Gary Beaumier is the 1st place winner of Streetlight Magazine’s 2019 Poetry Contest.
Night Train to Paris
Our aged bodies
surrender to the sway
and lurch of the train
as we have passed through
the long tunnel
beneath the sea
old is a foreign country
we ride to
when we get there
we will rise to higher places
sit with gargoyles
balance on high slate roofs
as light slips through us
we sleep on park benches
dry leaves chasing around
us like wicked urchins
I will fish the river
in a floppy hat
mouthing a Gauloises
and you with a book splayed
in your lap will feed pigeons the remains
of your bread while sitting
on a soft blanket
and we will glance at each other
as only such longtime companions can with a pure knowing
later we will write postcards
from an empty bistro
—trumpet notes weave into the cool dark air—
telling the children back home
we are here now
and they will not see us again
Daniel Edward Moore is the 2nd place winner of Streetlight Magazine’s 2019 Poetry Contest.
Tongues of Men
K calls it sin, I prefer sorrow
……………………….but the pink rubber whip
on the voice’s handle
inside the mouth’s dark barn
………………..couldn’t care less & never will
about our branded dialect of damage,
a cowboy’s choir of calloused saints,
……………………….whose pearly white sharks
with obsidian eyes chew on words
like repentance & sex
…………………as if shame had the power to lasso
men’s mouths into something
angels would eat sugar for,
…………………stolen straight off a horse’s tongue
as hooves beat wings into dirt.
Wendy DeGroat is the 3rd place winner of Streetlight Magazine’s 2019 Poetry Contest.
Meditation after Emptying the Dishwasher
Along with books, these bowls are among the things
I’ll take, when the time comes, to a smaller place.
Of everything I can buy direct from the hands
that shape them, sturdy bowls are my favorite—
bowls in tones of redwood and Carolina clay,
birch bark and sage, sand dunes, moss, and soil,
each with an origin story: ones from my life before you,
yours before me, and ones we’ve purchased together,
here with a mismatched pair from a friend who moved
and a single Blue Willow handed down, bowls small
as the rivered cup of an outstretched palm, bowls
like nested hands pressed to catch cool water,
and bowls that take, when full, both hands to hold.
A time will come when I won’t be the one to fill them
with soup or chili, cornbread crumbled over top,
a time when I cannot hold them, when even their name,
this word whose round vowel fills my mouth, will slip
from me. I like to think someone else will carry them,
lift a warm spoon to my lips, and sometimes
as I rest my fingers along a bowl’s curve, a memory
will flicker, and I’ll be climbing up our stairs again, bowl
of oatmeal and cinnamon in my hands, carrying it to you.
Share this post with your friends.
2 thoughts on “Winners of 2019 Poetry Contest”
These three poems remind me of why I am always drawn back to poetry. They speak to the soul, each in its own unique way.
I especially love “Night Train to Paris.” It’s clarity, honesty and eloquence captivated me and took me along for the ride. Growing old and the finality of dying aren’t usually equated with beauty and solace, but they are in this poem. I find that refreshing and powerful.
I am touched so deeply by your lovely poem. It’s rich usage of metaphor as you carry us through the journey of aging is so effective. A sensitive reflection as you consider each bowl and in relation to your loved one —life before and after. Fading memories of as what is most important is recalled.