|
1st prize:
Baklava Morning
By Kieran Condell
its thirteen degrees
nine in the wind
on wigram st. harris park
outside the lebanese café
a small crowd of old
immigrant men gather around
two outside tables
the waitress is bemused
refers to the men as boys
complains that they are
trouble with a warm smile
I’m alone, braving this
cutting breeze with
a coffee of my own
and no matter how light
the waitress makes of these
men my respect
draws them as at least
movie mafia, stringent elders
or chosen community leaders
important matters before them
like the rise of the local greeks
in truth the men talk of
reflux remedies, denture glue
or the essential
who is paying
for the pistachio sprinkled
baklava, no ‘hits’
or threats this morning
my sunny day
|
|
2nd Prize:
Room 11
By Karleena Marjoram
The beep of a duress alarm,
false alarm
OR assault in progress…false alarm
I sit in my room at the end of the corridor
– the phone rings. The trill of the outside world
White lino separates me from the masses who dwell on the blue carpet
I am in the bellows but sound still profilerates
-gobbets, quips here and there
HOWEVER
If I had none I would be happy
The Hum of the air conditioner is 2 fold
1). the warmth of continuance
2). the sterile environment in which I reside
One room, one bed, one cupboard, one desk
– the desk a luxury
I stumble down the hall in hope that supper has been served. Instead I am
greeted by a cacophony of sound – audio and human
½ hour more all for a cup of tea
My quiet corner occupied –
my room now my refuge
Tomorrow I will lay in the sun before the evening return of tonight
– all nights – re runs.
|
|
3rd Prize:
The Orchids
By Therese Giffney
I told Chloe
that the orchids were getting better
the new soil wasn’t encroaching on them
after all
telling them
to hurry with growth
or they would be disappointed
with their life swept from their
woody stern
this plants’ centre so straight in the brown black
now familiar now nurturing soil
the budding orchids
promising new blooms
tentative
rare in this room
but with all hope
soon to enter
to enter
even this room
a room of compromise
no I take that back
life is never a compromise
as the orchid knows
living is a promise
you give to all who know you
even know of you
telling all
No, I am not at the end. Not ready, no.
Stay and watch
watch as I blossom.
|
|
Highly Commended 1:
Taxi Driver
By Paul Hayley
Long-bearded man angling down bitumen,
Searching for that final fare like a frustrated fisherman,
People come and go through this sombre conclave,
Like black-winged creatures in a temporary cave.
What story could each one tell? He wonders, surrounded by persistent neon,
What standards that differentiate each one, would they choose to cling on?
A lonely man with a foot in two worlds, one abrasive to another,
Yearning for that long departed warmth, which once came from his mother.
The night exploits him like oppressive black leather,
The fat moon leering like God under the weather.
The stars twinkle happily, regardless of his plight,
Like demons hungrily depriving his birthright.
City and suburban streets devouring his humble vehicle,
Like hungry snakes that wolf down eggs, symbolic of deaths sickle.
Absorbed by structure great and small, like a zebra to a pride of lions,
Craving relief from human innuendo, serenity he pines.
People distorted by sacrilegious elements,
Polluting his atmosphere with sin and vehemence,
Constant stress and headache prevalent,
His tedious pain to others irrelevant.
Sweat-stained wheel that steers him unerringly,
Through moral apocalypse that threatens gregariously,
At times the suburbs beckon like lonely girls on telephones,
But not enough to neutralise the stiffness in his bones,
The shadows lose their substance, an inevitable metamorphosis,
Sun descending like a sympathetic angel, a glowing happy narcissist.
|
|
Highly Commended 2:
Nostalgia
By Justin Liebmann
The Spanish Inquisition was an Executive decision
pursuant under clandestine constitutional processes
hereto executed with extemporary efficiency
Executions were well attended, and many in the dark made a light unto Zion,
may even further a field or furtive furrow
finding succour as fuel as the need arose to dispose
of flipflappers, flappers, flippers, vile venal pew avoiders
boilers, musers, windmills, apostates, interstates, statuary.
Those without grammar at the top of their voices
so the Lord is good
the Almighty the best
and those without inquisitiveness are better than all
This is the word of the Lord as spoken only in English
as spoken to his best buddy – God loves a billionaire U.S. evangelist
God save the Bush.
|
|
|
Highly Commended 3:
Moving On
By Katherine Maxwell
I’ve come a long way,
Learnt many pieces of knowledge,
Grown with the help of mentors,
Made many mistakes in life.
I’m a perpetual dreamer,
Illness once held me in its grip, forced me backwards,
Now, I’m managing with the help of medication,
With special friends who will always be in my heart.
You either go under or rise above it,
Hoping for something better in the future,
Destiny will play a part,
But you go your own way in life through the gift of free will.
I’ve fulfilled my Nan’s dream of an independent life,
I even help others reach their potential,
I don’t wallow in self pity,
Hardships may come but I’ll weather the storm.
I care not what others think of me,
Only that I can honour myself and this country,
To move on I’ve learnt to respect myself,
And carry myself with dignity.
To move on is to grieve, feel pain and loss
To feel comfort in being loved and cherished by your loved ones in your hour of need.
To recognise the past and forgive but not forget
And remember those who taught you to be you.
|
|
Carer’s Prize:
Gratis
By Jillian Black
True love risking
one’s own equity
true love caring
offering surety
giving and sharing
one’s own humanity
bearing a signature
without indemnity
one’s own courage
guided by integrity
love’s true clarity
found in affinity.
|
|