ONLY poems listed here or in the current printed anthology are eligible for the 2015-2016 competition.
Inside the veins there are navies setting forth,
Tiny explosions at the waterlines,
And seagulls weaving in the wind of the salty blood. ...
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.
I learn by going where I have to go. ...
The piano has crawled into the quarry. Hauled
In last night for firewood, sprawled
With frozen barrels, crates and sticks, ...
This dry night, nothing unusual
About the clip, clop, casual
For a saving grace, we didn't see our dead,
Who rarely bothered coming home to die
But simply stayed away out there ...
The telephone never rings. Still
you pick it up, smile into the static,
the breath of those you’ve loved; long dead....
Two women on the lone wet strand
(The wind's out with a will to roam)
The waves wage war on rocks and sand, ...
We used to like talking about grief
Our journals and letters were packed
with losses, complaints, and sorrows....
That's why we're here, said Julio Lugo
to the Globe. Sox fans booed
poor Lugo, booed his at-bat after ...
Weave me closer
with hands dyed indigo...
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