Following on from my post yesterday: For those who are interested this is the poem I have submitted for my college writing competition. Vicki Thompson Crooked Hand My crooked hand, with crooked finger, to draw a line in the sand, below perfection I could never handle. I could pick up a hand full, but she would trickle Through the gaps between my ill directed fingers. With a straight middle she can jab me in my beached heart and I am floundering with my slotted paddles and I am calling to her to save me, throw out a line to hitch me, but I am drowning. She reaches past me, straight streamlined hand so graceful, cultured, my salt would make her sickly, to touch my cracked and knotted driftwood, digits that can only index her beauty. My stubby fumbles crudely, could never pinch her silken threads to pull me back to land. So against the rocks I’m slammed to draw a line in the sand with broken finger on crooked hand.
This is really good! To me a good poem deals with intensely specific things and charges them with great symbolism, well done!
