Livingston Rossmoor
Awards
28th Annual Poetry Contest for the Dancing Poetry Festival
The intention of the Dancing Poetry Festival and Artists Embassy International (its parent organization), is to honor the natural ambassadorship of excellent artists and their work that furthers intercultural understanding and peace through the universal language of the arts.
The Blues Guitarist
3rd Place
We call him big Leo, he is not that big,
just solid, moving at all times,
as though he runs on a battery.
Rest, recharge, then unstoppable motion.
Leo speaks slowly
with a deep voice.
His mom says he is shy,
always concerned things
may not turn out great.
And in the shadow
of his big brother,
he is not sure he can excel.
That is why he loves
his Red Sox baseball cap.
Couple sizes too big,
way oversized,
covers his head, eyebrows
and most of his eyes.
He feels secure hiding
in that big hat
because he thinks no one can see him,
since he can't see them.
He really loves his three-year-old’s
birthday gift. A toy blue guitar
with a strap. All day long,
he puts it on,
runs, walks with it, strums to sound like
he is playing a guitar.
With his blue guitar,
black band, and big hat,
Leo strums the strings,
kind of cool,
like a real blues guitarist,
if you stuck a cigar in his mouth.
Writer's Digest 90th Annual Writing Competition
Writer’s Digest has been shining a spotlight on up and coming writers
in all genres through its Annual Writing Competition for 90 years.
Epilogue
Honorable Mention
Acapella or a violin’s vibrato,
duet, trio, in parody or rhapsody,
he breathes fast to level the staccato,
smooth as a harmonious melody,
a poem jibing the syntax and prosody,
a sail boat fading in the sunset,
an elder fisherman mending his net.
Near sunset, he buries both feet in the dry sand,
the grains trickle between every bare toe.
Jogging alone with sandals in his hand,
in the morning, up before the rooster’s crow,
along the shore, deep breath, lets it all go.
While early birds chase after the receding tide,
ripples efface stipples before the sand is dried.
Thoroughbred
Honorable Mention
And now, a meal ticket, and personal trainers,
a concierge doctor, a servant and farrier,
nothing to writhe about. To keep all retainers,
I dash to break every record barrier.
Thousands of eyeballs and hundreds of
binoculars aim to catch my every leap and dart.
In spite of bumps and cuts, push and shove,
I gun for the finish line regardless of the start.
Oracular premonition is a myth,
my sobriquet is stunning. Jockey, a daring friend,
we are left out there, strive to reach the zenith,
gallop towards clinching. A true grit at the end.
I run my heart out in every race.
Faster, faster, faster, an endless chase.
California State Poetry Society's Annual Contest
The 2021 judge, Georgia Jones Davis, writes, “The winners (and honorably mentioned) of this year’s California State Poetry Society competition displayed a risk-taking agility with language, a willingness to write to the limit, as it were, to musicality and whim, take chances with imagery and sound, to leap. The poems vibrate with life and excitement and mystery. They get better with each reading. “
I Don’t Know Why
Honorable Mention
I don’t know why it came in search of me.
I don’t know when or how it came.
It came in the light or dark, I couldn’t see.
Dust in the wind, breezes rustle in the tree.
A speck in the universe, it has no name.
I don’t know why it came in search of me.
It sails in a canoe on the wild sea,
in and out of waves with no aim.
It came in the light or dark, I couldn’t see.
I know it is there, still coming, it seems.
Nothing to hook on, nothing to claim.
I don’t know why it came in search of me.
A small bird, a nest, it’s real, not a dream.
It’s neither words nor voices, it is calm.
It came in the light or dark, I couldn’t see.
It is not a summons, it carries no theme.
It was cold, I can feel it now, it is warm.
I don’t know why it came in search of me.
It came in the light or dark, I couldn’t see.
First Annual Nebraska State Poetry Society Open Poetry Contest
"Do chase the ebbing Neptune"
Honorable Mention
It must be a mistake.
I thought it was a promise,
you would be the last one
left without saying goodbye.
You said it all comes and goes.
When all are gone,
I can dig and dig
like the sandpipers chasing the beach crabs.
It was a turbulent storm,
the night you arrived,
you drew a line in the sand
and swore you would come again.
This morning, I hurried back,
the line disappeared,
I dug and dug, not there.
At night,
when the moon was half bright;
in the dark, no trace, no sign.
Day, night, I went back;
new lines, old lines,
crossed my heart,
smudged, blurred my eyes,
storms, waves, ripples…..
pounding, slapping, murmuring.
You were not the only one
drew a line through my name.
O God, everything is just water,
swallow, spit it out, let it go,
cry out loud,
I heard it again and again.
Still, I keep going back when
sun rises or
moon’s behind the moonlight.
Time of Singing Winter Contest 22/23 Ekphrastic Poetry
Intertwine
Editor's Choice
The nose is exaggerated, the brows
elongated with mouth distorted and face
full of wrinkles. The impression plows
to embed a warped mind in the chase.
They overlap and intertwine the real,
the fake and the charade. All feign and tangle
together to beguile the soul, bear and feel
the hurt, compelled to choke and strangle.
The colors are out of proportion, so are
the sizes and shapes. The grief is on fire,
origin of the origin, aim and stare
at the core of the target, fury and ire.
No one notices the twist, they turn a blind eye
to the curious mind that keeps asking why.
Nebraska Poetry Society's 2023 Open Poetry Contest
Fire
Finalist
I have a friend who loves to count stars in the sky.
He thinks,
if we could zoom into
each one of them,
we may find out how they keep the fire on,
every night.
And he thinks, if he gazes long enough,
some may come near to tell their stories,
some shy and far away;
quite a few just passing by,
and he tries listening to what they say;
hello or goodbye?
I remember what he told me,
why he loves looking up to the night sky;
he needs all that space in between,
for his flame to find its way to burn.
Crosswinds Poetry Contest, 2023
There is a Ruler in Every Heart
Rated as superior work
I always remember the instant
I held my prime in my hand.
“This is it,”
never would I exceed this height I stood.
How radiant,
how red the maple leaves in peaking days;
they all fade and glow back every year.
Climax-of-prime shines only once.
In the eyes of who still holds a ruler;
they gauge, judge how high the jump,
how bright the colors.
Yesterday,
the pond cast back inverted image,
hues of foliage in its fullness,
I threw my ruler to break the reflection;
in my watch,
it sank.
The full colors of that mirror came back.
Exhibition
Rated as superior work
You never stop bragging;
how unique,
how elegant you are.
The tenable proposition,
no difference than the one next to you.
Every life sums up in flowers:
red clover, wild iris, yellow tulip…
and birds:
morning snow geese,
twilight common loons…
and how you paint
hungry pursuit following sunrise,
or craving, yearning,
near dusk,
as they’re longing,
pining, to hear their own voices.
There’s No Beginning and No Ending
Rated as superior work
The lake has settled,
the winds take a break.
Still you,
restless stranger,
full of questions,
like owl staring all night at the grim darkness,
still keeping the upright stance in gristly stillness,
still speculating serious subjects,
still gazing past the thin air
into the unfathomable void.
While out in the field,
dogwoods, ash trees,
still embrace the mere joy
of just seeing the sun;
grey heron scouting over the pond,
still standing by a school of sun fish,
still soaking in the plain bliss
of breathing breezes.
Still you, restless, always get involved,
like spider, every corner;
still keep building networks,
tangling up everything.
Still ignore the red-breasted sapsucker
chirping at the windowsill.
Still smell not the fragrance
of rosemary, oregano.
Still, fish eggs, birds’ nests,
still in their places.