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 à 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.

7 thoughts on “4th Annual Poetry Contest Results

  1. poopy turds. i to­tal­ly for­got that it was may al­ready. i was so busy i com­plete­ly for­got.

  2. Yeah, I fig­ured that was the case, you’ve got a dis­pen­sa­tion. Hope you’re get­ting set­tled in fine!

  3. Sorry for not par­tic­i­pat­ing. My ex­cuse is I was busy with mov­ing… but I al­so just didn’t re­al­ly come up with any­thing good. Hopefully I’ll write some­thing de­cent again some­time soon.

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