Our Contest Winners!

First Place

Phyllis Shidell of Iola, Wisconsin with the piece "Riches”

Phyllis grew up on a small dairy farm south of Waupaca. She learned to read at a very early age, and also spent a lot of time outdoors, so both books and nature have been central to her life. She graduated from Waupaca High School and then attended UWSP, where she studied art and literature. She began writing poetry in college, but afterwards life turned her in other directions. Coming back to her art, she focused at first on her painting, but in recent years has turned again to writing poetry. Both her art and poetry center around her love of the natural world.

“Riches”

At sunrise this morning the air was filled

With a loud chorus of Sandhill Cranes

Their lyrics sung in a magical language

Translated not by the mind, but by the heart

Ballads of the air, of long travels, of the journey home.

They sing as the tilting planet bows to the sun

And listening rabbits dance upon the lawn

Undisturbed by feline interference,

For Ollie left just before dawn on adventures

And missions known only to him.

Deer float out from among the trees

Raising their heads to the sunlight, watching and listening-

All nature’s children celebrating the approaching Equinox.

We are children of nature too, but forgetful of this

We have made an artificial world, an overlapping world

Full of striving, labor and greed

As though, given this first natural world, this amazing gift,

Found it not quite enough.

For some the link between the worlds is getting weaker

Retreating further into artificiality, losing our way home.

Survival is the law in both worlds

Staying alive, finding food and shelter from the storms-

There are storms in nature, and created storms

Some gather worldly riches beyond their need,

Finding once again that it is not enough, never quite enough

In fear they gather, in fear they hoard their riches.

But like survival, death is also a law,

There are not enough riches to bribe it away.

But here is that first gift, of the world of nature

Unbought, asking only for our attention, our gratitude

Let us not withdraw from it, forgetting these riches-

Here comes Ollie, returning with untellable tales

With a faint scent of woodsmoke in his fur.

Here are the birds, the rabbits, the deer, the towering trees

And the songs, the marvelous songs

Of the Sandhill Cranes at sunrise.

Second Place Tie

Sherine Campbell of Lauderdale Lakes, Florida with the piece “The Skin I’m In" 

“I'm a Pre-school teacher at Bethlehem Pre-school in South Florida, where I'm blessed to help shape and inspire young minds. I'm also an author who loves the creative expression of words, poetry, stories and everything in between. My faith is the foundation of all I do, guiding me through every season. I'm a proud mother to my amazing son, Ovondre, who keeps me grounded and inspired. I also have a great passion for music, it lifts my spirit and connects me to the heart of the world. Teaching, writing, motherhood, faith and music, these are the rhythms of my life.”

“The Skin I'm In”

In the mirror's gaze, I see a grin, for I love the skin I'm in. Its hues and shades, a vibrant blend, a canvas where my stories mend.

Each freckle, scar, and line, narrates a tale, uniquely mine. From sunrise glow to twilight's dim, I cherish the skin I'm in.

It whispers of journeys, both near and far, of triumphs, trials, and every scar. A map of life, etched deep within, I embrace the skin I'm in.

For it's not just flesh, but a sanctuary, A vessel for dreams, a realm to carry. With every heartbeat, a new begin, I adore the skin I'm in.

So let the world its judgments spin, I hold steadfast to this truth within: In every curve, every single sin, I fiercely love the skin I'm in.

Second Place Tie

Donald Maness of Bangor, New York with the piece "My Old Camera Bag” 

“I am 65 years old, retired and disabled. I started writing poetry about 40 yrs ago. Many of my poems are from my own memories. Some are fiction, some sad, some heart warming, some are attempts at humor. I live in Northern NY. I have a book "Spectrum of Emotions" on Amazon, if anyone is interested. Thank you for appreciating my poem.”

“My Old Camera Bag”

I found in my closet my old camera bag

A thick coat of dust And the zipper still snagged.

I've had it, I think, Since I was nineteen.

Oh, the memories it holds. The adventures it's seen.

I gave that old zipper A tug and a twist

I finally outmatched It's attempt to resist.

I Reach down inside And instantly touch

That old friend of mine. I've missed it so much.

The film advance lever I instinctively slide.

Without tension I know That there's no film inside.

A press of the button Brings that old welcome sound.

A slow heavy click As the shutter drops down.

Single lens reflex Minolta thirty-five

As I handle it now My mind comes alive

With scenes from the archive Filed deep in my mind

All flooding my head As the memories unwind.

The adventures it's seen, Oh the stories it's told.

Flooding back as I hold it Now that I'm old.

It hung by my side Like a hunter's buck knife

It captured the faces And flew to the places

You could say that it chronicled life.

Sacramento's golden hills The rocky coast of Maine

The rainbow hills of the badlands The wheat fields of the plains.

Still water of the beaver pond I found while fishing trout.

I'd go there for the solitude With things to figure out.

I gingerly set that old camera aside

As I reach for the bag And the treasures it hides.

The next thing I find Is the wide angle zoom

For landscapes to capture Or the whole of a room.

The view from the summit Of mountains I hiked

And parties I went to With some people I liked.

The next thing I find Is the short telephoto

It conjures a memory From a day long ago.

My Dad and me paddling On Deer river flow

Down a channel where current Was even and slow.

I spied in the distance A great silhouette.

It's features obscured By the sun, soon to set.

My excitement increased With each breath that I drew.

It's majesty left me in awe As it flew.

It passed overhead Maybe fifty feet high

I swear to this day looked me straight in the eye.

The first bald eagle I had the fortune to see

And there sat my camera Right there on my knee.

I reach in again What else is in there

But a handy container Much like Tupperware.

The plastic container That film came inside

Repurposed for other things I wanted to hide.

Salt and pepper for camping They often would hold.

On occasion a gram of Colombian gold.

Feeling nostalgic With tears on my face

I gently put everything Back in its place.

I set that old bag In the closet again

I've finished my journey Down memory lane.

The adventures it's seen Oh, the stories it's told

Fresh in my mind again Now that I'm old.

Congratulations to the winning poets! We so enjoyed going through and reading all of the beautiful writing this year. Thank you to each and every person who submitted a poem to our contest. We received many submissions this year from people all over the country and world even. We are so proud to have a contest like this in place for people to be able to share what they’ve written and be among community whether you are near or far.