Our grandiose Kinsmen
Our tentative Brethren
These hosepiped tanks,
With grey parchment kits
Thick columned shanks
Stampede through arid grits.
A tornado of trumpets, marching like fusiliers
To their fate and deaths colliers.
At the old boneyard you were the last to fall,
A phantom ether of eons departed.
Tides of ivory carried away, with Judas hands
Excuses swept over their murders slagheap.
When man takes ghoulish pleasure in the hunt,
He can’t quench his greed for gold.
Todays poetry contest submission was written by Elaine Christie.
Do you think it could possibly be one of the best new poems of 2013?