thumb.
we did that at school. Shakespeare. It was in
another language and now the fly is in another language.
I breathe out talent on the glass to write my name.

I am a genius. I could be anything at all, with half
the chance. But today I am going to change the world.
something’s world. The cat avoids me. The cat
knows I am a genius, and has hidden itself.

I pour the goldfish down the bog. I pull the chain.
I see that it is good. The budgie is panicking.
Once a fortnight, I walk the two miles into town
For signing on. They don’t appreciate my autograph.

There is nothing left to kill. I dial the radio
and tell the man he’s talking to a superstar.
he cuts me off. I get our bread-knife and go out.
the pavements glitter suddenly. I touch your arm.

Which is by Carol Ann Duffy, she also replied to the poems removal in verse.

Mrs Schofield’s GCSE

You must prepare your bosom for his knife,
said Portia to Antonio in which
of Shakespeare’s Comedies? Who killed his wife,
insane with jealousy? And which Scots witch
knew Something wicked this way comes? Who said
Is this a dagger which I see? Which Tragedy?
Whose blade was drawn which led to Tybalt’s death?
To whom did dying Caesar say Et tu? And why?
Something is rotten in the state of Denmark – do you
know what this means? Explain how poetry
pursues the human like the smitten moon
above the weeping, laughing earth; how we
make prayers of it. Nothing will come of nothing:
speak again. Said by which King? You may begin.

Which I reckon bodes rather well for Carol Ann Duffy – it’s been a long time since we’ve had a Poet Laureate with such quick talent.

This rather disturbing poem is by the boy in OutofRange’s logo picture. Ben Rhode’s poem has been accepted for publication in the Young Writers book Talkin’ Bout My Generation.

Unspoken Words

A baby sits and stares,
Yearning for its poison,
A ghost re-living its death,
Waiting for the light

Plastic chains constrict it,
Rubber tubing silence it,
Its dreams, its hopes, its aspirations
The trampled teddy in the grit

Its cries never cease,
They echo the pain of hell,
It would consume a mortal man,
Leaving but a hollow shell,

Its owners stand remorseless,
Impervious to its suffering,
Their icy glares boring in,
Branding its soft, tender skin,

As thought evolves a light flicks on,
Brighter by the second,
A bundle of life and joy,
Begins to unfold

Gradually it rises,
Beyond the soulless dungeons,
To the surface of the world,
Beneath the glowing sun