William Prindle has earned an Honorable Mention in Streetlight’s 2025 Poetry Contest The Orchardist’s Lament If I spent less time in unstructured circumspection and dreadful inference I might remember that circumference is nothing but pi times diameter and I might not have to rue the mismeasurements I make in fencing these apple trees from noisy birds and sneaky squirrels. I might not keep repeating what a dolt to myself as I continue to overlook my own advice and nurse my sore thumbs from recutting and rebending this eighteen-gauge wire, when all these years I could … Continue reading The Orchardist’s Lament by William Prindle →
John Thelin has earned an Honorable Mention in Streetlight’s 2025 Poetry Contest Pennies from Heaven Soon they will stop minting pennies. I will miss their crusty copper ridges, Abe Lincoln in profile, a calming image as he stares into a future he could never imagine over 150 years ago. Time stretches, an elastic band, for a while, then snaps back on itself, leaves a welt on a wrist that tries to flick a fishing line perfectly into a pond on a lazy summer day that can cloud over while you doze, wake to a smell … Continue reading Pennies from Heaven by J. R. Thelin →
Rebecca Faulkner is the 2nd place winner of Streetlight’s 2025 Poetry Contest Father’s Day Mum says I have a new family now, matter-of-fact with the tea brewing. A half-sister who rides her shiny bike without training wheels, plush carpet hugs her staircase. Suppers in the car nights he drives me home, fish & chips steam the windows. My eyes vinegar-itch but I will not cry. Weekends he fails to fix the bird-feeder, spilling seed in my sandals while I jostle sparrows for crumbs. When he’s back I’ll make him read Charlotte’s Web, work busily like … Continue reading Father’s Day by Rebecca Faulkner →
Abby Murray is the 1st place winner of Streetlight’s 2025 Poetry Contest Of All the Qualities She Could Have Inherited She carries my penchant for flowers she hasn’t learned to identify as weeds. she brings me dandelions, red clover, morning glories, buttercups, even scotch broom, and I prop them up in a vodka bottle on the windowsill because she can’t believe her luck, how nobody fought to collect these beauties before she did, how she found them heaped on yard waste piles or reaching up from the cement or clay beneath utility poles and … Continue reading Of All the Qualities She Could Have Inherited by Abby Murray →
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