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Warwickshire's new Young Poet Laureate!

Annabel Peet selected as Warwickshire's Young Poet Laureate for 208

After a fabulous day with Emma Purshouse and Roy McFarlane in Warwick on Saturday 20th January, Warwickshire Libraries have chosen the new Young Poet Laureate for 2018
 
She is Annabel Peet , who lives in Hampton Magna, and attends Stratford Girls Grammar School in Shottery. She is 16.
 
Follow the video link, if you want a flavour of the event : 
 
 
Annabel was chosen from four candidates - all girls, and all really good. But Annabel's poetry shone out, and had lots of promise. 
 
Here is her "Warwickshire" poem attached and also her poem on "freedom" - powerful stuff!. 

To Warwickshire 

My music contrasts the mood of my muse

As she restlessly calls for me to hurry and

Not waste my childhood thinking about

Things children should not think about.

She wants me to follow in the footsteps

Of those who went before me,

But find my own way using the map of

History and hindsight as a guide,

Not follow step for step a given path,

But choose my own and love her for

Giving me people and places and things,

Noises and lights she has found through experience.

I am not her only ward, and certainly not

Her first, for she has had years of learning,

Years of caring for and nurturing,

From a time before she was who she is today.

Oh, we have changed her,

Moved her body into a shape that

Fits who we want her to be each century,

Changing her hills into battlements,

And rivers into moats.

In the end, she makes bards of us all.

She has no care for her physical image.

She only wants us to know her,

As the decades and centuries of those

Who have passed before us knew her,

Who have loved her as

We love her now.

Though how anyone could love her 

As much as I do is a mystery to me,

For she is my guardian who has always

Shown me the path lined with roses,

Clipping thorns off each stem before

They touch me. She loves me in a way

They could never know,

In a way no person ever could.

She is my home.

Annabel Peet

 

Is it my body?

when did my body stop being my body?

when did the curve of my hips begin

to belong to a stranger; for their hands to

lie on without my permission or consent.

when did my thighs become some sex

object for a stranger to stare at; for them to marvel

at how they would look around their head

in their bed , as if I am not too fragile for these thoughts.

when did my chest become a haven

for a stranger; for them to dance their lips across

to the music of my cries calling for a

lost childhood of unselfconscious ease.

 

i was born in this body, so I thought that

i belonged to it and it to me,

but somewhere down the line they took my body

and made it theirs,

so answer me this :

 

was my body ever really my body,

or was it on loan to me under the false freedom of femininity?

Annabel Peet