Budding young poet produces a 'masterpiece'

A BUDDING young Ripon Grammar School writer has produced a prizewinning poem described as ‘a masterpiece’ by a distinguished professor of poetry.

Lola Maybank’s poem was selected from a particularly strong field of more than 100 entries as the winner of this year’s RGS Hullah Poetry Trophy competition, which has been running since 2014.

Dr Paul Hullah, professor of poetry at Tokyo’s Meiji Gakuin University, praised the high standard of entries from students, parents and past pupils: “Poetry is alive and well, it seems: in the safe, skilled hands of RGS pupils, their venerable predecessors and parents.”

He described 16-year-old Lola’s prose poem entry, Hydrangeas, as a quite wonderful surprise: “A form so notoriously difficult to do well, but this… this is a masterpiece.”

Former RGS student and acclaimed poet and author Dr Hullah sent his admiration and gratitude to everyone who took the time to compose and enter a poem: “Bravissimo, each and every one of you that created a flower poem this year. More entries than ever. Admirable talent, awesome variety.”

Lola, from Melmerby, who has been writing poetry since she was six, said she was overwhelmed to win and discover her work was enjoyed and recognised by someone other than herself.

She was inspired by the competition theme of ‘flowers’ to reflect on human behaviour surrounding flowers and how we keep them in our homes: “I feel Hydrangeas are a symbol of dignity and pride with their large and decorative heads,” she said.

Dr Hullah, added: “All lyrical introspection with understated irony, Hydrangeas masterfully employs emotionally charged diction and subtle tonal shifts to reveal a speaker whose idiosyncratic worldview transforms a scene of routine caretaking into a quietly profound meditation.”

Lola, studying French, Spanish and maths at A-level, and aiming for a career in medical journalism or overseeing clinical trials counts Oscar Wilde, John Steinbeck, Yann Martel, and Haruki Murakami among her favourite writers.

Student runner up in the competition was Faith Hartford, 13, from Harrogate, with her poem, Daisy Dungarees: “With gentle musicality, formal repetition, and subtle shifts in temporal perspective, this witty poignant piece delicately weaves memory, materiality, and emotional growth into a user-friendly compact poetic rumination,” said Dr Hullah.

He added: “The speaker’s quietly profound worldview renders a child’s discarded garment a symbol of innocence, temporal dislocation, and the bittersweet textures of personal change. Adorable writing.”

Trinabh Srinivisan and Francesca Kirkman were highly commended for their poems, Forget-me-not: a Modern Ballad and Daffodils.

In the wider community category, first place was taken by an anonymous parent, whose poem ‘I think you said that white lilies were your favourite’ was described as: “A magisterial but modest meditation on the moral reach of simple grief, this is a quietly devastating elegy.”

Runners up were Alicia Haydn with Honeysuckle and Joanne Swiers with Yellow Rattle.

*Read the prize-winning poems and judge's remarks, below


The prizewinning poems

Hydrangeas

By Lola Maybank

Their hydrangeas need water. I go in each day and reimburse their spoilt rotten healthy roots of the plant that is accommodated by the carved ceramic pot in their mullioned windowsill. An image of worth. They rely on me to not wilt because to wilt would be to completely diminish the pride of those who call them their own.

They rely on me, nonetheless they burden me. They thrust an evocation of that previous moment; deep in the leaves and the petals and the critters and the dust of old times, cavernous beneath all I’d left behind while I lay whined within these flowers that were now identically nourished and pampered and cosseted symbols of prestige in someone’s home.

Yet, all that these flowers in the windowsill were to me were wicked reminders of those inklings of distance from pride and feelings of discernment. Their purpose here is shallow, but somehow my feelings and memories are deep.

Daisy Dungarees

By Faith Harford

Daisy dungarees,

at the bottom of a drawer.

A fairy drawer,

too small for

daisy dungarees.

Daisy dungarees,

a glimpse of times long gone:

silly games and playful songs,

childish ways,

sunny days,

and daisy chains.

Daisy dungarees

were a day-by-day routine;

for stormy skies

were brightened by

their glowing daisy eyes.

That's the way things used to be.

Now they only reach her knees.

Daisy dungarees

at the bottom of a drawer,

once meant something more

than flower-patterned denim

surrounded by black leggings.

Forget-me-not

Modern Ballad

By Trinabh Srinivisan

I opened my eyes in the heart of May,

Bathed in sunlight’s warm and gentle sway.

I first saw you here, in this spot,

Promise me, forget me not.

You saw me, beneath the sun-lit sky.

With your warm, soft-open eyes.

In your warmth, I found what I sought,

Promise me, forget me not.

The wind still carries your voice through leaves,

A whisper caught in the breath it weaves.

You loved her so deeply, or so you thought –

Promise me, forget me not.

Even when time wears, the colours sting,

Even when the spring forgets to sing,

Even when memories tangle in rot,

You promised me to forget me not.

Every year I open my eyes,
And find no trace beneath the skies.
No voice, no hand, no second thought—
Just silence where your love is not.

Daffodils

By Francesca Kirkman

I walk across a field of daffodils, a warm summer breeze blowing through my hair,

The sky is a magnificent blue and the sun is tickling my cheeks,

The birds are singing a beautiful melody, harmonizing every tweet,

I walk across a field of daffodils, seeing clouds smile down from the sky,

The trees are dancing to the birdsong,

And the grass is refreshing under my feet,

I walk across a field of daffodils, the nature around me is thriving,

Ladybirds are flying gracefully around the field,

While grasshoppers are bouncing around below me,

I walk across a field of daffodils, until I reach the end of my stroll,

I take one more look at the field, and head for home.

From an anonymous parent:

I think you said that white lilies were your favourite

But that was some years ago and memory has thorns

Pointed distortions amongst tangled undergrowth

A single white rose was my only contribution that day in June

Proud and unthinking in its incongruity

Yet, three daisies from whence, blameless perennials

With time that rose became a daffodil

Vain hope to conceal the narcissism of conceit

Every day a second chance squandered

Are there still flowers where you are now?

As the daisies become orchids, change and grow

Only time will show what damage I suppose.


Honeysuckle

By Alicia Haydn

21:02. A text. ‘omw’

The evening walk to the house

(I did not notice him. I am moth)

I walk to his house every evening.

Every evening. Eyes on the shadows

Suspicious. (did it move, or is it paranoia?)

I walk to his house. Evenings

are mine. I am my own – if I

squint, I can see trials left by others

(pheromone visualisation – I am caught like a flame)

I walk to his house

In evenings, the roads twist, turn, curl

Rubble kicked up – fumes

(are the trees absorbing all of this?

do we need more trees? how do I plant more trees?)

I walk to evenings, my house (his)

My house is growing

I am growing – there is –

Grief. A twisted thing – a knife in the heart

(did the tree absorb enough - - -

am I going mad?)

I walk the evenings, his house

Rises – and alongside the polluted pathways

Spring pale flowered tendrils –

Rapunzel’s ropes (let down

let down your hair!

he prefers it long – do I care?)

I walk to his house. Evening

comes suddenly and i

jolt awake, covered in sweat

(i thought i was a moth, i thought

i could fly. I cannot.)

Evening house! I walk. He

is alarmed. He is a moth now

His brown wings flutter.

I am hungry. I am bird. Hunt.

The house walks, but I am evening.

My perfumed lips are pastel lemon,

And in the moonlight

I kiss moths, flirt with stars

There is no house

Only moon.


Judge’s remarks


A. RGS PUPILS PRIZE 2025

Bravissimo, each and every one of you that created a flower poem this year. More entries than ever. Admirable talent, awesome variety. Poetry is alive and well, it seems: in the safe, skilled hands of RGS pupils, their venerable predecessors and parents. Ah, knowing that makes my heart fly.

I do not take this privileged task, this ‘judging’, lightly. It get measurably (if the time it takes me to do this is any indication) more difficult to choose ‘winners’ (I hate that word: everyone's a winner here) every year. Thanks for the magical lexical moments, the vivid imaginative verbal paintings and pairings. So many masterpieces. It’s brutal not to be able to give a prize to every single entry: sincerely, they all merit such. A different topic on a different day, and we might be singing someone else’s praises, but, here and now, the garlands go to…

Highly Commended: FRANCESCA KIRKMAN ‘Daffodils’

Gorgeous rhythmic repetition, vivid sensory detail, and gentle personification combining here to create a warm and immersive pastoral meditation. The speaker’s quietly reverent engagement with the natural world transforms a simple walk into a neo-Romantic ode to harmony, presence, and the restorative power of landscape. Precocious? Maybe. Wise? Certainly.

Highly Commended: TRINABH SRINIVISAN

‘Forget-me-not: a Modern Ballad ‘

Welds the lyrical cadence of traditional balladry to the emotional nuance of modern introspection, artfully employing refrain, temporal layering, and delicate natural imagery to forge a haunting, elegiac meditation on memory, loss, and the fragile persistence of love across time’s erasures. A talented writer, without question. Other poems submitted by this competitor are also excellent.

RUNNER UP: FAITH HARTFORD ‘Daisy Dungarees’

With gentle musicality, formal repetition, and subtle shifts in temporal perspective, this witty poignant piece delicately weaves memory, materiality, and emotional growth into a user-friendly compact poetic rumination, where the speaker’s quietly profound worldview renders a child’s discarded garment a symbol of innocence, temporal dislocation, and the bittersweet textures of personal change. Adorable writing.

WINNER: LOLA MAYBANK ‘Hydrangeas'

This was a quite wonderful surprise. A prose poem! A form so notoriously difficult to do well, but this… this is a masterpiece. A bold, triumphant exposé of the dissonance between surface beauty and internal disquiet, ultimately sculpted into a resonant meditation on memory, alienation, and the quiet burdens of care. All lyrical introspection with understated irony, Hydrangeas masterfully employs emotionally charged diction and subtle tonal shifts to reveal a speaker whose idiosyncratic worldview—marked by ambivalence, sensitivity, and shrewd moral depth—transforms a scene of routine caretaking into a quietly profound meditation on memory, alienation, and the ethics of emotional inheritance.

B. RGS PARENTS & OLD RIPS PRIZE 2025

These were all splendid too. I don’t know the names of the authors of a couple of the poems I selected (not a bad thing, of course: anonymity), so please add them as appropriate.

Highly Commended: JOSHUA WILSON (Year 6 at time of writing and now an RGS Year 7 pupil)

'The wood forget–me–not'

Lovely. Employing a gentle, pastoral lyricism and a consistent use of tactile and visual imagery, The wood forget-me-not distinguishes itself through its careful metrical fluidity, vivid personification, and symbolic resonance, transforming a humble woodland flower into an eloquent emblem of memory, mourning, and continuity.

Highly Commended: JOANNE SWIERS ‘Yellow Rattle’.

Poised simplicity was the title of my sixth form thesis on Christina Rossetti, and that is exactly what we have here. ‘Yellow Rattle’ distinguishes itself through its exquisite economy of language and deft musicality, transforming a simple pastoral moment into a resonant sensory experience where sound and image converge in a subtle celebration of seasonal change. Irresistible.

RUNNER UP: ALICIA HAYDN ‘Honeysuckle’

This is a haunting and formally daring prose poem that manage to fuse surreal metamorphosis with eco-psychological lyricism without feeling in any way forced of facile. We find misleadingly stolid anaphora ‘I walk… I walk…’ opening doors to a rich amalgam of innovative iterative syntax, fragmented interiority, and dark fairy-tale allusion that evoke the disorientation of desire, grief, and transformation in a polluted, dreamlike landscape. I love it.

WINNER: ANONYMOUS PARENT: ‘I think you said that white lilies were your favourite’

Crafty. In both senses. Technical virtuosity abounds here from a true poet bristling with confidence and insight. A magisterial but modest meditation on the moral reach of simple grief, this is a quietly devastating elegy that employs floral symbolism, tonal restraint, and temporal ambiguity to explore memory’s unreliability and the subtle entwinement of guilt, grief, and self-reckoning. This heartbreaking unforgettable piece demonstrates a refined technical control through its elliptical syntax, layered floral imagery, and tonal austerity, allowing understated yet profound meditations on memory, culpability, and the quiet moral reckoning embedded within the rituals of everyday grief. Not a word out of place.