Winners of the 2010 Songwriting Competition
1st Prize: Tentacles by Caroline Dale
I've written out verse for the worst kind of lover: the crass and the cruel and the bland Oh, but nobody knows what a girl undergoes when a man stands onstage with his band The blondest of pagans, the finest of thieves and the yellowest souls in the land Oh, they all become gold in the blinding white glow when a man stands onstage with his band With tentacles grabbing your ankles. my love, well, you'd better draw breath while you can There's always a place for one more in the ocean: another bespectacled man The cogs of this vessel are rusting, my love, but I'm going to sail it to land So climb up this rope or you'll spin in the shallows like seaweed, like starlight, like sand I've written out verse for the worst kind of lover: the vacuous, vapid and vain I've delivered my bones to the doorsteps of drones who can't even remember my name Yes, I've written out verse for the worst kind of lover: the crass and the cruel and the bland While the kindest of men stayed dried-up in my pen and inspired not a twitch in my hand I'm a milliner's daughter: a life on the water was never intended for me On the day I set sail an impetuous gale delivered my hat to the sea So I'm not one to talk when I hear of your plans, but oh, they grow steadily worse Since you won't marry me, you can marry the sea; for the love of God, learn to swim first With a nautilus tight on your tail, my love, well, you'd better take rest while you can There's always a place for one more in the ocean: another respectable man The decks of this vessel are sagging, my love, but I'm going to ride them to land So climb up aboard or you'll dance in the daylight like dolphins, like driftwood, like sand I've written out verse for the worst kind of lover: the crass and the cruel and the bland While the kindest of men stayed dried-up in my pen and inspired not a twitch in my hand Yes, I've written out verse for the worst kind of lover: the crass and the cruel and the bland While the kindest of men stayed dried-up in my pen and inspired not a twitch – No, inspired not a twitch – No, inspired not a twitch in my hand.
2nd Prize: Boab Tree by Rachel Dillon
Verse 1 You’re used to great sweeping spaces And dusty red places With concrete at your feet, you stand alone 3000 miles from your home, Where the lights stay on all the night long Verse 2 Taken from your land without your consent The price you pay for being considered ancient Even though you’ve every sense You’re not where you belong You stand proud, your core is strong Where the lights stay on all the night long Chorus But it’s so cold down here It’s so cold down here It’s so cold down here Down here Where the lights stay on all the night long Verse 3 Steady stream of brides in white Limousines so sleek and bright Do you miss your northern hillside baby? From behind your barricade Bridge Those in the know insist you’ll grow To love life in your new home Live like they do down here Where the lights stay on all the night long Chorus x 2
3rd Prize: Under the Sheet by Exilema Misama
Highly Commended: There You Were by Eve Green
Today I lifted the lid On an old dusty box And there you were And there you were in black and white And shades of grey Today I lifted the lid On an old dusty box And it seems as though today were yesterday Your white shirt was really The colour of sunflowers That matched the shine In your eyes and in your hair But that black and white photo In that old dusty box Is exactly How I remember you
Highly Commended: Sam Irvine by Colleen O’Grady
With pharmaceutical cases packed to the door Dad set off with his foot to the floor, All the way up to Nullagine. Ahead was the mailman, Sam Irvine. 1937, the track not the best, His flat tires stuffed with spinifex. As Dad travelled forth to Nullagine, Behind the mailman, Sam Irvine. The sand was soft with hidden rock, Dad hit one with a bang with shock. On the deplorable track to Nullagine, Thinking of the mailman, Sam Irvine Dad was on Route 9700, And wasn't feeling much like a hero, (talk these two lines) Wheels down in the sand in the fierce sunshine, Hoping for the mailman, Sam Irvine. Because of the fierceness of Big Drought, No way of getting any stock out, Lonely on the track to Nullagine, Needing the mailman, Sam Irvine. Drought reigned so fiercely supreme. Rain Dad saw only in a dream, Sleeping on the track to Nullagine, Waiting for the mailman, Sam Irvine. Not far away reared Battle Hill, No hope for help or anything, but still Dad was stuck on the track to Nullagine, Lagging behind the mailman, Sam Irvine. Three oranges for moisture, and even they lag, Behind his nearly-empty water bag. Was this a message from the Divine? Desparate for the mailman, Sam Irvine. Would Sao biscuits and sardines fill An empty tummy without any swill? Starving and thirsty on the stock-line Waiting for the mailman, Sam Irvine. Dad drank water from the radiator, Daily feeling less a winning gladiator. Broken down on the track to Nullagine, Listening for the mailman, Sam Irvine. Radiator water was almost done, And Dad was frying in the sun. Thirsty on the track to Nullagine, Wishing for the mailman, Sam Irvine. The dust drifts past in dizzy swirls, The heats so fierce that leather curls, Sweltering on the track to Nullagine, Praying for the mailman, Sam Irvine. Roaring of engine and empty drums banging, Shovels and swinging tow-ropes clanging. Dancing on the track in the fierce sunshine. Hearing the mailman, Sam Irvine. Sam's big load couldn't really get higher, Tied on with rope and fencing wire. Standing on the track to Nullagine Greeting the mailman, Sam Irvine. Sam dug out wheels, fixed the axle too. Poor old Dad learnt something new, For driving on the track to Nullagine, Preparing like the mailman, Sam Irvine This was in 1937, by gum! I wasn't born until 1941. I give thanks of feelings purely sublime (talk these last three lines and sing the fourth) For that intrepid mailman, Sam Irvine.