Poetry Workshop’s Poetry Month Competition

WINNERS & HONORABLE MENTIONS – Poetry Works Workshops –

Mary Margret Carlisle, Director

2014 National Poetry Month Competition

May 15, 2014 at 10:39am
Thanks to the many poets who submitted poems and helped to judge the work of other poets, and many thanks to the final judge (a poetry editor from Missouri) who wishes to remain anonymous.  In celebration of National Poetry Month (April, 2014), Sol Magazine Projects – Poetry Works Workshops awards four Barnes & Noble gift certificates, and one book award in the 2014 National Poetry Month Competition.  Congratulations to the winners:  Nelda Curtiss, Rebecca Jackson, Gary Wade, John Salacan, Harold Rodinsky.  Honorable Mentions follow prize winning poems.  If you are a prize winner, please MESSAGE me privately (do not post your address publicly) with your full mailing address so I can send out your prize.
CATEGORY: NONE
AWARDED AT RANDOM
Barnes & Noble Gift Card
Nelda Curtiss
CATEGORY:  JUDGE
AWARDED AT RANDOM
Barnes & Noble Gift Card
Rebecca Jackson
CATEGORY:  HAIKU  
PRIZE FOR FIRST PLACE
Barnes & Noble Gift Card
Violets are thick
in that part of the forest
Jack was scattered there.
~Gary Wade
CATEGORY:  CREATIVITY AWARD
PRIZE FOR FIRST PLACE
A COPY OF S.A.L.V.A.G.E by Phill Doran
 eBOOK
and what do you have?
a blip in the night
a gaggle of gawking electrons
you pay for a wink
a chink in the dike
that keeps the words in place
& where will the used ebookshops be?
& what pages will scent the air as you flip…flip what?
(& who will be changing the banned into right?)
it took an army for qin shi huang
to bury the scholars (books no longer needed)
now it takes but a flick of the snake’s tongue
~John Salacan
CATEGORY:  GENERAL
PRIZE FOR FIRST PLACE
Barnes & Noble Gift Card
FIRST PLACE
Then, Now and In-between~Harold Rodinsky
The mind tantalizes with assorted images of then and now
growing up at the ocean’s edge tide pools to explore
boy’s life dungeness crab, razor clams, fishing from the rock jetty
smell the salt air, feel the fresh cold ocean spray on your face
when the waves throw themselves on the beach
another time walking the streets that Rexroth walked, when he was 20
riding the orange line train past the old stockyards, see faces of workingmen
mark the corner where the Haymarket Riot took place
Rexroth stood over there, a boy really, watching soldiers shoot civilians
Waiting to go to jail, for a month, a suspected sympathizer
looking out at a garden, buds summoned by the warmth of the sun
early bees setting up housekeeping for the summer
birds signing while building their nests, dodging the cats with ease
lemon and pomegranate trees survived the winter
and the chilipequin is leafing out nicely, next to the still sleeping lantana
where will I live today?
HONORABLE MENTION POEMS
FIRST HONORABLE MENTION
white fire of daytime
brings forth the cricket’s wing
and night’s chill song
~John Salacan
SECOND HONORABLE MENTION
Home Made Bread
I can smell it in my sleep
A sour dough dream come true
Bread kneaded by arthritic hands
Rising early to meet the day
We wait in the kitchen
Like expectant fathers
Pacing, drinking hot coffee
Counting down the arrival of the prize
Setting out butter and may haw jelly
My mother feeds us loaves of love
~Diana Meade
THIRD HONORABLE MENTION  
Bastard Cabbage reigns
Where once Blue Bonnets flourished
Diversity lost
~Rebecca Jackson
ALL OTHER HONORABLE MENTION
Howling winds, dust clouds
pranksters to Cavaliers
halt highway mayhem
~Nelda Curtiss
warm thundering rain
dark limbs sprout tiny green buds
pink of dawn clears clouds
~Julia Tanner
The End of Keystroking
Ladybug lays claim to my desk
As her personal gymnasium.
Tiny legs tickling computer screen,
She awakens its touchiness.
~Kathy Kehrli
the empty of blue
stretches over the green pine
one black bird looks down
~David E. Cowen  
silver rain shifting
something sudden from the sky
rainbow hued sunlight
~BettyAnn Whitney
Friday~Harold Rodinsky
like an adoring groom waiting for his lover to arrive
she promises to come but only on the appointed day, at the appointed hour
the grains of sand move slowly in the glass
Helios appears chained in the east, his transit a snail’s pace
Friday night at sundown the queen arrives
each Saturday, at sunset, she leaves and the longing begins anew
each passing day is filled with hard hands and sweat stained clothes
sunrise to sunset the substance of toil never ending
but in mindful of her, relief comes marking off the days
until she returns again
Lady Luck
Luck won’t be a lady; it’s just not her thing.
She is fickle, flirtatious – with many a king
gracing coins in her pockets; from fountains that spring
up: hope! – love! – desire! Eternal, but fading.
Like a gambler who lines extra Aces-of-Spading
inside his jacket, Luck does the same thing,
with too many chances that never took wing.
Maybe you’ll see her, one fortunate day,
when her bright fickle eyes may just look your way.
~Lois Mintah
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