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Contests : Tom Howard/John H. Reid Poetry Contest : Past Winners : 2007 : Highly Commended
SOMEBODY ELSE
I have no name,
My mirrored reflection
Is unknown.
The grey un-liberating eyes
That stare back at me
Are not mine.
Even the prominent beauty spot
On my upper lip
I do not recognize.
With the voice of a stranger
I speak
And I scream with a scream
Which is not my own.
There is a ringing in my ears
And laughter is inaudible.
I know my step
But not its direction.
I look into the sun
And see no light.
Like a diseased rag
In soaked up sin,
Out of turpentined thoughts
I think.
As if I've been vaporized
I float with aliens,
In mindless wander,
Void of shape,
My past, a clean slate.
Not fire and screaming
But a cold, silent, solitude
Is my hell.
And my isolation—
The rootless tree
Of amnesia.
This poem won a Highly Commended award in the 2007 Tom
Howard/John H. Reid Poetry Contest sponsored by Tom Howard Books. Author Meryl Raw received a $70 award. Winning Writers assists this contest. Copyright is reserved to the author.
SIGNATURE
Bruised with dirt,
The light-green
Goose-pimpled wall
Supports a lonely
Slanted oil painting,
Thick embossed
Gilt covered frame,
Quietly peeling.
Seascape of
Blue curling waves
Breaking,
White tipped.
Driftwood, spongy seaweed,
And broken shells
Scattered on the grainy shore.
A pair of seagulls,
Puffed up, crops bulging,
Perch contently
on a piece of crumbling wood,
Like an old married couple,
Watching the receding water—
They intrigue me,
And I almost overlook
The weather-beaten fisherman,
Naturally positioned,
On dark barnacled-rocks
In the bottom left corner.
Yet, he is the picture,
Poignantly depicted with subtle boldness
Of blending.
He stands, legs apart,
Stretched green-knitted sweater,
Oversized, hanging in points.
His brown trousers
Rolled up
Beyond the knees,
To a defined scar
On his sunburned leg.
Tattered sneakers,
Flopping soles laughing
At the constant splash of spray.
His profile,
Clearly defined,
As if I know him.
Protruding forehead,
Roman nose,
Square jaw
Clamped on black curled pipe.
In hypnotic fascination,
I feel myself being drawn in
As my fingertips trace
Raised oils,
Caress the dusty canvas
With a familiar fondness
I know, but can't explain.
A mysterious, yet tangible
Force transports me
The vortex pulls me in,
Until the pungent smell
Of his bait envelops me.
And I feel the taut tug of
Fishing line
On half-moon bending rod.
Hear the "tzee tzee"
Of the reel fighting the pull,
And experience the thrill of his catch.
A world-within-a-world,
Lost in the tunnel of its solitude
I become the picture.
Recognize its familiarity
As I see his signature,
Painted with precision,
In upward slant
Chocolate-brown
Brushed strokes.
Artist,
Simple fisherman,
Passed on,
Yet lives
In his canvass
Sealed with his
Signature.
Always my granddad.
This poem won a Commended award in the 2007 Tom Howard/John H. Reid Poetry Contest sponsored by Tom Howard Books. Author Meryl Raw received a $50 award. Winning Writers assists this contest. Copyright is reserved to the author.
About Meryl Raw
I am a 47-year-old married woman with three children, the financial director of a Mercedes Benz dealership in the small country town of Kokstad in South Africa. I love reading and writing poetry, am inspired by the things of nature, and love the outdoors. I published Footprints, an anthology of approximately 60 poems, in 2005 and received the Hilda Slinger Poetry Trophy from the South African Writers Circle in 2006. Other hobbies include SCUBA diving, walking and aerobics.
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