Entry - MAG Poetry Prize 2010


by Victoria Rose Poolman

           You say that it is      heart-shaped;
              You are wrong.    Since when
            Was a heart such a perfect thing?
                The neat waist and bosom 
               Of a corseted Victorian lady;
          Two smooth circles and a triangle -
      A couple of Camembert and a Dairylea;
  An upturned Everest with the highlands on top -
    No, no, no. That is not the shape of a heart.
   It isn’t tidy - it doesn’t care about being symmetrical.
  It is a grotesque sponge which soaks up all the glory for
  The whole world’s love and romance. Just an organ, pulsating 
    with a life of it’s own: ugly, unnerving, disturbing. 
       It whirs and surges like a generator in a power cut, 
         It doesn’t flutter with wings from its’ crimson cocoon
             Like some cherry moth that pops out of cutesy cards 
                In WHSmiths. No, it is much more gory than that.
                    You say it is heart-shaped; it is not. 
                          This poem is heart-shaped.

Added: 30.04.2010