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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