ONLY poems listed here or in the current printed anthology are eligible for the 2018-2019 competition.
The wild winds weep,
And the night is a-cold;
Come hither, Sleep, ...
Earth’s Wrath at our assaults is slow to come
But relentless when it does. It has to do
With catastrophic change, and with the limit...
I loved him not; and yet, now he is gone,
I feel I am alone.
I check’d him while he spoke; yet, could he speak, ...
So that the truant boy may go steady with the State,
So that in his spine a memory of wings
Will make his shoulders tense & bend...
He waltzes into the lane
’cross the free-throw line,
fakes a drive, pivots,...
About the Shark, phlegmatical one,
Pale sot of the Maldive sea,
The sleek little pilot-fish, azure and slim,...
"Had he and I but met
By some old ancient inn,
We should have sat us down to wet ...
I wake up cold, I who
Prospered through dreams of heat
Wake to their residue, ...
At the end of this sentence, rain will begin.
At the rain's edge, a sail.
A thin wet sky, that yellows at the rim,
And meets with sun-lost lip the marsh’s brim.
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