Poem - MAG Poetry Prize 2010
sand castle slip
by
perranporth, UK
I buried your red lips in
summer's burning sand.
Grit,that will steadily
drift and blow away
when wild wind fingers
weep and play around
across the wide porth
where white waves sway.
I do not want to hear
your voice or to feel
your presence here
nor listen to an easy
solipsism from your
curving slipperiness
only to steel myself
as I reveal the
secret lies buried
in your cruel dualism.
As potters waves sculpt
the sphinx rock monument's
squat shape spanning the bay
this memory grave too
will pass and erode away.
Added: 12.04.2010
06.05.2010
An interesting mix of imagery - but sometimes the images conflict.
06.05.2010
I enjoyed this -- "porth" and the reference to soipsism undermined it a bit, but an intense, original piece
07.05.2010
Evocative - thank you