Bejptjeman Poetry Prize

Congratulation and well done to Niamh McCarthy a 1st year student in Sacred Heart who came second in this competition out of nearly 2400 entrants!  Niamh travelled to London last week to the award ceremony. She won £200, 4 Eurostar tickets to either Paris, Brussels or Lille, a poetry camp next May & other items, books, literature etc.

Nana’s House

If I try,

 Scrutinized.

 I can remember.

Birds…

They were bending the crucible blue of the sky.

Gently scraping the Afro-tufted trees

And fuzzy, hairline wires.

Forbidden to swoop

As low as the bleached shed.

Unknown spiders dwell in there.

 That old home.

Then….

The sky ignited.

My feet, sizzled and tingled,

On her crosspatch slates.

The weeds eavesdrcopping on her gardens grandeur.

And her door,

with the lumpy glass,

and obnoxious knocker,

Previously represented love and goodness.

Now symbols memories

Memories that I don’t want to remember.

Her diamond windows,

where light bleached in,

through an eclipse in reality,

lightening the curtains

penetrating through parents shallow laughter

Our laughter.

At the secrets we don’t know.

That old home.

Endless mirrors,

spartan bed and rocky pillows.

Speckled concrete and bloody car.

Roasted weeds and

flushed rose buds,

used to stare at the sun, in elation

Pastelled wall shades,

melt to paste.

When you’re told, beneath a star of clocks.

While you wouldn’t touch,

that creaky step.

For it would disturb her.

 Too late.

She kissed the night goodbye.

Yellow bedroom. Like scurvy toothpaste.

Appliquéd happiness. Stuffed with sorrow.

Unable to fall.

With the gentle singing of the train.

Until the stars fell with me.

Stop….

Hearse. What right did it have?

It’s all a plain pencilled drawing. Maybe.

Asthmatic eyes.

And the souls. Remember me? Fake smiles.

While I longed to scream.

Why are people celebrating?

Zip the house up and cower.

I can remember…..

The empty silence….

I can’t talk to her.

Crestfallen organs.

Better place now

Then…. whatever!

Drawling days and sugar…

I can remember

the absence ~

Of the birds that day.

It’s not a home, just a house,

Now that Nana’s gone.

Niamh McCarthy (13)