ONLY poems listed here or in the current printed anthology are eligible for the 2017-2018 competition.
Put my glad rags in a cardboard box—
This old jiggerboo never grew mature.
Is everthing in its place except me?...
The very flatnessof portraits
makes for nostalgia
in the connoisseur....
So sexy to slide under-
neath a river,
to sit inside this...
Oh chimes set high on the sunny tower ...
Downhill I came, hungry, and yet not starved;
Cold, yet had heat within me that was proof
Against the North wind; tired, yet so that rest ...
In October of the year,
he counts potatoes dug from the brown field,
counting the seed, counting ...
I met a traveller from an antique land,
Who said—“Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sand,...
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