4th Annual Poetry Contest Results

The 4th Annual Organic Mechanic Poetry Contest is over. The results are in and Everybody Wins a Mix CD. I received so few entries this year that I decided everyone wins. There is still Mega-Jumbo-Super-Happy-Joy-Sauerkraut Grand Prize winner but all the other entries are now ROFLMAO-Indigo-Kielbasa-Opium-Heavenly-N-People-Tied-For-First-Runner-Up First Runners Up. Details past the hippityhopotamus.

An entry by Lauren Spisak:

Cock

In the morning when
the cock presses its hard, wet
noise against me–joy.


An entry by Alesha Coleff:

The End of Us

Filling my head with you tonight,
I take your breath in mine
crawling through shards of a broken heart
I bleed like tears are cried

I found it like a sickened thing
this love that made me weak
I welcomed pain and injury
and screamed for you to leave

Secret words are heard in whispers
warm breath upon my skin
you pulled me close and ran away
then asked to be my “friend”

I don’t remember how love felt
only flashes in my mind
it smelled of sweat and tears and truth
and I craved it like a high

Goodbye is not an easy word
it hides beneath my tongue
I chew it up and spit it out
and say that I am done

Walking away, I dare myself
to steal a glance at you
smiling as I know this time,
this love and I … are through


A series of haiku by James Sherwood:

*spring*

the crocus shoots push
up through the warming soil
straining for the sun.

*summer*

crickets sing loudly
in the sweet honeysuckle
through the brief, still night.

*autumn*

Persephone’s fruit;
slowly sucking sweet pulp
from pomegranate seeds.

*winter*

the sun carves a path
slowly across the carpet
as the day slips by.


An entry by Jef Taylor:

Top of Seoul, windy.
One bird chirps, and my heart beats
slowly, then quickly.


Two poems by Maura Rogers:

water into wine

we watch pink curves of flesh flush red
water into wine.
bending wrists
breaking time into broken moans.

your limp hand
dangles from a mattress frame
wet in wrinkles of sunlight.

we are staining white cotton with muddy earth tones.

the warm scent of touched thighs
drifts through a broken window.

satisfaction carries into the wind.

Mother’s day

White whicker chair woman
wise, rising phoenix red
hair hennaed Hallelujah! bright.

Yours,

Silk wrinkled hands
held me like a pearl in a pressed pant pocket.
Rubbing rough
to smooth,
memorizing grooves of each one to eleven.

I am number eleven, at 7:14 p.m.
1977 fresh.

Call me baby.

You stood still
by my sui-cide and sinus drainage
by my other suicide
and my silly swelling kidney.
I stab you plenty.
You stand Rocky Mountain strong.

What will I do when you leave?
Will I?

Raise freckled faces that bloom breasts in spring
and die wicked in winter?

Surrender sleep to milk nine moaning mouths?

Wrestle women into my wings
and wait for Jesus to bring them morning?

I am not you.
Just peeped through you,
wordless and whining.

Want a watermelon myself,
someday.
A girl will know me well.

Will time be swell
and let her know you?
I bribe my watch daily.


A haiku from Eric M.:

Just short of the line
the runner quits the long race.
A rock in his shoe.


An entry from Daniella:

Coup de Foudre

You fall in love from different places in your life
Sometimes it is your eyes that become mesmerized
Sometimes it is your ears that love what you hear
But when your breath slows down and you break into a sweat
Just at the sight of him, your skin tingles and your mouth gets wet
That is when your heart has been captured and you have no choice
But to surrender to the pleasure and let the fire of Zeus
Hit you with a zillion bolts


AND THE WINNER IS:


Unfortunately, Lauren Spisak. Her Cock senryuu wins because it could be read innocently or completely not innocently. I choose the latter so I’ll call it a senryuu.

I liked the lyrical quality of Alesha Coleff’s entry, the feeling of seasonal progression that Mr. Sherwood’s series of haiku evoked; Mr. Taylor’s haiku made me think that nature can even be found in the city; Maura Roger’s mother poem impressed me because I know how hard it is to write something for a parent; Eric M.’s senryuu is brimming with postmodern ennui a la Brak.

I would like to thank the six of you for sharing and writing. Email me your addresses and I’ll get your CD’s in the post by this weekend.