Cruzanne Macalligan (née Macalister)

Winner - 2008

“WRITING BINDS TOGETHER MY LOVE OF OBSERVATION, HUMANITY AND THE PERENNIAL TRUTHS THAT PERVADE HOW THE UNIVERSE UNFOLDS. HAVING SAID THAT, I FIND THAT MY POETRY REALLY ALLOWED ME TO BE CONVERSATIONAL AND CONTEMPORARY, TAKING A MORE LIGHT HEARTED APPROACH TO THE DEEPER PHILOSOPHICAL ISSUES THAT POETRY OFTEN EXPLORES.”

chagrin

I like the taste of new words:

facetious and verbose

both ambidextrous

in their verisimilitude of flavour

then chagrin. It jarred –

at first I never heard it, or saw

it written down, then all at once

cupfuls filled my novels

and newspaper sections

and I tried it out in casual company

sipping, shyly,

much to their chagrin, of course,

and mispronounced it, once,

or twice, chay-grin.

I told my sister,

she’s been sipping with chagrin

at the God Delusion,

we both think Richard Dawkins is a tad

misanthropic

take heed

I felt the earth quake tonight,

I was outside on a plastic chair

I was on the phone

I was bitching about lust lost and money spent

I was complaining about temperature and temperament

I was clutching snotty tissues

I was wanting and not having

I was hungry and full of chicken and peas

I was hearing myself echoing inanely and lonely

I was tired of time scooting past me while

I was holding mugs of tea and empty comforts

and the earth shook

to remind me I was stepping on its coattails

and how good it is to live in a wooden house.

Nested

The last one to lie

through the dark with my

sighs, used my foot

like a telephone –

our platonic bodies

shifting for self

comfort.

And now my ears may have

folded

as I slept.

I’ll hold the delicate

pulsing tight between

my temples and eyelids –

and feel like a bird

once

nested and feathered

against a boulder,

you rolled over,

and I left

to gather no moss.