Week 25 – photograph by Roger Leege
Six wonderful poems, however there can be just one winner and this time it is Mermaid Out of Water by Alison Hill. Congratulations to Alison and thanks you as always for submitting and voting.
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Poem 1
Mermaid Out of Water
She’s stranded, red hair gleaming,
scales about to fall.
She’s dreaming, longing for silken waters,
a surface to skim, to dive beneath.
We watch intently, waiting for her mask to slip
but she’s waiting too, sitting out her life
on her pedestal, waiting for pennies to slide
her way, for people to give in, go home.
She’s tired and her silver limbs are aching,
she longs to swim, to dip and dive.
Her time will come – she’ll raise her parasol,
swish her scales free and be gone.
Alison Hill
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Poem 2
Mannequin
Walking from the window
into the red paved courtyard
she strips the taffeta dress
from her blanched body
its folds cascade fusing
with the stream of a shawl,
parasol and wide brimmed
hat rippling from her feet.
Beneath a madder of hair
her lids close in contemplation
as nails rip the rejected ruches,
bare breasts bulge a chemise,
her muscles sparkle life, health
as a candle of cash charges
the vase of acceptance sheafs
rejected in the vacated cave
where the accepted dance
in the crimson lit window.
Carolyn O’Connell
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Poem 3
Woman, why are you so still?
Woman, why are you so still?
Woman, why are you silver?
The world wants women who move
When religion says, ‘move’,
Dance
When commerce says ‘dance’,
Gold women.
Yet you, with your one still
Breast and your one black shoe
And your dress
Papery as a wasp nest,
And your money jar,
And your red hair,
Are still and silver.
Who will you sting like this?
Who will pray at your foot?
Who will pay?
Woman, why are you silver?
Woman, why are you so still?
Michael Docker
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Poem 4
Silver Linings
You pray that one day, the girl
in that dress will undress –
will stress you with the way
she moves. Her left breast
falling at the edges, her hands
full of a hope you’ll never know.
You watch her every day;
the High Street windows steam
with a milky dream of blood
red colour leaving stains;
memories still damp
on the spare pillow
She may wait for you… The
solid paving speaking words
your feet can’t say. Clouds gather,
casting shadows – her dress
reflecting the fading
silver lining of your fear.
Hannah Teasdale
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Poem 5
Arianrhod – Goddess of the Silver Wheel
Every morning I come to this same spot,
Daubed in silver regalia and paint.
I’m timeless from both the future and past,
Beguiling you with my statuesque poise.
Whilst I stay still and august, thoughts race by:
Will they call-back from my last audition?
I only have money for two months’ rent.
Why my dad left home when I was just twelve?
I wish I hadn’t drunk so much sweet tea.
More thoughts come as I’m the silver angel:
I wonder what my girlfriend is doing.
I’m feeling a bit rough, still hung-over.
Here’s the weirdo again, photos, staring.
I should call my mum more; must take a break.
A voice speaks soft, the true silver angel’s.
She calmly tells me that all will be well,
My gnawing viral distress starts to ease.
Bringing calm like she did when I was twelve,
The bright light inside frees my mind and heart
She sings a calming hymn. I push aside
All my worries, fears, doubts and surroundings.
Time melting away for the next few hours,
I didn’t even feel the rain falling.
Kevin Eagles
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Poem 6
She sat,
her mind on a million things,
plucking at ideas,
to stop them falling
and fading,
trying to grasp the hem
of a thought as it passed her
and
hid beneath
the fold
of the other ideas
that would change
the world.
If she could only contain
them, carry them around
in a jar
and show them,
then they would believe.
The money
and time
would come,
she could see it
already.
Her head glowed
with the promise of
unknown
outcomes,
as her husband waited with the
engine running.
Angie Butler
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