B.

The imitation of art

Let us gather a world of beauty;
Log it, label it and put it on display.
Try to understand the otherness of things.

We may fashion a bird in flight, though
we cannot know the thrill of air between feathers.

And even the most tactile of plastic-crafted cats
can never reproduce the warmth of winter sunshine in fur.

Still we hoard these hollow replicas
like artefacts in a tomb.
They comfort us, they tell us we were there.

Celia Coyne - Winner, Year 2 section
Inspired by Richard Kileen

The hanging sky

They ride in on the tail of a storm.
Four Maori Chiefs of the Yesteryear
or not, depending on point of view.
They could be just four men in moko
come looking for their lost cat.
They need help of course,
due to their blindness

They ride in on the tail of a storm.
Four sightless men of the Apocalypse
or not, depending on point of view.
They could be just four men for sale
on the lookout for a good home.
They’ll be lucky,
they’re not that appealing.

They ride in on the tail of a storm.
Four blind Rasta Kings from Jamaica
or not, depending on point of view.
They could be just four men playing paintball.
It’s got out of hand,
and they’re sheepishly wiping
the paint from their eyes.

They ride in on the tail of a storm.
Four Javaroan Heads from the Amazon
or not, depending on point of view.
They could be just four odd-ball wind chimes
circling con abbandono
through the stratocumulus opacus
of
the hanging sky.

By Pat Deavoll
Winner, Year 1 section
Inspired by Shane Cotton

Ascension

Once she held on to the tail of life
chased it down narrow alleyways
byways, doorways
always searching
sometimes she heard it purr
sometimes she caught the harsh claw
sometimes she felt it curl round her
wrap her in its furry warmth

Now she tosses her wild red hair
turns it grey as a pigeon feather
sheds her golden gown for a muslin shroud
points her bare toes earthward for the flight

The people in the forests, in the villages
close their windows from the shadows
whisper “she is passing, she is passing”
whisper prayers and spells
for their atonement

She rises with the bird of dawning
feels the rush and push of air
a thousand silent breaths
ruffle and rustle
on the wings of the morning

left
a ring of white stones
a single blue feather

Jeni Curtis - winner of Graduate section and overall winner