John Tripp Award for Spoken Poetry
Runner-up
Martin Daws
Yo Red
yo red / I kept walkin’
fresh face frozen / masque set to cast
quick sideways glances – and don’t look back
yo red / I kept walkin’
skin tight the sidewalk whispers linger sinister
wot u doin down here? / keep walkin’ red boy
(sung) “man on the street gotta make ends meet”
gold gilt chains / hot dice games and knife scars
dirty addict habits fix yellow dyed slits
on a $5 redemption mine for 10 bucks
so I can dance drunk to the hit from a sucker punch
and we can smoke crack out the back of his gun barrel
sing “whats goin’ on” together and cry at the high notes
the sidewalk washing with kerosene dreams
and we’re all goin to get along just fine – aren’t we?
I mean I represent – don’t i?
(sung like field song) “man on the street gotta make ends meet,
man on the street goota find ways to eat”
I’m a barefoot pilgrim in shell top trainers
a vinyl disciple on my knees diggin deep
through crate racks of flat black 2nd hand soul plates
I DJ to recreate / to recreate / to recreate soul feeling
and when the needle hits the groove
just for a moment I’m saved from myself.
the closed door of identity dissolves into sounds
flowing free together where people all stream as one
and I’m flying on wings of wax too close to the sun
yo red / I never meant to be anything but funky
yo red / when the music hits I feel no pain
yo red / this aint London / this aint Liverpool / this aint Cardiff
this is sunday Chicago slow bump up and hustle
I’m swimming the southside shallows way out of my depth
shark feared, bottomless, with no defence but faith
against up close ghetto in my face.
YO RED / what?
you Australian?
no mate, I’m from Britain.
how long have I got before I get shot?
time stood still as our ancestors met
take it easy red,
you gotsta stop being so paranoid.
here, you hold the knife
Shadows
with his last breath my father woke me.
‘martin, get up, your wasting the day.’
i saw him draw the curtains,
turn to pick up his shadow and go.
there was sunlight brightening the carpet where he’d stood,
but, still I missed his shoulder’s broad silhouette,
ever filling the door frame with sureness.
i lingered, scrabbling around under the covers for materials
to build on a future without him; there was raw bacon,
ration coupons, diet coke and double cream
stuck to brave faces with epoxy and money shots.
I heard a heart beat aching to break
the pattern in the wheels of a train set,
and generations of unwept sorrow
backed up behind the garden fence.
the sun was golden when i went outside
to lay my memories down in a man size outline.
i tried a few steps, to see if it would walk behind me,
but my shadow just dissolved in a pool of tears