ONLY poems listed here or in the current printed anthology are eligible for the 2017-2018 competition.
In 1915 my grandfather’s
neighbors surrounded his house...
As if he had been poured
in tar, he lies
on a pillow of turf...
I don’t know somehow it seems sufficient
to see and hear whatever coming and going is,
losing the self to the victory...
Man, looking into the sea—
taking the view from those who have as much right to it as you have it to yourself—
it is human nature to stand in the middle of a thing ...
She wants to set the house on fire,
gas in both hands, gas on the wall.
Some say it’s in the reptilian dance
of the purple-tongued sand goanna,
for there the magnificent translation ...
My ocean town struggles
to pick up leaves,
offer summer school, ...
I tell you, hopeless grief is passionless;
That only men incredulous of despair,
Half-taught in anguish, through the midnight air ...
Tell me the way to the wedding
Tell me the way to the war,
Tell me the needle you’re threading...
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