Postcard Poetry Contest

by | Feb 1, 2018 | Contest, Poetry

Postcard Poetry Contest

by Feb 1, 2018Contest, 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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