James Williams (Commended)
King Edward’s School, Bath
Burgundy was lost in 1477 like a book clapped shut,
musting of French wine cellars. It yawns dormant
under Pinot Noir and Chateau de Joux.
Leisure lived languid in Burgundy, like the number
seven Pool ball, or ruddy red-brown
school caps that cup dust in cupboards.
Approval stamps on Nazi passports were Burgundy.
They haunt like leaves, ripely pungent in rotting,
or published diaries that slink out of print.
Dying roses blush in Burgundy, before sighing yellow,
for Burgundy is the forgotten. Slack-stamped
wax slips from letters which even years have not read.
- Date February 9, 2015
- Tags 2003 Passport - Winning Poems