Entry - MAG Poetry Prize 2010

Tamesas

by Kathy Greethurst

I go to the weir when the sluices are open
to listen to the white water roar.
 
In its dark,
it has the life of every creature in its blood.
 
It has its charge – its Charge of the Light Brigade,
cannon to the right, cannon to the left,
into the Valley of Death.
 
It has its honking Toad,
its own piper at the gates of dawn.
 
It has its blood bank, and its centrifuge.
 
It has its Laureate reading a sonnet,
a song creating a rhyme of its own.
 
I go to the weir when the sluices are open
to listen to the white water roar.
 
It has its surf over white horses.
 
It has its lock
lifts and sinks,
sucks a barge out of slack water.
 
It has its sports track
where kayaks come to play.
 
It has its clogged arteries.
It has its varicose veins.
 
I go to the weir when the sluices are open
to listen to the white water roar.

Added: 19.04.2010

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