Delighted to have written this one a few years ago. Even more delighted that it won the Sussex Poets Competition, judged by John McCullough
I will write my name with a lump of steam coal
on the side of a lorry parked up at a roadside caff.
Or with raw steel, pig iron, scraped on a fence
newly painted. Or fence-paint itself, stolen,
smeared on a sheet drying on a line,
flapping its pleas to the breeze.
Or in black earth churned to mud
with water from the outside tap
that rattles against the bricks.
Or coded in the click of stilettos
tapping the night away on paving slabs,
like the stick of the blind man who catches
the voice of the marshalling yards carried on the wind,
and hears the clinking of a chain ferry.
|Collage made by the Rottingdean Writers Group, who organised the competition|
'The Farmyard' by Philip Bentall took second place, and third place was awarded to 'Everest' by Brian Fogarty.