Entry - MAG Poetry Prize 2011


by Alex Walker

The breeze turned to a wind in her 13th year
The soils which once were tended were left
To her own care
Poisoned by words,
Pain and shame

Blaming her for the hearts
Torn into pieces.
Bleeding her name

Into the ailing soils
Till the razzle and dazzle of the bloom
Withered with tire and toil.

She wished to squeeze the venom
from the soils but,
Wisdom to act was denied
By one who (claimed) to be
Unsullied, like a snow capped mountain.

Bleeding. Stops.
Like a fractured feather she floats from her tangled roots
Towards a neon dream.
Swirling and twirling away
a 1000 nights
till a concrete crash unearths an
unassailable seed.

From the sleepy undergrowth
She heals. Water and time flow.
Above, the lark sings a broken song.

Added: 27.04.2011