ONLY poems listed here or in the current printed anthology are eligible for the 2017-2018 competition.
Boll-weevil’s coming, and the winter’s cold,
Made cotton-stalks look rusty, seasons old,
And cotton, scarce as any southern snow, ...
Ashen face, wool hat bobbing,
the young boy’s eyes dart to me,
then up at the man pulling a rolling...
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 ...
I like the generosity of numbers.
The way, for example,
they are willing to count...
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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