Entry - MAG Poetry Prize 2010

Immigrant Doctor Kills Two

by Stephen Brackenridge

On a trinket tray in a hollow house,
Scones hold together jam and butter
On Ikea couch in a white blouse,
Over Daily Mails she likes to mutter
“IMMIGRANT DOCTOR KILLS TWO”,
Sipping on tea; tutting.

On a crystal crammed cabinet
Pious porcelain figures pray
Over broaches and bobbles
Beseeching; the shine of dead eyes reaching
At something hanging there, fleeting, invisible

In a hell-fire hallway in a flashing house
A mother holds together bone and clutter
Wraps around the leg of her world with a blood-soaked blouse
Over tiny bones her hands stutter;
Patting frame just hanging there, fleeting,
Invisible. Shut. Gone.

On a silver screen in a trinket house
Inanimate words conduct through a flailing finger
From a mothers mouth retching and misshapen
Familiar font cuts through failing legs
Sound-waves dance among the Digests
And the Postcode Lottery

Round a trinket table in a white house
Men medallioned talk of oil and water
From teeth letter-boxed, stiff-shapen
Forsaken font hides under stencil stamp
Strengthened by pillars built by slaves.
Bursting nobility

On a crystal crammed cabinet
Pious porcelain figures pray
Over broaches and bobbles
Beseeching; dead eyes reaching,

For the smell of blood hangs there,
Fleeting
Invisible

Added: 28.02.2010

Judges' comments on this poem

07.05.2010

Like the use of repetition, but the rhythm it has not got;there is a shell of a rhythm, and I'd like it to be more prominent.

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