Entry - MAG Poetry Prize 2010


by Emma Stott

October's hollows trawled,
I haul tomato shoals
On vines as thick as fishing nets,
They hang in lines like traffic lights
But red on red on red,
I snap their thread and heap them into bowls
Or fill my hands and juggle them like glowing coals,
Until a spill of billiard balls,
They roll likes noses loosed from clowns
But fairer than the rose,
My droll tomatoes aren't all skirts and scent,
I rent their skins with steam,
And after blossoms drift their hearts unsheath,
I sift their flesh for glinting seeds,
And seek as a prospector gleaning gold,
For months they'll hold their fruit like hope,
Until the tropes of red harvest pronounce the time,
My lover's hands will ripen then and in mine

Added: 29.04.2010

Judges' comments on this poem


love the poem - great imagery, especially the red on red on red. Not sure if the end word 'rhyme' is necessary though?


A beautiful original poem that demands to be re-read.


A wonderful feeling for the sound of words; you really relish them. A pity the rhythm slips at the end.