•Grand Prize Winner of the Book of Poetry Contest:

Spare Parts by Brenda Mirsky

Comment from our judges about the Grand Prize winning collection:

Brenda Mirsky's Spare Parts opens logically with the poem, "On the Day I Was Born" and this where our journey begins and ends. Mirsky's manuscript is the winner of the Wordclay poetry book contest. Spare Parts follows in the earthy footsteps of Mary Oliver with the sharp narrative focus of Robert Wrigley or Billy Collins. In the title poem, "Spare Parts," the story of losing a father is interwoven with the coming and going of the television repairman, reminding us how quickly life can change and how we can be reminded of this passing at the oddest times. Mirsky has written a personal, thought-provoking collection of poems and we couldn't be more pleased to present this manuscript as the winner of the Wordclay poetry book contest.

The following three poems are from Mirsky's collection:

Spare Parts

By Brenda Mirsky

By the time we called the repairman
there was no picture.
When he came to fix it
my father's illness had already
shrunken flesh on bone
and we could see the skeleton beneath his skin.
It only needs a minor adjustment, he said,
but I'll have to order the part.
We didn't mind if it took awhile:
Dad loved to watch TV
and we were glad there was a part to order.
Dad's bones became clearer, sharper.
Soon his head looked too big for his body.
How's dad? the repairman asked when he returned.
He died, I answered.
When he left quickly,
I cried so hard I didn't realize
he'd forgotten to leave the part.

The Homecoming

By Brenda Mirsky

With turtles and mushrooms in your pockets,
you sparkle with adventures
and we laugh at stories of flamingoes dancing on the beach
though it was too cold to swim
and palm trees falling on pink house
as the wind blew in the storm.

Intersection

By Brenda Mirsky

The pole bent and broken
people stand around anxious for someone to help the woman shouting
get him out, get him out
two babies crying in her arms.

A car, its bumper pitted and bent,
holds a blank faced woman staring at the overturned car

Three policemen kneel, shaking their heads at the man inside
who will never touch the Christmas tree
still tied to the top of the car
resting on cold concrete like it is sleeping.

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•Runner-Up Winner of the Book of Poetry Contest:

Untitled by Katherine Marie Haaheim

Katherine Marie Haaheim's untitled 58 poem collection begins with a poem titled "A Study in Personification." The following are two poems from Haaheim's collection:

A Study in Personification

By Katherine Marie Haaheim

With a sigh, starlight falls
as I step onto the morning grass
crisp beneath my bare feet
    and beads of the morning dew
    lie sewn together on a spider's web
A single bird rings out through the dawn
and the clock sings out the hour
the moon is having a fine time
    so she hangs in the sky
    lingering, and for a moment forgetting her duty
The leaves in the trees greet me
"Hello," they breathe,
"Welcome to our Ballet."
    the grasses nod in agreement
    and the sunflowers bow their heads
Together, the dawn puts on a show for me
every step a lovely thing
until the sun emerges and the curtain falls
    they dance, they sing
    the elegant circus of a dream

Lovely Things

By Katherine Marie Haaheim

How Lovely
to peel an orange
and feel a fine, citrus mist
come to rest
on your skin.

How lovely
to step outside in summertime
when the air is thick, pressing against you
and feel your bare toes
begin to burn
on the sun-soaked pavement.

And how lovely
to move onto cool grasses
and cross the way
to share the orange with
your neighbor who lives alone
and has not seen enough lovely things
in his life.

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•Grand Prize Winner of the Single Poem Contest:

"Redemption" by Jamie Crawford

A comment from our judges about the Grand Prize winning Single Poem:

Jamie Crawford's "Redemption" won the single poem portion of the contest. The poet Robert Bly coined the termed, "leaping poetry," and by this he meant poetry that leaped from image, metaphor or idea to the next with little warning. Crawford's poem leaps from snowflakes on a summer day to shouting at stars to roller coasters to cannonballs to receivers reaching into space. Even with this these unexpected turns, the poem guides the reader down the page to what may be redemption for the speaker or at least one more leap closer.

Redemption

By Jamie Crawford

Our ideas don't mesh, impoverished and drawn
These slender agreements develop margins of distinction.
Who negotiates these disparities?

Like blots of ink, our interaction ensues.
Fumbling and nervous, the ink dries.
So will the layers come undone?
Your tears like snowflakes on a summer day.

The line projects: switch and abandon.
Recall the night we shouted at stars?
Emotion brims—
Soluble on my lips, dissolving into darts at a soft heart.
Piercing was not my intention, yet intimacy quests at these doors.

A peaceful soul, so delicious, disrupts the ripples of my day.
Snatched from my meditative state, your voice starts my heart.
I feel it beat, and it flutters delicate— quivering whiskers.
Sleep here , he pleads—with the coverlet of sky and these breadcrumbs, scattered.

The ebb of your voice evokes musk and warmth
Tantalizing and comforting, the hot chocolate of your laugh
Changes my day from tarnished routine to vibrant excursion.
And the wheels turn as the rollercoaster starts.

Erratic chess pieces, we fall and break.
The sacrificial pawns redeem our deeds.
But debts increase, and shadows fall;
Strategies shield nothing, only bar love.

So peek outside, lift the curtain.

The cannonballs won't fly,
And you won't cry, because your family loves you.
Oh! don't you accept it, peaceably!

My family won't wait, but oh…yes they will.
They can heal, and they can hurt.
Like artists, families mold and they can chip.

Veiled anguished conversation drips
a puddle on the ground, and mirrors our images
Cut off and abrupt the receiver reaches into space.
The phone beeps and I think, “What a martyr.”
Your goodbye salve cannot forsake me, too.

Forgotten, these unbidden nightmares invade waking life,
And the streetlights promise artificial solace.

The call back renders my visions real.
Underlying thoughts distract and beg.
Spirits break and blossom—
chance stills these motions.

Smile, unaware.

The soul splinters into pieces.
Intertwined with you, immersion complete—
Memories drown me as the present moment glimmers:
probes at my senses and tugs my heart.

This tunnel looms but the mountains inspire—
Yearn and burn in the silence that disregards the miles.
The receiver clicks and I know I've lost my lifeline.

Comb the distance
sigh a long while.
Keep the bet because we know it ends.

By Jamie Crawford

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•Runner-Up Winner of the Single Poem Contest:

"Devolutionist" by Daniel Bristol

Devolutionist

By Daniel Bristol

I used to be an ocean vast and filled with life. I could account for everything, for I'd been
there for all time. I used to stretch for miles; I used to take up all the earth. I used to be
everyone's everything; you'll just have to take my word for it.

I used to be a great lake. I used to be the biggest one. I was the womb from which the
moon was birthed when the sun had finally gone. I used to glitter all the time, rain or
shine, and day or night. I was the place you brought your girl to ask her hand in marriage.
You used to contemplate your days at my water's edge.

Then I turned into a pond perfect to sail upon. The best of friends spent many times
together, fishing and laughing until the day was done. I used to be the spot you watched
fireworks burst on the fourth of July. And I froze up in December when you learned your
best friend had died. I even used to hug the ground where your family dog now lays.

And then I was a river, quickly flowing over time. I used to carve sharp rocks into perfect
skipping stones. I used to breathe a constant pace. I used to carry my own beat. You used
to come to me just to wash your dirty feet. We watched the stars together; we used to
spill the same amount of tears. I watched you bloom and grow; together we shared the
best of years.

But now I am a creek, under a bridge somewhere unknown. Time has shrunk me down,
and I am here to rest alone. Some days are better than some others, my water flows and
then dries up. It would help to have some company; it would help to have my friend. But
I just don't really know when I'll ever see her again.

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