ONLY poems listed here or in the current printed anthology are eligible for the 2015-2016 competition.
Inside the veins there are navies setting forth,
Tiny explosions at the waterlines,
And seagulls weaving in the wind of the salty blood. ...
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.
I learn by going where I have to go. ...
For a saving grace, we didn't see our dead,
Who rarely bothered coming home to die
But simply stayed away out there ...
The telephone never rings. Still
you pick it up, smile into the static,
the breath of those you’ve loved; long dead....
Two women on the lone wet strand
(The wind's out with a will to roam)
The waves wage war on rocks and sand, ...
We used to like talking about grief
Our journals and letters were packed
with losses, complaints, and sorrows....
What the scale tells you is how much the earth
has missed you, body, how it wants you back
again after you leave it to go forth...
The well rising without sound,
the spring on a hillside,
the plowshare brimming through deep ground ...
The concept is interesting: to see, as though reflected
In streaming windowpanes, the look of others through
Their own eyes. A digest of their correct impressions of...
What horror to awake at night
and in the dimness see the light.
Time is white ...
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