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:


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:


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


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


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


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.


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,
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


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.