Entry - MAG Poetry Prize 2010

Sacrilege!

by Elizabeth Darcy Jones

I’m not a lover of St Ives
She taints so many people’s lives.
Her sweetness leaves an after-taste
That no one knows is poison-laced.
 
I’m not a lover of St Ives
She steals husbands, children, wives.
Like moths held captive by the light
She smiles until they’ve lost their sight.
 
I’m not a lover of St Ives
Her fingernails – like sharpened knives –
Claw so deep they leave a scar
She’s now a part of who you are.
 
I’m not a lover of St Ives -
By deception she survives.
Her spells are woven round your mind
You’re unaware you’re going blind.
 
In jest we call St Ives a witch
The locals know that she’s a bitch.
You cannot see her steal your heart
You smile and wave as you depart...

          Recollecting works of art...
          until your eyes begin to smart...
 

Added: 12.04.2010

Judges' comments on this poem

06.05.2010

nice to read a poem that ryhmes. clever poem too

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