Entry - MAG Poetry Prize 2010


by Peter Taylor

People sit at my feet and eat sandwiches,
I stand firm against their bended spines.
They leave offerings of metal cans and plastic wrappings,
My feet cannot kick them away, I cannot move.
Bird guano and lichen cover my upper body and face,
I wait for the rains to bathe me and the winds to dry me.
My arms are steadfast, my mind is patient,
I am weathered and ancient but I do not ail.
The deep fissures in my back do not pain me,
I am immutable, immortal and unknowable.
I do not tire of the same sights day after day
And I do not wish to close my eyes and sleep.
I am an unattached voyeur of life and death
Yet it means very little to me or any of my kind.
I have no need of companionship or conversation,
History will give me meaning but where do you find yours?
You may talk to me on occasion but I will not reply,
My lips will not utter any words to you:
But if they did you would be petrified.
Mere mortals, I watch you age, uncaring.

Added: 23.03.2010