A POEM exploring the lives of a group of women in hospital has won this year’s ACT Poetry Prize. 

“Inside,” by Canberra poet and writer Lesley Lebkowicz, won the prize out of 128 entries submitted by local poets.

The annual award, which comes with a cash prize of $3000, acknowledges an “outstanding poem” written by an ACT-based poet. Two shortlisted entries received a prize of $1000.

Entries were judged blind by a panel of poetry peers including Maureen Bettle, Paul Magee and Adrian Caesar.

Minister for Arts Joy Burch says the prize is one of many ways the ACT Government supports and recognises writing in the ACT, including through Poetry in ACTION and poetry slams in schools.

“The high number of entries to both the ACT Poetry Prize and Poetry in ACTION this year shows the strength of poetry in the ACT community,” she says.

The prize-winning poems, below, will also be published on the artsACT website at arts.act.gov.au

Winner: Inside by Lesley Lebkowicz

Outside the women’s room avenues unfurl

and the city floats away.

In the ward they are each other’s world.

One woman announces, over and over,

The doctor says my bones are chalk.

She speaks with shock and pride that such

a thing should choose her: a savage miracle.

Inside her, bone sheared off from itself like

limestone in a private landslide – and she fell.

Visitors arrive with fruit and DVDs.

Like the doctors they’re upright.

They talk and are loved but it’s each other

the women watch: only they know

how bones collapse like bamboo scaffolding

in some country far away.

Shortlisted entry: Stabat Mater by Libby Porter

He was sixteen and a half

you said.

Like small children, who announce

their slow-lived years

In fractions,

wanting to compress the days

running up to that next lovely number.

Whereas for you,

If you could stretch them

endlessly

and make a lifetime of sixteen and a half,

you would.

For you

the sweet half is the final fraction,

seventeen an affront.

There is no rounding up

to the beautiful prime.

Shortlisted Entry: Emily Kngwarreye by Elizabeth Lawson

Her studio is kids, dogs, brushes, earth and light,

under-breath song water over pebbles.

Her eyes shine sky. Desert-swirl

centres her canvas. No other compass.

Minute hands lift to scatter Milky Ways,

desert dots pulsing red red earth.

Her now is infinite distance,

points of colour veiling story in story,

her nearest meaning

yam, rock, bird-prints,

frail eggs breaking open.

Women are gathering everlastings,

Ahalkere’s trillion stars,

while somewhere galleries

ripple and crack, pester

which way to hang galaxies?

Emily glances up.

Down.

Your business. I paint.