Poem - MAG Poetry Prize 2010
Vibrations:1949
by
westcliff on sea, UK
Choristers surplices, in dozens,
were stitched by mum on the 'Singer';
turning her basement bedroom
into a one-woman factory filled with aromas
from: clouds of lawn cotton, machine oil
and paraffin fuelling the stove.
The rest of the house was my playground.
Standing on a dining chair,
dressed in a surplice
and holding out my flapping arms in flowing sleeves,
our mirror over the fireplace
reflected something like a winged angel.
The flapping continued:
up and down stairs,
in and out of rooms,
disturbing the air
and flitting shadows on to walls.
Fluttering down to mum's factory,
standing before the full length triple mirror,
I became we, a whole host of us
our wings flapping in exact unison
through to infinity.
Whoever lives in that E.12 terrace now,
When they check in a mirror
for smudged lipstick,
to straighten a tie
or rub a hand over a stubbled chin,
might almost notice, at the very edge,
a trace of filmy white,
feel a slight breeze skim their skin
or sense a whirring sound, like a machine,
from the room in the basement.
***
Added: 11.02.2010
06.05.2010
wonderful poem from start to finish couldn't fault it anywhere
26.05.2010
I liked this poem - evocative memoris of another time. Thank you
27.05.2010
Really enjoyed reading this one! I loved the idea of leaving bits of yourself behind, great work :)
27.05.2010
Wonderful descriptions of the single angel and later the host of angels. Does the final section 'whoever lives in the E12.' add to the poem?
03.06.2010
Glad you got trough to round 2, I voted for you in round 1 too