Entry - MAG Poetry Prize 2010

The lancing

by Steve Brodie

This was his house,
And her house, and theirs.
All now planked, piled, run through,
By the chargers of life's progression.
Victims under the architect's iron suit.
Still every brick holds elements to be replayed.
Every step creaks a song, a tear,
Where mantle and lintel witnessed love and distain.
Clambering hands make slow effort to retrieve a kiss,
And knees scrape white, to the cellar filled with filth,
Lessing again the housemaids ear.
And what of the dust that screams every emotion felt?
Their calloused fingers so desperately licking,
Sucking, swallowing to find it's hidden joy.
Imbibing the waste, with much to bear.
So they each take a small token from the pile,
To rest inside another vulnerable tomb.
Just a brick, some wood or broken roof tile,
But it was his life,
And her life, and theirs.

Added: 15.01.2010

Judges' comments on this poem


I liked this thank you


"distain"? Use spellcheck before you submit!


My favourite from the first time I read it and it remained my top poem