ONLY poems listed here or in the current printed anthology are eligible for the 2015-2016 competition.
I ply with all the cunning of my artThis little thing, and with consummate care
I fashion it—so that when I depart,
Those who come after me shall find it fair...
Instead of a cup of tea, instead of a milk-
silk whelk of a cup, of a cup of nearly six
o'clock teatime, cup of a stumbling block, ...
The senseless leaf in the fevered hand
Grows hot, near blood-heat, but never grows
Green. Weeks ago the dove’s last cooing strain...
In the long, sleepless watches of the night,
A gentle face — the face of one long dead —
Looks at me from the wall, where round its head ...
Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar, ...
They think she lives alone
on the edge of town in a two-room house
where she moved when her husband died...
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