Poem-A-Day Winners 2022
1st Place — The Lion’s Tooth by Esthezia Andel I sing praise to that most despised of flowers: the lion’s tooth, la dent-de-lion — invader of lawns, despoiler of suburbia’s dream of perfectly manicured turf. Bright yellow sunbursts explode atop taproots sunk deep into the nurturing earth. They do not ask your permission. They do not beg your pardon. They grow where they will. They do not need your protection or care. Young people appreciate their brash, aggressive beauty, gathering blossoms for necklaces, crowns, and bouquets. Tiny seeds, borne on the breath of children, set out to conquer new fields of uniform green. In the cellar of my grandfather’s house, we found old bottles of dandelion wine — dusty, forgotten relics of a summer long past. We sipped the stored-up sunlight, imbibed the spirit of the lion’s tooth. I sing praise to this happiest of flowers, the little yellow warrior, that comes every spring to slay our too-narrow visions of beauty. About Esthezia Jonquil Gal (a.k.a. Esthezia Andel) first set foot in Second Life® in 2008, and was immediately captivated by the quirky creativity displayed in this virtual world. She has explored and wandered across the grid, admiring the works of musicians, artists, dancers, photographers, and poets. Two years ago she joined a weekly poetry group at the Perfect Paradise Community, which reignited her dormant impulse to write poems herself. Jonquil is playful, sometimes even silly, but also keenly interested in the deeper questions of life, science, and philosophy. —— 2nd Place — Charmer by Coraline Wyatt (Coraline017) Heartthumps spread cool as scales rope nearer my neck this noose and these loops of your lovers slink where you like, the glare gleaming clearer, hug with the weight of the lead your gold covers. You are enough. It could be enough. Hypnotic hand reaches for the other you endear, knowing well I can’t afford what’s under diamondbacks dizzying me to your covers. Fingers crashland, slithering lips smother the past here within, and I suppose it’s no wonder you kiss your mirrors deeper than your lovers who made more and yours are not the monsters I should fear: You are enough. It could be enough I’m not enough. You don’t know what this means, so you’ve never had to bank where it careens alone, phone cord coiling serpentine around the hours since we turned seventeen. —— 3rd Place — Jojutsu by Blitz A tree branch snapping in the stiff wind, heard throughout centuries. A whip on the horse’s rear, the lashing on the captive’s skin, the spirit cry of warriors who grip the branch in their bloody palms, the crutch, the crucifix, the toy sword, for centuries the stick a tool and a weapon. I find a tree branching to the sky, its leafy top shivers with sunlight, I make my way through the winding trail of...
Read MorePoem-a-Day Contest Winners 2020
We didn’t complete the judging until halfway into 2021, and living in pandemic times — when things were delayed and done remotely — might have colored our choices. As always there were many beautiful and stirring poems submitted, and the choice was difficult, but overall these poems seem to resonate with the time of COVID: a time of quieter observances, of humble offerings, and of tireless service. First Prize – High Wire by Barbara Jacksha Patricia dusts to gospel Hips swaying to the beat She scrubs for Jesus Banishes negative thoughts Down the drain She says, “I’m not tired yet” But I am, roasting in a Hot desert afternoon Riffs spark my skin, Lightning on the high wire Where a mass choir sings praise And all I can think of is Whether grasping that high wire Would char my hands or Lead me to my true name Barbara Jacksha is the author/creator of the Vision Pages series that includes Vision Pages for Creative Writers with Daring Dreams: a vision journal for imagining your dreams to life. Her writing has appeared in a variety of publications, including Smokelong Quarterly, Beloit Fiction Journal, The Summerset Review, Per Contra, Mad Hatter’s Review, and the W.W. Norton anthology Flash Fiction Forward. Barbara’s work has received multiple nominations for the Pushcart Prize. She was also co-founder/co-editor of the literary journal Cezanne’s Carrot. Poet’s Website | Amazon Author Page Judge’s Note We all heard the news reports, when one choir practice left 52 sick and two dead. Churches closed, their services went virtual, and choirs learned to blend their voices through electronic media. The need to stop the spread of the deadly virus brought normal life to a halt, but scrubbing went on (more than ever), and hymns were sung to the divine (more than ever), and we humans were more aware of ourselves than ever, as conduits stretched between the mundane and the sacred, ever reaching, ever wondering. Our winning poem, High Wire, carries that tension. — Second Prize – Primary Flowers by Blitz Observing quietly under halogen bulbs the paintings freshly picked. Reds, yellows, blues, budding petals held by fragile stems. We were rudimentary in shape, squares, circles, triangles bloomed on bare white walls. Blitz (AutumnBlitz Xenobuilder) was born to teachers of language, and is a child of immigrant culture. He studied fine arts (painting, drawing, sculpture), and has exhibited locally in the US and abroad, notably in Spain where he traveled via an Artist In Residence stipend in his search for Lorca’s duende. Blitz came to poetry later in his life on discovering open mics and workshops in Second Life®. He lives and works in Los Angeles, USA. Judge’s Note Museums and galleries, in the time of COVID, along with concert halls, opera houses and theaters, closed their doors indefinitely, and patrons and artists suffered for the lack of venues. Offerings popped up in virtual spaces. Online, one after another, until there were too many to take them all in, creative works...
Read MoreVirtual Writers’ Poem-A-Day (PAD) Competition Winners 2019
First Prize — ‘Morphos’ by Patricia Averbach My sister never flew to Costa Rica, so she never saw the great blue morphos glide and fall on iridescent wings through cloud forests, like magic lanterns glowing beneath dark canopies of leaves. If she’d been with me then, the way she’s always with me now, we would have followed those blue lights through trees glistening with rain to a clearing where we’d watch them rise and vanish into a vast expanse of sky. She would have made up names for flowers – Fallen Lady, Coral Ladder, Cloudy Skies and I would have smiled and not replied Passiflora, Lobelia, Heliconia, like the smart ass that I am oblivious to the pain a word can cause. Here’s what really happened. A call came late at night to say they’d found her comotose, she’d overdosed on Percocet and Tylenol. We flew, hoping to catch her still alive but arrived to find a placard with blue butterflies already hanging on her door. Patricia Averbach, a native Clevelander, is the former director of The Chautauqua Writers Center in Chautauqua, New York. Her debut novel, Painting Bridges, (Bottom Dog Press, 2013) was praised by Michelle Ross, book critic for the Cleveland Plain Dealer, as “an introspective, intelligent and moving novel.” Her second novel, Resurrecting Rain (Golden Antelope Press, 2020) won a Royal Palm Literary Award from the Florida Writers Association and was a semi-finalist for a Tucson Festival of Books Literary Award under the title New Moon Rising. Her poetry chapbook, Missing Persons, (Ward Wood Publishing, 2013) won the London based Lumen/Camden prize and was cited by Times of London Literary Supplement (November, 2014) as one of the best small collections of the year. Poet’s Website | Amazon Author Page Judge’s Note Our hearts were beckoned by the lush invitation of nature; then broken by the triple blows of raw honesty in self-examination, pain of regret, and depth of love: heartbreak that in some way, all humans share. Patricia has connected the personal to the universal, in powerful poetry. — Second Prize — ‘Self Portrait’ by Blitz I am: a brown snail with moon white shell on a dry mustard stalk, a red orange draped on bending branches by the receding sun, a silhouette in almond fluttering like cut paper in the ochre breeze, dropped fedora on the yellow leaves, large gloves hung by the yard rake, black bun loosened at nightfall, umber voice amid the trees. Blitz (AutumnBlitz Xenobuilder) was born to teachers of language, and is a child of immigrant culture. He studied fine arts (painting, drawing, sculpture), and has exhibited locally in the US and abroad, notably in Spain where he traveled via an Artist In Residence stipend in his search for Lorca’s duende. Blitz came to poetry later in his life on discovering open mics and workshops in Second Life®. He lives and works in Los Angeles, USA. Judge’s Note We could read...
Read MoreVirtual Writers’ Poem-A-Day (PAD) Competition Winners 2018
Winning Entries We received over 200 submissions. There were scores of poems that called to us for a re-read and to choose among them was a very difficult task. In the final cut, each of our winning poets had at least two poems in the running. What common element characterizes the winning poems? They each have a feeling of immediate relevance while connecting with something vaster. They bring something large into specific focus. But there’s something else. In going back and writing a note for each winner and honorable mention, it becomes clear that the selection came down to the visceral. Each winning poem not only engaged thought and emotion, but grabbed and tugged at something deeper, and harder to describe … which is, after all, why we have poetry. The winning poems continue to call for a re-read, and, with each reading, deliver something new. First Prize — ‘A poet, living in Rome’ by Fionn Bookmite Mine is one of the little hills. I look down a gentle slope and the words spill out of me and down the hill, running to get to the Sacred Way and parade themselves. Lines slink around my feet and trip me, vanishing when I look down. I follow them, chasing, calling, and pass the little house of Cinna. My neighbour is a lawyer, precise, and lives to make everything tidy. The doorway is clean, recently swept and washed, even sprinkled with dried rosemary. Cinna has prepared his house as neatly as he parses his rolling clausulae. The Temple of Tellus looms on the other side, and I dash through its shadow. “You can’t avoid me,” says the Temple, “for I am Mother Earth.” I whisper a prayer in iambic tetrameters and hurry on, trying to catch up with the paragraphs now happily gambolling at the foot of the hill. I round them up and speak firmly to them and they fall into dutiful crocodile lines. As I walk at their head, I sort them out, swapping places for some, making others stand up more smartly or walk a little slower. A turn around the Forum — and my lines are neat and pinned, each wriggling word brushed. My poem is done. I head for home. Fionn taught Latin and Greek and Ancient History for twenty-five years before moving to the Middle East where she now is a lady of leisure and is finally getting down to that novel she always knew she had in her. Poet’s Website | Amazon Author Page Judge’s Comments “What delight to see historic ruins spring to life. This poem paints in a palette from deepest ochres to brightest primaries. A dead language’s poetry, law, and religion are invoked here with such a refreshingly playful spirit, the ancients are humanized, accessible, relevant, and joyful.” ________ Second Prize — ‘Salmon’ by Blitz Silver clad companions of the creek, you wade in shallow pools regaining strength to go upstream, scraping bellies on mossy stones as the...
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