Posts Tagged ‘North Carolina Poetry Society’
Poetry at Cary Arts Center
Posted in Imagery, tagged Bill Griffin, Cary Arts Center, imagery, Mark Cox, Michael Hettich, Narya Rose Deckard, NC Poetry Society, NC Poets, NCPS, North Carolina Poetry Society, poetry, Southern writing on September 26, 2025| 7 Comments »
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NC Poetry Society at the Cary Arts Center
[poetry by award winners Mark Cox, Michael Hettich, and more]
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All Right
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The boy doesn’t know what to do. He’s only twelve. And he’s never seen adults weep, not like this at least, so distraught, disconsolate. He can see his grandmother from the kitchen, through her bedroom doorway. Prisoner of her dementia, the old woman lies fully clothed atop the chenille bedspread, her floral house dress faded, her shoes scuffed and worn, light from one window cutting her in two. Her good dishes have disappeared, the piano is still in the old farmhouse, the cows need to be milked, her young sons are still in France at war. The boy sits at the breakfast table, adrift in a sunlit swirl of dust motes. He understands none of this is true, but how is he to help? What can anyone say? To live is to leave, the boy thinks; we make our way, but lose something always and wherever we go. Our shoe soles wear down, our hair thins, our bodies diminish and so we travel always through galaxies of our own shed lint and skin, the leavings of once known things. Finally, at a loss, he just lies down next to her, his sneakers alongside her purpled ankles. He knows nothing ever is going to be all right, but he says it anyway.
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Mark Cox
from Knowing, winner of the 2025 Brockman-Campbell Book Award of the North Carolina Poetry Society
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Mark Cox is chair of the Department of Creative Writing at University of North Carolina, Wilmington. He also teaches in the Vermont College of Fine Arts MFA Program. His six previous books include Sorrow Bread: Poems 1984-2015 (2017) and Readiness (2018). Read more about Knowing and purchase your copy at Press 53 HERE.
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Claudine Moreau is second place finalist for the 2025 Brockman-Campbell Award, for her book Demise of Pangaea. Visit this site on October 3 for more about her book and a sample poem.
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Each September at its fall meeting the North Carolina Poetry Society features readings by the winners of the following contests:
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Brockman-Campbell Book Award (NCPS): best book of poetry published by a North Carolina author in the preceding year
Lena Shull Manuscript Award (NCPS): for a manuscript by a North Carolina author; the winning book is published by NCPS
Susan Laughter Meyers Fellowship (NCPS): a one week residential fellowship at Weymouth Center for the Arts and Humanities for one North or South Carolina poet
Randall Jarrell Poetry Prize (sponsored by North Carolina Writers’ Network): for an individual poem by a North Carolina author
Jaki Shelton Green Performance Poetry Award (co-sponsored by North Carolina Literary Review at East Carolina University and NCPS): for an individual poem recited / performed
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For information about North Carolina Poetry Society contests VISIT HERE:
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In 2023 the September NCPS meeting was held at the NC Museum of Art in Raleigh, in 2024 at the NC Arboretum in Asheville, and this year’s meeting on September 13 celebrated the Cary Arts Center, formerly the Cary High School (1939), listed on the national registry of historic places. Today’s and next Friday’s posts feature some of the poetry shared at the meeting by the 2025 contest winners; return to this site on October 3 for more offerings!
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The Meadow
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++++ I woke in a tall-grass field at first light,
and listened to the birds, and hummed with a dream
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++++ ++++ I made up from wisps
++++ that ran through my body
++++ ++++ shivering marrow, making me notice
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++++ the dew that dampened
my face and the spider webs
++++ starting to shimmer the trees.
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Everything was breathing; the long night echoed
++++ in the dawn-light: stars
++++ ++++ and vast migrations
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++++ as the breeze stuttered a moment, then stilled.
++++ Across the field, my companion was singing
++++ ++++ her own perfect song, which was silence. Still
++++ ++++ ++++ I could hear her somehow, so I got up and set off
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++++ ++++ ++++ ++++ to thank her for sharing this beautiful place
++++ ++++ ++++ she’d known all her life, this place where she’d always
++++ ++++ ++++ ++++ felt happy, the place she yearned to stay
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++++ ++++ as long as she breathed. And then, she’d told me,
++++ she’d turn into something more perfect: the vast
sky, so blue it hurt the eyes,
++++ or a meadow like this one, that stretched to the horizon.
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Michael Hettich
from Waking Up Alone, winner of the 2025 Lena Shull Manuscript Award of the North Carolina Poetry Society, to be published later this year by Redhawk Publications.
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After years in New York, Colorado, Florida, and Vermont, Michael Hettich now lives in Black Mountain, North Carolina. He holds a Ph.D. from the University of Miami and taught for many years at Miami Dade College where he was awarded an Endowed Teaching Chair. Over five decades he has published more than two dozen books of poetry and received numerous honors, including several Individual Artist Fellowships from the Florida Division of Cultural Affairs, The Tampa Review Prize in Poetry, the David Martinson/Meadowhawk Prize, and a Florida Book Award.
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Additional Finalists for this year’s Lena Shull Award are Becky Nicole James and Charles Wheeler.
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Feathers
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When September slips in the window like a forgotten lover,
Reaching for me from my burrow
+++++++++++++++++++++ With its hands of feathers
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In the early morning croak of crows, and I can smell
That someone has lit a fire,
+++++++++++++++++++++ An utterance of feathers,
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Such that I can’t remember if I’m seven, in a log house my father built,
And he’s kindled the first autumn fire,
+++++++++++++++++++++ Fanned the feathers,
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Or I’m twenty-five in the wooded hollow alone
But for the cats, dogs, and calls of coyotes, having lit the fire myself
+++++++++++++++++++++ That spanned feathers,
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But no, when you roll over
In a twist of sheets,
+++++++++++++++++++++ In a band of feathers,
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And I hear a young tail thump softly on the floor, a brief whine-
When someone else’s woodsmoke slips through the window
+++++++++++++++++++++ Like sanded feathers,
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And I am here with you, and we’ve struck our own match-
When you reach across and slip your arm around my waist,
+++++++++++++++++++++ With the sustenance of feathers-
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Narya Rose Deckard
from her debut poetry collection Wolfcraft (Broken Tribe, © 2025), available from Bookshop.org
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Narya Rose Deckard teaches writing at Lenoir-Rhyne University, where she earned her MFA in poetry at the Thomas Wolfe Center for Narrative. Originally from the mountains of Maryland, she currently lives in Valdese, NC with her husband, dog, five cats, and a few chickens, but she also spent ten years in Asheville studying literature and philosophy at UNCA. As winner of the 2025 Susan Laugher Meyers Fellowship, she receives an honorarium and one week writing residency in Southern Pines at Weymouth Center for the Arts and Humanities.
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Susan Laughter Meyers was a widely published Carolina poet who mentored many rising poets and promoted literature across the South for decades. She served at different times as president of both the South Carolina and North Carolina Poetry Societies. Her family, friends, students, and other admirers of her life’s work have endowed this Fellowship in her name for the North Carolina Poetry Society. Many thanks to Weymouth Center, as well, for donating space and support for the poet residency.
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Begin With Me
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I got up
off the ground
near some graves—I share
the last name with.
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I begin,
with what I was handed,
a mama, a daddy I saw a few times,
because he hid
in the hues he knew.
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My little brother full of love
like the corner store in heaven. I knew
his lying like I knew our daddy’s lying,
same song, but a higher key.
My mama taught me to
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ask my dead plenty of questions—
to let the moon touch me on the mouth,
to ring my black bell.
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Tyree Daye
from a little bump in the earth, Copper Canyon Press, © 2025
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Tyree Daye led the writing workshop for the afternoon session of this NCPS meeting, He focused on breath: within and around a poem; what it might reveal and what it might hide. The writer can strive to become more conscious of their own breath as they splice syllables and thump out the poem’s rhythm. The reader can strive to slow down and feel their own breath as they silently speak the words. Breath can hold the meaning and feeling that the poem wants to birth into the world. Hold it, and let it out.
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Tyree Daye grew up in Youngsville, North Carolina. He is the author of three poetry collections, including River Hymns (winner of the APR/Honickman First Book Prize), Cardinal, and most recently a little bump in the earth. He has been a 2017 Ruth Lilly Finalist and Cave Canem fellow. He serves as Assistant Professor at the University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill. Tyree Daye teaches. Not just reading and writing, not just poetry – he teaches what it means to be human, a human with a past and with a future. One reaction to his new book: Poem by poem, Daye is honoring the people of Youngsville and “bringing back the dead.”
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Tune in next week, folks . . . in our October 3 post we will continue to celebrate the riches of this September 13 meeting in Cary with poetry by Claudine Moreau, Becky Nicole James, Charles Wheeler, and more.
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2025 Sam Ragan Awards Day
Posted in poetry, tagged Bill Griffin, Brooke Lehmann, Claudine Moreau, Jennifer Weiss, Laura Alderson, Michael Loderstedt, NC Poets, NCPS, North Carolina Poetry Society, poetry, Southern writing on May 23, 2025| 4 Comments »
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[with poems by winners of the NC Poetry Society Adult Contests]
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The Atheist
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Her playground shoes
teem with sand and mulch.
She kicks them against
the passenger seat,
floorboards anointed
by the debris of recess.
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From the altar of a booster seat
she asks who I love more
her or Daddy,
as she wraps a clutch of gold hair
around a hooked finger –
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its end a wet fireless wick.
I tell her I love them both
more than anything.
She is fast
with first grade
scripture –
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how Haley says you
must love God more
than anyone.
I reach for her knee,
that sprig of branch.
Through
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tears
she says she loves
me more, too.
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Claudine Moreau
First Place, Carol Bessent Hayman Poetry of Love Award of the NC Poetry Society
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Rodanthe
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You watched the cottage
pitch and yaw on its stilts
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writhing in video frames
until it slides sideways
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into the surf, you said
Why do people build there?
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A fair question given
a rising sea. Next day’s sun
comes bathed in lavender,
dolphins chase each other
across the living room’s picture
window, terns dive feeding fish,
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tiny sea-turtles wriggle
from warm sand behind
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the garage. You can only dream
this life, this view, this broad ocean
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of where you’ve come,
screaming that fiery
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breath, beckoning you
home, stepping through the glass-
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door to ride down
this swaying deck, down,
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down to the licking crests,
slipping beneath
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the darkest water.
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Michael Loderstedt
First Place, Bruce Lader poetry of Witness Award of the NC Poetry Society
read at Awards Day at Weymouth Center by Joan Barasovska
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Life is a swaying deck. What will save us? Better to hold tight and imagine it is not going to burst beneath us, or to leap, eyes closed or eyes open, into the void? Some mornings the drone of mowers from the next block is a comfort that summer is coming and all is as it should be; other mornings their incessance is another bitter reminder that for some people life still follows its benevolent routine. Swaying, we are swaying and gravity and balance elude us.
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I sit on the porch with the book closed before me. An hour passes. Why would I want to read these poems that some judge somewhere has deemed are worth sharing with the world? Why would I want to share any more of the world’s troubles or its implied triumphs? Well, I don’t want to, but finally I open the book anyway. Page after page. The faces of these poets as they read at Awards Day appear to me, or my mind conjures a face and a voice for the ones I don’t know. And, well, at times I have to smile.
Fleeting but with at least a moment’s healing. And where the swaying may take writer and reader down, down into the darkest water, I see that the world wants to share with me, no matter what it is I may want. At last, after the final poem, I remember Rule #2: I will cry with you.
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Front Hallway
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Nine births
eight named
if only
for a day
six
children living
laughing bickering squealing
muddying up the house
on the table there
between the bible’s leaves
a whisper
of hair
a sunny towhead
the memory
too
fragile
for a name
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Laura Alderson
Second Place, Carol Bessent Hayman Poetry of Love Award of the NC Poetry Society
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Madame Butterfly
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“Mom looks great,” my brother proclaimed
on a quick visit after she had endured
pneumonia and sepsis.
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Maternal astronaut orbiting
the son, she ignored her tubed tether,
the hiss and click of oxygen concentrator
at apartment’s center, and served
weak tea and sweet biscuits
before alighting on a chair,
delighting in his quips.
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A monarch-embroidered kimono,
porcelain foundation and blood-red lipstick
masked her sallow visage, haggard physique.
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When we were little, she fluttered
through the house each evening,
tidying rooms, readying her face,
donning heels, before our father’s headlights.
shot through the shutters like lightning,
and thundering, he flung
open the door.
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Jennifer Weiss
Honorable Mention, Jean Williams Poetry of Disability, Disease, and Healing Award of the NC Poetry Society
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The Adult Contests of the North Carolina Poetry Society are open each year from December through January. Details and Guidelines, as well as a list of all the 2025 winners, are available HERE:
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Poet Laureate Award: Judged by the North Carolina State poet Laureate and sponsored by Kevin Watson (Press 53)
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Robert Golden Award: Endowed by Nexus Poets and Linda Golden
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Charles Edward Eaton Award for sonnet or traditional form: Endowed by an anonymous donor
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Mary Ruffin Poole Heritage Award: Endowed by Pepper Worthington
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Bloodroot Haiku Award: Sponsored annually by Bill Griffin
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Poetry of Courage Award: Endowed by Ann Campanella
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Carol Bessent Hayman Poetry of Love Award: Sponsor initially by David Manning and annually by Susan Carol Hayman
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Bruce Lader Poetry of Witness Award: Sponsored annually by Doug Stuber
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Katherine Kennedy McIntyre Light Verse Award: Sponsored annually by Diana Pinckney
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Alice Osborn Poetry for Children Award: Sponsored annually by Alice Osborn
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Jean Williams Poetry of Disability, Disease, and Healing Award: Endowed by Priscilla Webster-Williams
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Besides annual contests for individual poems by students and adults, North Carolina Poetry Society also sponsors: Brockman-Campbell Prize for best book of poetry published by a North Carolina author; Lena Shull Award for a poetry manuscript, including publication by NCPS; Susan Laughter Meyers Fellowship, including a one week residency at Weymouth Center for the Arts and Humanities in Southern Pines, NC.
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Green River
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Those summers we spent the afternoons rolling
down the levee by the mud brown river. We blew
dandelion seeds and helped my grandmother pick
rhubarb from the small patch of garden she kept
behind her shack. We fill in love with what rural poor
people have: sunlight and sky, the work of their hands.
My grandmother taught me how to live with mice,
their unsuspecting necks snapped while bacon fried
in her pan. She was not sentimental of mice
or men. She told me it was as easy to love a rich man
as a poor man. She told me that the Kentucky rain
poured over her garden, over the ugly river because she missed
her daddy’s farm. She braided my hair while we listened
to Judy Garland sing and skip her glittery heels down
the yellow-brick road. I never felt richer than when
I was in her lap, her calloused fingers rubbing my ears, practicing
my spelling bee words. C-h-r-y-s-a-n-t-h-e-m-u-m, rolling
over my tongue like a tiny thimble. Honey, you’re going to leave
this place one day. Her needle and thread nearby. The tired
Singer machine propped on the kitchen table.
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Brooke Lehmann
First Place, Robert Golden Award of the NC Poetry Society
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2025 Sam Ragan Awards Day – Students
Posted in poetry, tagged Bill Griffin, family, NC Poets, NCPS, North Carolina Poetry Society, poetry, Sam Ragan, Student Contests on May 16, 2025| 4 Comments »
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[5 poems by winners of NC Poetry Society student contests]
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Fear
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There I stood upon the water
Looking out to foreign lands
Separated by the oceans
I take a breath and clench my hands
I take a step and close my eyes
And jump across to the other side
I land in all the sandy rubble
And I looked back and saw a puddle!
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Juliet Geracitano
5th grade, Audrey W. Garrett Elementary School, Mebane, NC
Third Place, Travis Tuck Jordan Award of NC Poetry Society
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It is impossible to convey the enthusiasm and joy that radiates from these students as they step up to the microphone to read their poems. Some of them have to climb a rostrum to be visible behind the lectern. Some of them have arrived cloaked in adulthood. All of them lean in, open to the page which holds their lines, and when they have finished, look up at us with a glorious victorious smile. And they see us smiling right back as we applaud.
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Each year the North Carolina Poetry Society sponsors five different contests open to students stratified by grade level, from 3rd grade through college undergraduates. Winning poems are published in the annual anthology Pinesong, and each May the Society holds Sam Ragan Awards Day at Weymouth Center for the Arts & Humanities to give these winning poems voice. The poems reprinted here are a small sampling of those read by their winning authors on May 10, 2025. Contact this site (comments@griffinpoetry.com) if you would like to purchase Pinesong, which also includes the winners of the eleven adult contests
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The Reservoir
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The sky has emptied itself, curving in cloudy
porcelain over the few dwellers, here,
trembling
and the small pieces of bare water
settle beneath.
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Beside the bridge to Highway 73
(we’ve driven by it every week this November)
a heron bends double
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with the draggled trees, ribs of logs soft with rot,
over everything the film of silk like
skin, exposed.
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The reeds
and the heron’s feathers
and what’s left of the water
flutter with the dark wind.
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The sky cannot protect them from this –
a huddling in the newly foreign crevices beneath
the upturned bowl.
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Sometimes I think that the world pours out
all that it has – all of itself – on us
and still it is not enough.
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Lillian Skolrood
9th grade, Sparrow Academy, Cornelius, NC
Third Place, Joan Scott Environment Award of NC Poetry Society
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Pat Riviere-Seel served as this year’s judge of the Sherry Pruitt Award for students in grades 10 through 12. Besides her own numerous publications and writing awards, Pat has been a forceful and relentless supporter of the literary arts for decades. She offered this challenge to these students and to all of us:
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I’m wearing several hats today, but the most important one is the one as your cheerleader. As I read the more than one hundred poems in the high school student contest, I realized just how fortunate we are in this state, in this country, to have a new generation of poets who use their poems to tell their truth, to shine a light on what is often a dark and disturbing time. Some of the poems were overtly political; others were intensely personal. All contained important truths and are necessary.
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At this time in our country when the arts are under attack, when books are being banned, and our nation’s history and culture are being perverted by a political agenda of hate, please know this: Your words matter. Your poems matter. You are not alone. For every poem that you write, know there are at least a dozen more people who will find themselves in your words-their joys, their sorrows, their fears, their hopes and dreams. You-each one of you-are the only one who can write your poems. If you do not write them, no one will. And that would be a big loss.
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The politicians and the performers will not save us. They may have political power at the moment, but words-your words-also have power. And that power-unlike political power-is lasting.
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Poetry cleanses. Poetry gives us back our soul, both individually and collectively. Keep writing. Be fearless. Do not ever let anyone censor or silence you.
– Pat Riviere-Seel
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Fly Me to the Moon
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There’s war in Ukraine, chaos in Gaza,
while I sit at the piano, looking at the keys.
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It’s just practice, nothing to worry about, but
my eyes start to burn. I think of leaving, not
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coming back. I look at the pages and look
at the teacher, ready to move on. I try
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to sight read but can’t shape my hands
fast enough, left in the notes and chords.
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The tempo is too fast, the piece once sung
by Sinatra. No tears come as I find the notes.
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In another sky, I know there are missiles,
to destroy concert halls and opera houses.
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After, I walk through a desert into the dark
abyss, shot by starlight, to a melancholy song.
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Vicky Teng
10th grade, Marvin Ridge High School, Waxhaw, NC
Third Place, Sherry Pruitt Award of the NC Poetry Society
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I Would Bleed
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I want to be a wild thing
And soar high on feathered wings
I want to scar the dirt with heavy claws
And watch a vulture feed
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I want to be untamable
And bite the hand that feeds
I want to escape this poison air
And I want to scream
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I want to be the loudest beast
And roar louder than a waterfall sings
I want to stomp and dance without rhythm
And I want to breathe
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I will be a guardian
And keep the tall grass green
I want to see the stars again
And for that I would bleed
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Sam Kawalec
10th grade, R. J. Reynolds High School, Winston-Salem, NC
Honorable Mention, Sherry Pruitt Award of the NC Poetry Society
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Pelmeni / Russian Dumpling
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It is New Year’s Eve, and I am making pelmeni and thinking only of you.
Russian dumplings, I used to watch my mother fold them; delicately and properly.
She never let me do it.
I fold the flour into the dough, and it swirls in a cloud, landing on my shirt.
I am nineteen, but with this powdered coating, I am seven, and ten, and twelve again.
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How do I love you?
I never learned it. It was not something I could watch my mother do.
I did not watch her and know how to touch. How to hold your hand, to grab you and say
I love I love you I love you; can you feel it?
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I blunder through, an attempt to be gentle, but I am butchering it.
The meat is falling out of the dough, red against white. Flesh-like.
Is this what my heart looks like to you? Exposed, Unnatural?
My mother said if I don’t pinch the corners hard enough the entire pelmen will explode.
Let me patch it back up. Let me hide it away.
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I place the finished ones onto a plate. They sit with a resoluteness that seems final.
‘Yes, here is my place on this plate.’
Oh, little dumpling, if you only knew the boiling pot that waits to greet you!
You will hiss as you enter and sink silently to the very bottom.
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I plop the dumpling in, and a droplet of boiling water flies out and lands on my arm.
I jerk it away, instinctual.
How do the pelmeni do it? Hiss, and die, and resurface?
How much bravery in one small pocket?
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I do not know how to ask for you.
I sit, pelmen-like, waiting for you to read my thoughts.
Waiting for you to understand the extent of my want.
How deep is it buried? At the very bottom of the pot?
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Masha Dixon
Sophomore, University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill, NC
Second Place, Undergraduate Award of the NC Poetry Society
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The Student Contests of the North Carolina Poetry Society open for submissions each year on November 1, with a deadline of January 31. Check HERE for guidelines and details.
Travis Tuck Jordan Award for students in Grades 3 – 5.
Endowed by Dorothy and Oscar Pederson
Joan Scott Memorial Award for poems about the environment, students in Grades 5 – 9.
Endowed by contributions in memory of Joan Scott and by the Board of the NC Poetry Society.
Mary Chilton Award for students in Grades 6 – 9.
Sponsored by Tori Reynolds
Sherry Pruitt Award for students in Grades 10 – 12
Endowed by Gail Peck
Undergraduate Award for students attending a North Carolina college or university or whose parents or guardians live in the state of North Carolina .
Endowed by the Judith C. Beale Bequest
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You are planting wonderful seeds. ---B