Competition

Third Prize

The Mariner
by John Egan
Ashfield, NSW

Navigate your frail Whitby barque
in the trade winds of the day
and the soft horizons of tomorrow,
across the meridians of months
and the parallels of years.
A cartographer of decades,
the ship’s log your life’s diary, your charts
are scars notched in mind and muscle,
your bruises sprawl in verse and rhyme
and the white page is stressed with waves
in the wake of your voyages. Wind blown
to the high latitudes of time
where the ice ticks loudly like a clock,
the polestar beckons north
and all directions merge to here.
There is no compass
and then there is no light.

Highly Commended

Rendering
by Marjorie Lewis-Jones
Drummoyne, NSW

I knew you years ago
Before your face was rehung
And the skin got bandaged to your bones,
Natty as an umbrella.

Along with pincered eyes,
I see your jowls are creeping back;
A slide which, in others, I'd equate
With more heart.

In the cafe, your sleek
Mobile is mid cheek as you talk
Into your husband
Like he's a mirror.

With all the chairs
Empty, in your view, and the stage set,
You announce, 'I am here now,
And so the world will need to come to me.’

That's my cue to leave.
I toss change in a small tipping pot,
Noting your small change has been rendered
Skin deep.