ONLY poems listed here or in the current printed anthology are eligible for the 2016-2017 competition.
O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?
The sedge has withered from the lake, ...
Stand on the highest pavement of the stair—
Lean on a garden urn—
Weave, weave the sunlight in your hair— ...
I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee, ...
It was a picture I had after the war.
A bombed English church. I was too young
to know the word English or war, ...
Swear by the olive in the God-kissed land—
There is no sugar in the promised land.
I don't know how it happened, but I fell—
and I was immense, one dislocated arm
wedged between two buildings. I felt some ribs ...
Reading in the paper a summary
of a five-year psychological study
that shows those perceived as most beautiful ...
‘O Jesus Christ! I’m hit,’ he said; and died.
Whether he vainly cursed or prayed indeed,
The Bullets chirped—In vain, vain, vain! ...
Dumped wet and momentary on a dull ground
that’s been clear but clearly sleeping, for days.
Last snow melts as it falls, piles up slush, runs in first light...
Before the moths have even appeared
to orbit around them, the streetlamps come on,
a long row of them glowing uselessly...
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