Entry - MAG Poetry Prize 2011

Bells

by Daniel Crate

Three pigeons driving in a car
towards the place they know you are 
lonely customer at checkout wall 
programmed to be straight and tall 

piano whispers friends that have been
tomatoes that were never seen 
marching children march on by 
got a limit and it’s not the sky

with mushy pea silver service, and a side of cod 
rhubarb and custard, telegraph 
monkeys strum guitar with fishing rod
as I eat rhubarb custard with side of cod

mothers at the gate, eating hay
watching kneeling atheists pray away 
bell doesn’t ring just strikes once 
we are all bells once

Added: 27.04.2011

Judges' comments on this poem

08.05.2011

good effort xx

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