ONLY poems listed here or in the current printed anthology are eligible for the 2018-2019 competition.
Among the signs of autumn I perceive
The Roman wormwood (called by learned men
Ambrosia elatior, food for gods,— ...
I thought I was so tough,
But gentled at your hands,
Cannot be quick enough...
My daughter made drawings with the pens you sent,
line drawings that suggest the things they represent,
different from any drawings she — at ten — had done,...
That everything's inevitable.
That fate is whatever has already happened.
The brain, which is an elemental, as sane, as the rest of the processing universe is....
That gaunt old man came first, his hair as white
As your scoured tables. Maybe you’ll recollect him
By the scars of steelmill burns on the backs of his hands,...
They were nearing the end of their story.
The fire was dying, like the fire in the story.
Each page turned was torn and fed...
Then it was always
for now, later
They flee from me that sometime did me seek
With naked foot, stalking in my chamber.
I have seen them gentle, tame, and meek,...
On this most perfect hill
with these most perfect dogs
are these most perfect people...
Sundays too my father got up early
and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold,
then with cracked hands that ached...
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