Entry - MAG Poetry Prize 2011


by Keeley Hickin

Drifting in my head
through this natural puzzle
as I float out on the water 
in a creaky white boat,
a book in my hands;
can’t help but falter
This book arrived one afternoon
bathed in autumnal sun,
its pages were clean,
now curled up, and torn, and soiled
but still not knowing
precisely what they mean
The sun is strong
and this song comes to me,
the part where the climatic
chord runs under my skin
and hits me internally
as if I’m a glockenspiel,
this mallet formed free
from the beauty of your head,
and from the wood
of a great oak tree
I, you, we, drift,
on this sea, now a lake
a puddle of green, like pea soup
and I can see my reflection in it,
my face moon-opaque 
and I remember our times like
they were a day old,
a shimmering collection
of hours, minutes, seconds,
little pieces of gold

Added: 20.03.2011

Judges' comments on this poem


I love the ethereal quality of this, but wonder if there's any need for the rhyming line-endings? Consider internal rhymes perhaps?