MAG Poetry Competition 2011 - search for new poems

About 44% of the participants in the 2011 poetry competition wished their poems to remain viewable on the website. Check these out here:

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No Going Back

by M. Anita Bailey

As my fingers
listened and
my ears watched
my mind

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The White Dress

by Marc Smith

Over the bridge, fresh spring night
lights from the fairground away to my right
Looked to my left, black night sky
headlights in front from cars passing by.

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Etched

by Maria Preston

Ensnared gloom enclosed within,
Exiled from their source;
Spilling out in silence;
To glide along their course.

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House Hunt

by Marianne MacRae

I’d like a large back garden and a river, with a waterfall if it’s plausible. And there should probably be a doorway to a magical realm, but don’t tell me if there is, I’d like to discover it on my own.

I’m a big fan of wrestling so all the better if the place was previously owned by Hulk Hogan. He was my favourite. I know, I know, everybody loves Hogan, but that’s because he’s accessible and he has a great moustache, which is something I think almost all people wish they could grow at some point in their lives.

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Homecoming

by Marianne MacRae

Emerging awkwardly from the branches, a man comes.
“He captained a ship you know;
one to space.And now here he comes,
out of the woods like a gazelle,

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Hotel Heart

by Marianne MacRae

Our room overlooking the city.
Perhaps there ought to be more on the floor:
stockings, our coats, a gold ring.
The newspaper you bought as we met in the foyer,

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The Promised Land

by Mark McGuire

We wrap ourselves in a Union flag
Imprisoned by island mentality
Captured by misplaced loyalty
And yet, we still look for reasons to brag

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What If

by Mark Richardson

My questions never limit
My whys outlast the days
The scriptures give the answers
To life and how it plays

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Erudition

by Mark Richardson

If now my will is failing my hunger cannot die
My interest is divided, my tainted heart should cry
My flaws draw all who care
My days are hurried there

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Rest in Peace

by Mark Risner

There are few more pleasurable ways
to wile away the days,
than to wake at mid morn,
yawn,

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