Postcard Poetry Contest

by Feb 1, 2018Contest, Issues, Poetry

Bending Genres Postcard Poetry Contest—January 2018

Guest Judge: Samuel Fox Postcard Poetry is Bending Genres first 2018 contest. Our very own poetry editor, Samuel Fox, is the judge. Find out more about Sam and his work here. Also read one of Sam’s pieces published here. The premise of the contest is simple: write a poem, one page or less, using the front and back of the postcard as a prompt. You could be the person that sends it, the postperson who delivers it, or the one who receives it. Really, it’s up to you. Be creative and have fun! Besides their poem being published, the winner also receives (if desired), a “box of shit” via snail mail.

First Place


Devon Balwit

At the Tipping Point

  Remember that movie, where the tough-as-nails heroine revs a chainsaw   to hack off her dead father’s hands, bagged proof of his misfortune?   Your limbs, verdigrised by water-skin, are not at risk even though you (we) are   as unlucky. Some time ago, we went awry, perhaps even as we tangled   among roots, lips slow gastropods trailing wet. That we belonged   to others didn’t stop us from fingering dark places, didn’t avert our slow slide.   Now, neither of us have our children and can do nothing to halt the drip   of venom in their ears. Bottom feeding, you tempt the weight of a hundred summers,   a massy trunk tipped almost earthward, just a breath separating your bones.   I do not know whether to slip beside you in your almost- coffin or add my bulk   to the fulcrum, putting you cleanly out of your misery.

Honorable Mentions

Alan Gann

Dear Phillip

this morning’s amber hue resists optimism though the chains have crawled back into their trunk and the trunk has pulled shut its lid and turned the key the pillow where you laid your head forgets your shape but not pheromones where the cat insists on nesting all you leave behind is a woody scented ghost sprinkled from a crystal-cut bottle and slapped against freshly hewn face after setting your morning razor down we would hate you if only that were possible anyone would hate the half-windsor way you knot your tie precise and casual the way the devil mixes a martini the way an alcoholic pretends he isn’t begging for another morning’s amber will harden into another buzzing day so only those looking too close will ever spy your name trapped inside and placed on that shelf we never dust

Mateo Lara

Dear One

This     might   be        last I have gone     too Closed eyes and dreamed Cama agua, gentle caress of back And     I’m      fine      here. Branch between branch chest Rotten wood      rub right this flesh I           notice your     leaving. Por qué te vas? Notice no sleeping, nightmare I     no   longer  myself I     no    name      myself Do you wish this appetite undone? I     am    free Sheltered blue transparent in painful distance Hand   on   wet   letter   wrong piece. Write me   no words     I will not listen Some pretty place bent brightness into black Cariño, tu amarías este sitio. Come be with me. Wet reminder of life we left river run right through I     leave   come   back Never tame   in  rough  idea Mind   no        mind me Pero     es así, sin ti yo no soy nadie.

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