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Posts Tagged ‘North Carolina Poetry Society’

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[with poems from Pinesong 2024]
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Grown
 . 
– and you wonder why on good days, she is a fledgling
++++ fallen from its nest. Wrists encircled
++++ ++++ in bird bones, origami limbs
++++ awash in green. To be a body
 . 
in this world is to take comfort
++++ in arrow-straight lines. This is why girls these days
++++ ++++ exist horizontally, among
++++ tree roots thick with stories.
 . 
She tells you she would like to disappear
++++ into the silver curve of the sun. You see it
++++ ++++ in the way she sucks on her fingertips, the way
++++ the sunglow stains her eyes gold. You imagine
 . 
she would fade this way – downy wings
++++ tucked close. Watercolor irises
++++ ++++ soaking into the canvas of the sky,
++++ the smoothest of stones beneath her tongue.
 . 
In the meantime, she means to craft a crown
++++ inlaid with seeds. Gathers cracked corn,
++++ ++++ yellowing wheat. Every crippled thing
++++ she has ever loved.
 . 
You wonder if she means to break
++++ the way the sky does. Float feather
++++ ++++ into her hair like cloud cover, and let
++++ the leaves sliver her apart.
 . 
Luna Hou
Pinesong 2024 – Undergraduate Awards, Second Place
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❦ ❦ ❦
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Why does a person write?
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The mind is a puppy intent on chewing everything to tatters. The mind is a genie in a bottle, entrapped, enclosed, desperate for some way out – the granting of wishes being simply its impulse of gratitude. The mind is a ship lost on a dark sea but remembering dawn and yearning to rediscover the eastern horizon. The mind is altogether solitary and horrifyingly isolated and grasping for any connection, any at all!
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Or perhaps the mind is a whirling planetoid whose gravity and momentum are approbation and a relentless hunt for its 15 minutes of fame. No, no, that’s the answer to a different question – Why does a person share what they have written? And of a multiplicity of answers perhaps the most cynical. How about this alternative: Joy shared is joy squared (or cubed). One mind running is a hamster in a wheel, but two minds in tandem create the traction that slowly, surely sets the earth spinning.
 . 
The mind is a stone on top of a hill. Potential energy . . . plus energy of activation. The mind picks up a pen, but not until its words reach out to another mind does it begin to roll.
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❦ ❦ ❦
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Miss you. Would like to pitch a tent with you.
++++ After Gabrielle Calvocoressi
 . 
Do not care if you have money for the campsite.
Would love to pick this one up, pick up fire-
wood, while I’m at it. Set your lawn chair close
to mine. Miss you. Would like to stir a pot
of mac & cheese on the Coleman stove
like you used to when we all got so tired
of the city. Sit around the picnic table,
orange sauce oozing through white paper plates.
Would love to walk up Foscoe Creek with you,
all the way to the dam. Damn, I miss you.
Wish you would unzip your guilt body.
Would love to help yo burn it. Imagine
how light you could feel. How free your arms.
We could fling the frisbee until dark. Pop open
Pepsis, pop some corn. Would like to ask you
to leave that book on the pew. Miss you. Wish you
believed what you say – that you are truly forgiven.
Just for today, let’s turn of the tv, forget who
is President, not argue about the earth’s shape.
The breeze off the river feels holy. I’d love you
to feel it. Love to show you there’s nothing to forgive.
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Kathie Collins
Pinesong 2024 – Carol Bessent Hayman Poetry of Love Award, First Place
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❦ ❦ ❦
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Revelry
 . 
As a squirrel in the top of the highest hickory
is silently teasing a glorious strobe show
of dawn’s golden light to tickle its way down
through the leaves to the ground and a yellow-billed
cuckoo somewhere past the pasture is cooing
a so soothing, solo reverie, a fawn is navigating
so noisily through these woods, I’m certain there must be
an exasperated doe somewhere very close, having serious
doubts about motherhood . . . .
 . 
Caren Stuart
Pinesong 2024 – Katherine Kennedy McIntyre Light Verse Award, Fist Place
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❦ ❦ ❦
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Thank you, all you writers, who share what you have written! Pinesong 2024 is the annual anthology of the North Carolina Poetry Society. The book is the collected poems by winners of the Society’s contests, eleven contests for adults, four youth, one for college undergrads. Each May, winners are invited to read their poems at Weymouth Center for the Arts & Humanities in Southern Pines, NC. This has become a much anticipated celebration, showcasing the breadth of submissions and talent of the writers involved, as exhibited by today’s sampling of selections.
 . 
Contest judges are prominent poets from around the country; the Poet Laureate category and youth and undergrad contests are limited to North Carolina residents, but all other contests are open and unrestricted. The next NC Poetry Society contest entry period opens November 15, 2024.
 . 
NC Poetry Society: since 1932 supporting, promoting, and celebrating poetry. More information about membership and contests is available HERE
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❦ ❦ ❦
 . 
Welcome to Lagos, Nigeria
 . 
I walked though the jet bridge,
studier in New York’s terminal,
off my third flight in 36 hours.
The air in the airport was rich.
I was greeted by aunties, uncles,
cousins, salesmen with bracelets.
 . 
I sat in the patchy black leather seat
of my grandmother’s ‘93 4Runner
sounding like the last mile in Africa.
The stucco house was surrounded
by a 12-foot-high barbed-wire gate.
So many cousins I had never seen
 . 
all playing Ludo, the board game
like Monopoly. Aunties never seen
plucking my cheeks, telling me stories
about myself I had never heard.
All while my mother’s eldest brother
was being murdered by the terrorist
 . 
group Boko Haram while trying
to find a Christmas tree for us.
This December marks the 8th
anniversary of my absence
from Lagos, Nigeria. Little
brother, I still see you running
with me though the Christmas
tree lot and hiding in Pineville.
 . 
Kenny Ogbata
Pinesong 2024 – Sherry Pruitt Award (grades 10-12), Second Place
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❦ ❦ ❦
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Luna Hou is a rising senior at University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill NC.
 . 
Kathie Collins lives in Charlotte, North Carolina. She is a mythologist and Jungian, and co-founder & creative director of Charlotte Lit.
 . 
Caren Stuart lives in wild Chatham County, North Carolina. Her many creative endeavors are born of and bloom with joy.
 . 
Kenny Ogbata is a rising senior at Charlotte Latin School, Charlotte NC.
 . 
Chris Abbate lives in North Carolina. His latest collection is Words for Flying, FutureCycle Press (2022).
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❦ ❦ ❦
 . 
Setting You Free
++++ for Rosemary
 . 
Think of your arm
as a wing,
the shoulder a hinge
that made you fly.
When it tore, you felt
as if the surgeon had turned his anger
into it, as if he had pressed
the weight of himself
into the hurt, two screws
twisted into humerus.
 . 
During recovery, you tripped
over a throw rug
to answer an impatient doorbell,
an accident, but a new crack
to let some light in,
for another surgeon
to undo the tightness,
unscrew the anger and
make the hinge supple,
give the wing motion.
 . 
Imagine falling to rise,
ascending again
to survey the dark
hem of the Maine Coastline,
its green blanket
of pines nestled against
the chin of your house.
Imagine becoming a bird again,
as you once were,
as you always have been.
 . 
Chris Abbate
Pinesong 2024 – Jean Williams Poetry of Disability, Disease, and Healing, Honorable Mention
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❦ ❦ ❦
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[with poems from PINESONG 2023, NC Poetry Society Anthology]

 

Ghazal: Ghost Apples (Kent County, Michigan)

 

Ice-encrusted boughs from which transparent versions
of apples hang – each fragile as hand-blown glass.
+++
Their history: fruit on the cusp of rot, winter storm trundling
down a hillside, sleet coating each apple in sudden glass.
+++
Viscous fruit leaked from apertures until only icy shells
remained – December trees bearing quicksilver bulbs of glass.
+++
Imagine them a vivid red or green, like cascades of apples
even humble grocery stores offer on the far side of plate glass.
+++
If we shattered these globes, would they taste like hard cider
or the cloying sweetness of pulp, like edible versions of glass?
++++++
Soon these crystalline shells will melt to nothingness, the way
we all disappear. Beloved, step lightly upon grief’s bitter glass.
+++
Lavonne Adams
Joanna Catherine Scott Award First Place, Pinesong 2023
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❦ ❦ ❦
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Diversity often blooms at the edge. This little trail heading out from Isaac’s Trail Head on the MST is limn upon limn . . . boundary . . . transition. The wide riparian border along Grassy Creek attracts neotropical migrants for a rest stop each spring; Louisiana Waterthrush, White-Eyed Vireo, and Common Yellowthroat stay behind to breed here. The footpath parallels a pasture fenceline, and while cows with their calves stand flank-deep in meadow grass and blackberry bramble, all manner of wildflowers hug the margin of No Grazing: Blue Toadflax, Venus’s Looking Glass, Carolina Crane’s-Bill. Leaving creekside, the trail is hemmed by a moist rising woodland: Rattlesnake Fern, Sensitive Fern, Southern Lady Fern. And by the end of summer, if the farmer hasn’t sprayed, the trail edges will fill with Blue-Curl, Cardinal Flower, Goldenrod, Wingstem.
+++
Smaller fields and many interruptions make for many edges; diversity begets diversity. At one point along the trail a wide acreage of corn abuts a small hay field of mixed grasses. The corn field is solemn in its solitude; above the hay the air is filled with swallows, Bluebirds and Phoebes perch along the wire, and as we hike past we’re apt to flush an Indigo Bunting foraging.
+++
But then there are Cowbirds. For centuries they followed prairie bison herds and no doubt also the woodland bison of the Carolina piedmont. Now they follow every human disturbance, common in cow pasture but just as common on suburban lawns. Cowbirds are exclusively brood parasites, known to lay their eggs in the nests of over 220 other species. To their detriment. Kirtland’s Warbler has been pushed beyond the edge of “endangered” by Cowbird predation, and most birds do not have the ability to recognize the foreign eggs which will hatch and out-compete the rightful occupants. How to resist? Escape the edges. Reverse the fragmentation. Cowbirds will not follow into deep woods – warblers nesting deep in the forest are safe.
+++
It isn’t the Cowbird that threatens wood warblers, whip-poor-wills, vireos. It is shrinking habitat. Many species thrive at the edge. Some, though, require wide wild expanses. How much wild can we leave?
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+++
Upon which side of the boundary does poetry perch, thrive or decline? And what would it look like, that restored, invigorated poetry habitat, a definite nudge toward thriving? More fifth graders setting pen to page and seeing their lines is print, as they have in this year’s annual Pinesong anthology by the North Carolina Poetry Society? More opportunities and promptings to write – whatever one’s background, training, preferred theme, chosen form? And more readers?
+++
That’s where we come in. This morning I broke a nice sweat hiking miles along meadow and creek, through upland forest to lakeshore and back. This afternoon with feet up I’ve covered another rewarding meander through the pages of Pinesong. Student poets, grades 4 through undergrad; dozens more of adult poets, many names entirely new to me. I’ve traveled new places, I’ve encountered the unexpected and enlightening, I’ve paused long to reflect, and I’ve even laughed out loud. As Robert Frost wrote in The Pasture: “You come, too.”
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❦ ❦ ❦
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Eleven Lines In Search of the Perfect Rhyme
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Is it accidental that bereft almost rhymes with death?
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Watching geese rise in a chevron formation The New River
at Grassy Creek, flying south to warmer waters, I think of how
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sons and daughters grow up, how the nest – that like death
almost rhymes with bereft, – empties with their flight.
+++
How these words fly out of my mouth like startled birds.
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How we dream of loved ones who are dead. How we forget
what happened in the dream, what we did, what we said.
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How there are hundreds of ways to leave, not only the 50 ways
in Paul Simon’s song, and thousands of ways to grieve, bereft.
+++
How you can both the lover leaving and the lover left.
+++
Beth Copeland
Carol Bessent Hayman Poetry of Love Award Honorable Mention, Pinesong 2023
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❦ ❦ ❦
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Pinesong is the annual publication of contest winning poems by the North Carolina Poetry Society, founded in 1932. Pinesong 2023 is Number 59, edited by Sherry Pedersen-Thrasher with assistance from Joan Barasovska. This year’s volume is dedicated to David Radavich, former NCPS President and steadfast supporter of poetry and the arts.
+++
You can learn more about North Carolina Poetry Society and its contests, plus read previous years’ editions of Pinesong . . . here.
+++
If you would like to purchase Pinesong ($12, postage included) please contact NCPS Vice President of Membership Joan Barasovska: msjoan9[at]gmail[dot]com
+++
A free issue of Pinesong is available to all NCPS members in good standing who request ($2 mailing expense). Please contact Joan, as above.
+++
❦ ❦ ❦
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2020-09-08b Doughton Park Tree

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[poems by Joy Harjo, Wendell Berry, Mary Hennessy]

an offering from Debra Kaufman . . .

Remember
– Joy Harjo –

Remember the sky that you were born under,
know each of the star’s stories.
Remember the moon, know who she is.
Remember the sun’s birth at dawn, that is the
strongest point of time. Remember sundown
and the giving away to night.
Remember your birth, how your mother struggled
to give you form and breath. You are evidence of
her life, and her mother’s, and hers.
Remember your father. He is your life, also.
Remember the earth whose skin you are:
red earth, black earth, yellow earth, white earth
brown earth, we are earth.
Remember the plants, trees, animal life who all have their
tribes, their families, their histories, too. Talk to them,
listen to them. They are alive poems.
Remember the wind. Remember her voice. She knows the
origin of this universe.
Remember you are all people and all people
are you.
Remember you are this universe and this
universe is you.
Remember all is in motion, is growing, is you.
Remember language comes from this.
Remember the dance language is, that life is.
Remember.

Remember”; Copyright ©1983 by Joy Harjo from She Had Some Horses by Joy Harjo

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There is something we want to hear that poetry speaks to us. We don’t know what it is until we feel its vibrations. How could we know? Do you only see what you know you want to see and never turn around and the redbud has burst into bloom? Do you only smell what you know you want to smell and baking shortbread never wafts you into Nana’s kitchen?

Poetry wants to say to us the thing we didn’t know we wanted to hear but deep within us we do know and do desire. Remember all is in motion, is growing, is you. / Remember language comes from this. (Joy Harjo).

Several friends have offered poems that speak to them about our Earth and which offer to gather us all in together to celebrate Earth Day! I’m posting their offerings April 21, 22, and 23. What do you see? What do you hear?

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Linda French Griffin

an offering from Catherine Carter . . .

A Purification
– Wendell Berry –

At start of spring I open a trench
in the ground. I put into it
the winter’s accumulation of paper,
pages I do not want to read
again, useless words, fragments,
errors. And I put into it
the contents of the outhouse:
light of the sun, growth of the ground,
finished with one of their journeys.
To the sky, to the wind, then,
and to the faithful trees, I confess
my sins: that I have not been happy
enough, considering my good luck;
have listened to too much noise;
have been inattentive to wonders;
have lusted after praise.
And then upon the gathered refuse
of mind and body, I close the trench,
folding shut again the dark,
the deathless earth. Beneath that seal
the old escapes into the new.

A Purification” by Wendell Berry from New Collected Poems. Counterpoint © 2012

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Plantainleaf Pussytoes; Antennaria plantaginifolia; Mountains-to-Sea Trail above Brinegar Cabin

an offering by Mary Hennessy, her poem . . .

Repeat After Me:

jettison the idea of shelter.
Say it’s like a camera,
one more thing to hold between

ourselves and the world.
In hand, an invitation by library card
to leave the room of a little life.

Move out unwashed and unredeemed.
Wear a raggedy-assed back pack
like a harness.

The smell of pressed meat
from the back of the bus,
The curve at the top of the world

visible. Something you could Braille-
the almost arc of it.
You tell me that the composer Ravel repeats

every line, I say, “so do the birds.”
Sometimes they go on repeating
until I lose count.

Without looking up you say, “the world
will be gone a long time before anyone notices.”
The world will be gone a long time.

“Repeat After Me” © Mary Hennessy, first appeared in Pinesong 2018, annual anthology of the North Carolina Poetry Society

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[original artwork by Linda French Griffin (c) 2021]

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