Poetry Writing Contest Winners

             First Place

​Downsizing
by Lenore Blake

Rusted remains of summer litter the lawn
Wilted waste of blossoms sadly shriveled
needing collection and composting
A season's end
Saying goodbye to summer is never easy
The season of youth and vigor has passed
Rusted candlesticks,
treasures of the past,
no longer fit my downsized life.
The detritus must be culled,
dispersed,donated, disposed.
Less is more
so they say
More or less...
Saying good bye to a life well lived is never easy.
Trusting the memories of seasons past
to nourish the summers of tomorrow
I bid adieu to the life I loved.
Saying good bye is never easy.

---

Honorable Mentions
​

​Dear Mr. Frost
​by Libby O'Connor

Dear Mr. Frost,
I do not think this path is wide enough for the two of us.
There is a road you’ve traveled,
that I’d like to tread;
But, Mr. Poe,
my rapid heartbeat
is driving me mad
with its unrelenting
T H U M P I N G;
So I must ask,
Mr. Whitman,
should I crush
the noiseless patient spider
with my heel,
or nurture it
in my palms?
Where, Mr. Heaney,
my pen DOES lie,
nice and snug.
It etches my page,
like a spade to earth.
It cuts away at the
diverging wood,
to forge a path anew,
one,
where only I,
have stood

Quicksand and Surfing...
by Nancy Devore

My brand new laptop adventure is the lost and found searches and wanderings under the swell, crash and flow....mostly out of control...This entry a mere near death snap shot of last where I landed. I clutch but I know I have to let go because here where I draw these words which I may not remember...these words most certainly will wash...wash away under...the wave of curiosity and blunder...that pulls me away...away to yet another equally intractable place on the face of my laptop to another equally beautiful digital desert beach of quicksand...just below the tap of my finger and the sweep of my hand...
Beyond my few clearly marked safety lines I hold my breath and dive under...without my GPS I make my best guess...Try to remember the notes in my ear the small quiet voice that I hear...follow the light through shaking refracted waves...and start to see what I never knew and remember what I let slip away... On the surface with each strong crawl stoke I make head way and take aim...the bow of my body a cradle in the toss propelled and rocked with yearning strokes for solid shores.