ONLY poems listed here or in the current printed anthology are eligible for the 2016-2017 competition.
Not for that city of the level sun,
Its golden streets and glittering gates ablaze—
The shadeless, sleepless city of white days,...
What I adore is not horses, with their modern
domestic life span of 25 years. What I adore
is a bug that lives only one day, especially if...
Nobody heard him, the dead man,
But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought ...
Boll-weevil’s coming, and the winter’s cold,
Made cotton-stalks look rusty, seasons old,
And cotton, scarce as any southern snow, ...
Toe after toe, a snowing flesh,
a gold of lemon, root and rind,
she sifts in sunlight down the stairs ...
I want no horns to rouse me up to-night,
And trumpets make too clamorous a ring
To fit my mood, it is so weary white ...
Nuns fret not at their convent’s narrow room;
And hermits are contented with their cells;
And students with their pensive citadels; ...
From a documentary on marsupials I learn
that a pillowcase makes a fine
substitute pouch for an orphaned kangaroo. ...
If all the world and love were young,
And truth in every Shepherd’s tongue,
These pretty pleasures might me move,...
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