stdClass Object
(
    [ID] => 19962
    [post_author] => 23
    [post_date] => 2019-04-26 11:35:21
    [post_date_gmt] => 2019-04-26 11:35:21
    [post_content] => I could not run
so I took root, still as a housewife,
stagnant.

My eyelids went first.
Desiccated to tracing paper
to sandpaper.
You, in your gleaming arrogance, you
could never foresee this;

that my arms would age to bark,
my belly an empty whisky barrel.
The feet that failed me
trickling in sunlight, toes to
water to honey to wood.
My teeth to laurel leaves
burning green, burning poetry.

It did the trick.
You, Apollo, sliced on by
toward that distant golden seam
unable to see my new limbs,
so much stronger now than your own.

I watched you wend away.
Barbed-wire in the breeze
my teeth rattled their applause.

My heart went last,
an agate of sap and fury.

I have never been more powerful.
I have never been more myself.
    [post_title] => Daphne
    [post_excerpt] => 
    [post_status] => publish
    [comment_status] => closed
    [ping_status] => closed
    [post_password] => 
    [post_name] => daphne
    [to_ping] => 
    [pinged] => 
    [post_modified] => 2019-05-10 12:08:30
    [post_modified_gmt] => 2019-05-10 12:08:30
    [post_content_filtered] => 
    [post_parent] => 0
    [guid] => http://poems.poetrysociety.org.uk/?post_type=poems&p=19962
    [menu_order] => 0
    [post_type] => poems
    [post_mime_type] => 
    [comment_count] => 0
    [filter] => raw
    [meta_data] => stdClass Object
        (
            [wpcf-published-in] => 
            [wpcf-date-published] => 2019
            [wpcf-summary-description] => This poem is the first-prize winner in the Carol Ann Duffy challenge on Young Poets Network (YPN).

The challenge was co-written and judged by Duffy expert Dr Mari Hughes-Edwards, who said of this poem, "'Daphne' has got everything - a style that's reflective not just of Duffy's 'The World's Wife' in its obvious treatment and voicing of a woman from classical mythology, but also links to more recent Laureateship verse, such as Duffy's focus on the forest in 'Rapture'. The final lines are just brilliant. And the opening and closing sections are pure Duffyan monologue (in the tradition of her earlier Anvil work)."
            [wpcf-rights-information] => 
            [wpcf-poem-award] => 1st prize, Carol Ann Duffy challenge
            [wpcf_pr_belongs] => 
        )

    [poet_data] => stdClass Object
        (
            [ID] => 18987
            [forename] => 
            [surname] => 
            [title] => Ellora Sutton
            [slug] => ellora-sutton
            [content] => Ellora is the first-prize winner of the Carol Ann Duffy challenge on Young Poets Network, judged by Mari Hughes-Edwards, and celebrating Duffy's legacy as Poet Laureate. She is also the first-prize winner of Bailey Blackburn's 2018 August challenge #2 on found poems. Ellora is commended in the Golden Shovel challenge, judged by Peter Kahn; in the Bletchley Park challenge; in the W. S. Graham challenge on as part of Graham’s centenary celebrations; and in Ankita Saxena’s protest poetry challenge, remembering 100 years of the women’s vote in the UK.
        )

)
stdClass Object
(
    [ID] => 18987
    [forename] => 
    [surname] => 
    [title] => Ellora Sutton
    [slug] => ellora-sutton
    [content] => Ellora is the first-prize winner of the Carol Ann Duffy challenge on Young Poets Network, judged by Mari Hughes-Edwards, and celebrating Duffy's legacy as Poet Laureate. She is also the first-prize winner of Bailey Blackburn's 2018 August challenge #2 on found poems. Ellora is commended in the Golden Shovel challenge, judged by Peter Kahn; in the Bletchley Park challenge; in the W. S. Graham challenge on as part of Graham’s centenary celebrations; and in Ankita Saxena’s protest poetry challenge, remembering 100 years of the women’s vote in the UK.
)

Daphne

Ellora Sutton

I could not run
so I took root, still as a housewife,
stagnant.

My eyelids went first.
Desiccated to tracing paper
to sandpaper.
You, in your gleaming arrogance, you
could never foresee this;

that my arms would age to bark,
my belly an empty whisky barrel.
The feet that failed me
trickling in sunlight, toes to
water to honey to wood.
My teeth to laurel leaves
burning green, burning poetry.

It did the trick.
You, Apollo, sliced on by
toward that distant golden seam
unable to see my new limbs,
so much stronger now than your own.

I watched you wend away.
Barbed-wire in the breeze
my teeth rattled their applause.

My heart went last,
an agate of sap and fury.

I have never been more powerful.
I have never been more myself.