And the winners are…

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I want to thank everyone who entered the Poetry Out of Nothing Challenge. Thank you for joining me in this new venture, and thank you for sharing your work with me and my readers–it was a treat. And now, the Challenge has come to an end. The poems have been read. Votes have been cast. Scores have been tallied. That means the only thing left to do is announce the winners of the Poetry Out of Nothing Challenge, which I am quite happy to do. So, without further ado:

1st Place: Clare Greene, “Juicy Love”

Clare’s poem will be the inspiration for a handmade book by Christina Gay.

2nd Place: Jenny O’Grady, “Folding Laundry”*

Avelino Maestas will create a unique framed photo based on Jenny’s poem.

3rd Place: Michelle Jordan, “Stink Bugs”*

Michelle will be receiving a unique handmade journal from Jenny O’Grady.

4th Place: Erika Ferrin, “Meat Dreams”

Erika will be receiving a $15 gift certificate to Powell’s Books.

Learn more about the prizes these amazing poets will be taking home.

*As stated in the initial challenge rules, the prize contributors were eligible for the challenge, but they are not eligible to win the prize they themselves have donated. Jenny O’Grady, who donated a handmade journal for the second prize, was voted into second place. To resolve this issue, the prizes for 2nd and 3rd place will be switched. Jenny will be awarded a framed photo based on her poem and Michelle will receive the handmade journal.


April may be over, but we’re not through

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I love National Poetry Month, unabashedly and perhaps to an extreme. I’m not one to take that sort of month/week/day of thing seriously–there are just too many for any of them to many anything, it seems. And yet, I love that April gives the poetry community a reason to organize, a definable stretch of time to push harder, to share more, to encourage others to get in on this thing we love.

I make my contribution through this month of blogging, which has become an unexpected tradition. For me, it means 30 days of reading, writing, and thinking about poetry, but more than that, thinking about it in ways that I can share it with people. It means a free pass to discover new writers, to question my own tastes and tendencies in poetry. It means searching for ways to convey that poetry has enormous importance, that it doesn’t have to be an intimidating, foreboding art form to be stared at and passed by, that it can instead be an accessible and even necessary way of viewing the world.

It means an opportunity to invite in guest bloggers and see how my friends and family bring poetry into their lives, whether it’s through the recitation of long-remembered verses, the discovery of new poetry, the appreciation for poetry that withstands the years, or the interpretation of poetry into art.

It also means, this year, a unique chance to invite people, poets or self-proclaimed non-poets, to not only find a way into poetry through reading it, but to use it as a tool of self-expression by writing it. I have enjoyed every moment of the Poetry Out of Nothing Challenge: it is an enormous honor to have people trust you with their art, to read the words they put on the page in response to the details of their days and the ongoing joys, struggles, and questions of their lives.

Obviously, I’m a bit sad that April’s over, that in a few short hours this month of celebration will come to a close. But I also know that even as the calendar flips to May, I’ll continue reading and writing and thinking about poetry, and I hope you will, too.

Until next April, happy reading and writing.

P.S. Voting for the Poetry Out of Nothing Challenge continues until 11:59 tonight, so if you haven’t already voted, you should! I’ll be tabulating the votes over the next day or two, and I’ll announce the winners early next week.

The entries are in!

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Thrilling. That’s really the only word for how it felt to watch entries for the Poetry Out of Nothing Challenge roll in last night. When I dreamed up this little experiment, I wasn’t sure what to expect, and most days thereafter I just worried no one would want to participate. I’m entirely glad I was wrong.

There were 23 entries from an enormously diverse group: students of writing, salty old poet types, and some brave souls making their first ventures into poetry. They also cover a broad range of topics, from meditations on meatloaf and intimacy and Mortal Kombat to reflections on self-worth and stink bugs and and illness. They treat their subjects with wonder and humor and familiarity. And even though everyone was writing from a different place, all of the poems are amazing, and they all have something to important to say. I don’t envy the voters who will have to chose their favorites.

Speaking of voting, it’s about time I told you how that is going to work. I’ve set up an online survey where you can cast a vote for your top 4 favorite poems. Here are the important details:

1.Voting will begin at 10 a.m. EST on April 28 and continue through 11:59 p.m. on April 30.
2. You may cast only one vote a day.
3. You can learn more about the challenge and read the poems in their entirety at meredithpurvis.com
4. If you have any questions, please send them to halfstartsandtrailoffs [at] gmail [dot] com.
5. You can see a full list of the entries here (alphabetical by poet’s name and including links to their individual posts)

And, most importantly, here’s the link to the survey. Go forth and vote! Tell your brothers, mothers, fathers, sisters, aunties, friends, neighbors, grocers, classmates, dogwalkers, and hair stylists. Just get out the vote and support these brave and talented writers!

Lecture by Meagan Noel Hart

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Lecture

Sometimes
My words tumble from my tongue
and bounce like rubber balls
smacking my students’ foreheads
like concrete
rejected, they quickly fly away
and settle lost within the corners
of the room.

I wish my words would always flow like water
washing over their faces
causing sensitivity
to subtle changes in the air
and seeping in
through their pores.

Something from Nothing by Steven Moravec

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Something from Nothing

Not feeling it today
who cares whatcha got
knocking at the door
no answer, no one home
steppin up in spite of me—delivery

pen to page here we go
dodging thought of a rhyme
just don’t panic write it down
energy focused emotions abound
mission accomplished for now

Rules by Suzanne McAllister

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Rules

Temper is a wonderful thing. Don’t lose it.

Patience is a valued thing. Don’t abuse it.

Love is a splendid thing. Don’t misplace it.

Memory is a solid thing. Don’t disgrace it.

Childhood is a happy thing. Don’t harm it.

Youth is a fragile thing. Don’t alarm it.

Laughter is a necessary thing. Don’t forget it.

Tears are an important thing. Don’t regret it.

Friendship is a strengthening thing. Don’t bend it.

Truth is a shining thing. Do defend it.

Life is a welcoming thing. Dare to live it.

Death is a peaceful thing. Learn to forgive it.

Hope is a heartfelt thing. A gift we all give.

Faith is the cornerstone. By which we all live.

Dear ones to all the above, please to pay heed.

Laugh…love….cry
Live life indeed.

Future Preference by Tijuana Johnson

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Future Preference

Exposing myself to the outside world
makes way for much fatigue;
consolidating the hours to seconds
enforces pressure beyond belief. This
loyal campaign can only prevail if I
decide to pay it forward.
Running through this daily mission
deliberated my style and I can’t
stop rejuvenating this life-line
for the outside world is waiting.

Cancer’s Wings by Latonia Valincia

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Cancer’s Wings

There is this foul congress, a gathering of doctors
whispering about mama’s condition— don’t utter the “C” word
or say it aloud—cancer

carrying on its wings more crosses to build; blood clots
have travelled up mama’s leg splitting in twos to her lungs
and cancer is the subtext; and chemo has to wait for Coumadin

to labor like our laughter about memories stored-up in basins
of dirty water—mapping the miles that juxtapose where mama is
and where I type. Words are my habitual comfort

phone calls crumbs that don’t satisfy my need to see her eyes
airplane tickets— I can’t afford to buy another one. Gas priced
above my head and I’m chaired to a city I’ve never loved

mama’s hands too far to rub; gray strands holding to
her aging scalp I can’t braid; my son prays

I write, breathe and remember coffee cups and
mama’s contagious love for fresh white bread

What a Mess by Tom Carpenter

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What a Mess

He’s so bad
But he’s so good
That damn dog
My furry son

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