Entry - MAG Poetry Prize 2010

Before Dawn in Spring.

by jamie shaw

The night
sky is like one big black fucking eye.
There is no
sense left,
no sense
left in throwing punches.
stares down at me, it’s the moon I think,
blood shot
and peeling tears,
the drops,
sized like fat fruit, thumping 
splitting on
the rotten boards of the balcony.
A fat tear
for weeping pain
a fat tear
for my drunken state, again.
And falling,
fill the ashtray at my feet,
my sorry fucking
soul, in cigarette butts
soaking up
the bloody rain.
Soaking up
the taste of highway soot,
the taste of
a lost souls petty shit,
Taste the
sweat in the coming storm,
taste the
juice of some distant bruise.
Taste the
shit in the soot
the ash in
each step
in that, left
early, loping walk home.
There’s a
couple walking on the street below,
swaying and
laughing between the small puddles,
lost in the
quiet contentment of two.
something in that secret.
For me, in
the healthy happiness
of one more well
earned  drunken funk.

Added: 19.04.2010

Judges' comments on this poem


makes good contact with the reader.Well observed and maintains a clear balanced phonic and sense structure.I enjoyed the experience.


I'm being constructive -- there is a genuine observation and emotion here. Crude punk impact risks overkill.


Clear, consistent, angry tone. Powerful images: night/black eye; bloodshot moon. Tangible sense of the heavy fruit tears falling & splitting