Posts Tagged ‘Scott Owens’
NC Poetry Society Awards – Adults
Posted in Imagery, tagged Chapman Hood Frazier, Gregory Lobas, Hannah Ringler, Lora E. Hawkins, NC Poetry Society, NC Poets, NCPS, Pinesong, Scott Owens on May 29, 2026| Leave a Comment »
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[ a sampling of winning poems by Gregory Lobas, Hannah Ringler, Chapman Hood Frazier, Scott Owens, Lora E. Hawkins – May 16, 2026 at Weymouth Center ]
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Moon Over Gaza
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is not the moon over me.
I have had my supper,
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and now I watch a swift scissor the air,
wings shaped like lunar crescents,
one rising, one setting
as it flips on its axis
in pursuit of its evening
meal, dusk-colored plumage
bleeding into a southern summer night.
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Half a world away, my son
distributes food in a land
that is hard to love,
among people who do not love him,
a land where locusts no longer
swarm in a biblical effusion of life,
but flies amass through a prodigy
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of death, and survivors teem
over palettes of aid boxes
driven to the edge of insect-
frenzy, children gleaning
lentils spilled into the dirt
like lots cast to see
who lives and who dies.
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Soldiers of another stripe
fire machine guns
into the pre-dawn sky,
echoing across the landscape
like a call to prayer. A reminder
of the governance of the absolute.
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Buildings bleed
into rubble. Rubble bleeds
into dust. Dust into hunger.
Hunger into gall clinging
to the back of the throat,
the body’s taste of sorrow.
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And, above it all, the moon hangs
like one severed wing of a swift.
My son (I imagine him facing homeward)
would see it set into the barren hillocks
that lie humped beyond his camp
like so many sheet-covered bodies,
while I face east to watch it rise
over a grassy meadow alive
with the scratch of katydids,
the tilted crescent bleeding
its pale light over all the earth
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Gregory Lobas
Poet Laureate Award
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✾ ✾
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Gregory Lobas’ book, Left of Center, won the 2022 Dogfish Head Poetry Prize. A 2026 Best of the Net nominee, his work can be found in New Ohio Review, Tar River Poetry, Cimarron Review, Vox Populi, Susurrus, and many other journals.
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tents hawking fireworks
these missiles, at least, only sound
and weeping stars
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Hannah Ringler
Bloodroot Haiku Award; Honorable Mention
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Hannah Ringler is a poet, gardener, freelance editor, and preschool mom living in Durham, North Carolina. She composes poetry at red lights and standing at the kitchen sink. By night, she is the State Coordinator for the Poetry in Plain Sight Program of the North Carolina Poetry Society.
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Our 50th Solstice
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Our wedding rings two spirals in opposite directions.
Each defining the other, each apart together.
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I first followed you through the back field, your hair golden
as broom straw in sunlight beneath a cloudless southside sky.
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Even then I knew it was you I had to live with. Love at first sight
I had always thought a stupid myth I now had come to believe in.
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On our first Thanksgiving, you crossed the Appalachians with your sister
to my apartment where we were first alone together.
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The scent of heliotrope left on the pillow and sandalwood
on the braided leather bracelets we exchanged.
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I followed the roadmap of your body from the green undulating waves
of the Outer Banks to the narrow cobblestone back streets of Rome.
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Each child’s birth a seeded light of our ancestors, growing through us like
winter ivy or an ocean wave rising towards some inevitable shore.
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I massaged your back in the dim-lit hospital room as you birthed our son
and steadied you as our daughter slipped into this world.
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A slow learner, now after 50 years, I’ve finally realized that love is a seed of
mitochondrial light, something I carry from those who’ve come
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before. It shines through this oculus of our lives, a commitment
that opens time’s spiral until a death parts us. This is the heart of solstice
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beyond the known into the unknown. The time after as before
when we may find each other again in an afterlife not of our making.
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Chapman Hood Frazier
Carol Bessent Hayman Poetry of Love; First Place
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✾ ✾
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Chapman Hood Frazier’s The Lost Books of the Bestiary was published in 2023. His work has appeared in The Virginia Quarterly Review, The Southern Poetry Review, The South Carolina Review and other publications. Currently a Professor Emeritus from James Madison University, he lives in Rice, Virginia.
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Churchyard Playground, Cokesbury SC
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Beneath the trees the children play
surrounded by the swirl of leaves.
They waste another careless day
spending time doing as they please,
unafraid what things may fall away.
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Please do not scold, please nothing say
of the loss that we feel today.
Such knowledge will fill no need
for those beneath the trees.
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Leave them to it! Let them play!
Give them peace at least another day.
They do not need to know that though their days
go slow, they go. Don’t make them see
that days will come when they will be
still beneath the trees.
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Scott Owens
Charles Edward Eaton Award, Sonnet or Traditional Form; Honorable Mention
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✾ ✾
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Poet Laureate of Hickory, North Carolina, Scott Owens is author of twenty-four poetry collections, recipient of awards from the Academy of American Poets and the Pushcart Prize Anthology, among others. He is Professor of Poetry at Lenoir Rhyne University, owns and operates Taste Full Beans Coffeehouse, and coordinates Poetry Hickory.
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The Second Law of Thermodynamics
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In 11th grade
I am told
by Austin Roberts,
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that according to physics,
there is no concept
of cold,
simply an
absence
of heat.
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1,500 miles,
two decades,
and several
heartsmashings later,
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my hand finds its way
under the covers to the small
of my husband’s bare back.
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Oh, it’s cold
he says
scootching away.
Not cold,
I think, as an echo
of a half-remembered
thought.
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My hands
just lack
the heat of you.
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Lora E. Hawkins
In Defense of Science Award; Second Place
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✾ ✾
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Lora Hawkins is an assistant professor at Appalachian State. Most recently, her work has appeared in English Journal, Anthology of Kansas City Writers, In the Black and in the Red, Pinesong, Poets for Peace, and The Nature of Our Times. She holds credentials from Columbia, Brown, and Warren Wilson College.
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All selections are from PINESONG 2026, Volume 62, the annual anthology of the North Carolina Poetry Society. © 2026 NCPS.
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The North Carolina Poetry Society is an inclusive, expansive community of writers, readers, teachers, and friends that spans the state’s 100 counties and extends throughout the United States. Its mission is to support, promote, and celebrate poetry. Thank you to the entire Board of NCPS – it takes all of you to bring these contests, gatherings, and publications into being. Special thanks to Sherry Thrasher, Pinesong Editor and Adult Contest Coordinator; Kim Lane, Student Contest Coordinator; Kevin Watson and Press 53, interior layout and cover design for Pinesong as well as sponsor of the Poet Laureate Contest; Kashiana Singh, NCPS President and behind-the-scenes magic elf who makes sure warp and weft are woven into beauty; Chad Knuth, program planner; and all the proof readers, copy editors, book schleppers, goody providers (I’m looking at you, Joan) and enthusiastic supporters of Awards Day each May.
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The North Carolina Poetry Society conducts twelve contest for adults each year. The submission period opens on December 1, with a deadline of February 1. Winners are invited to attend and read their poem at Sam Ragan Awards Day at Weymouth Center for the Arts and Humanities (Southern Pines) each May. Check HERE for contest guidelines and details.
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Winning poems are published in the anthology Pinesong. If you would like to purchase a copy ($10), or if you are a NCPS member and would like to request your complimentary copy, please contact Membership Vice President Joan Barasovska: msjoan9@gmail.com.
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The NCPS Adult Contests are:
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Poet Laureate Award
Sponsored by Press 53; Final Judge: NC Poet Laureate Jaki Shelton Green. Open to poets currently residing in North Carolina.
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Alice Osborn Award
Sponsored by Alice Osborn; Poems in any form, any style, written by adults for children 2 to 12 years of age.
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Carol Bessent Hayman Poetry of Love Award
Endowed by David Manning; Any form, any style, on the theme of love.
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Katherine Kennedy McIntyre Light Verse Award
Sponsored by Kashiana Singh; Light verse in any form, any style, including limericks
Mary Ruffin Poole American Heritage Award
Endowed by Pepper Worthington; Any form, any style, on the theme of American heritage, sibling-hood, or nature.
Poetry of Courage Award
Endowed by Ann Campanella; Any form, any style, on the theme of courage or crisis
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Bruce Lader Poetry of Witness Award
Sponsored by Doug Stuber; Any form, any style, addressing contemporary events or issues
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Jean Williams Poetry of Disability, Disease, and Healing Award
Endowed by Priscilla Webster-Williams; Any form, any style, on the theme of disability, disease, and healing.
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Bloodroot Haiku Award
Sponsored by Bill Griffin; Contemporary English language haiku (untitled).
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Charles Edward Eaton Award
Endowed by an anonymous friend of Charles Edward Eaton; Sonnet or other traditional form, maximum of 50 lines.
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Robert Golden Award
Endowed by Nexus Poets and Linda Golden; Any form, any style.
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In Defense of Science Poetry Award
Sponsored by Garrett Sharpe; Any form or style that engages with scientific ideas across all disciplines—climatology, oceanography, microbiology, chemistry, physics, astronomy, biology, and beyond.
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Thank you for visiting Verse and Image:
. . . . . every Friday I present one or two poems I’ve read this week that particularly speak to me;
. . . . . some Saturdays I present one or two poems submitted by YOU, my readers.
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If you would like to offer a poem for consideration, either by a favorite author or your own work, please view these GUIDELINES for Saturday Readers Share:
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If you would like to receive an email each time a post appears, please SUBSCRIBE to Verse and Image using the button on the Home Page.
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COMMENTS@GRIFFINPOETRY.COM
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Thanks again for joining the conversation.
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– Bill
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Poetry and Earth – Night
Posted in Ecopoetry, Imagery, tagged Clint Bowman, Earth Day 2026, Ecopoetry, Jenny Bates, Mary Oliver, Michael Hettich, nature photography, nature poetry, poetry, Scott Owens, Southern writing on April 20, 2026| Leave a Comment »
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[ poems by Mary Oliver, Scott Owens, Clint Bowman,
Jenny Bates, Michael Hettich ]
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from Little Alleluias
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This is the poem of goodbye.
And this is the poem of don’t know.
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My hands touch the lilies
then withdraw;
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my hands touch the blue iris
then withdraw;
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and I say, not easily but carefully-
the words round in the mouth, crisp on the tongue-
…
dirt, mud, stars, water-
I know you as if you were myself.
How could I be afraid?
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Mary Oliver
selected by Scott Owens
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Commenting on anything written by Mary Oliver seems presumptuous and superfluous. How could anything I could imagine saying make what she writes clearer? Here, and in poems like, “Wild Geese,” and “The Summer Day,” Oliver seems to reach beyond my consciousness and grab hold of what resides even deeper and then say it in a way that I could never say as clearly, precisely, exactly. “as if you were myself. / How could I be afraid?”
— Scott
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Night in the Forest
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You hear every twig snap,
every leaf flutter, every
strange unknowable animal sound.
Looking, your eyes widen,
find bits of light to hold onto,
see shadows grow from shadows
separate in slightest breath of wind.
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You smell animal musk,
taste it in the air,
feel the hair on your arms,
the back of your neck, rise
as you’re certain something
comes closer. Every sense
is filled to overflowing.
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And yet, amidst the unease,
the urge to panic,
there is also in moments of stillness
a calm, a sense of peace,
of no obligation, no schedule to attend,
you only ever feel here
in the still, in the quiet, in the dark.
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Scott Owens
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I started this poem more than 20 years ago when I went camping a lot, usually alone. I was teaching middle school at the time, and when I left the house Friday mornings I would throw my backpack, camping pad, sleeping bag, lighter, flashlight, sawback knife, and a change of clothes into the back of my car. And when school let out, I headed to the mountains and hiked at least 3 miles into the woods before setting up “camp.” It could be scary out there alone, but it was also the closest thing to serenity I had ever felt. The duality of the experience is what kept me doing it again and again, so of course I tried to write about it. I was never satisfied with the end of the poem until 2 decades later when I used 3 consecutive prepositional phrases as the conclusion of a poem about burial, and intuitively this old, unfinished poem sprang back into my consciousness because I somehow knew that was how I wanted to conclude this one too. Fortunately, I’m very stubborn about throwing attempted poems away, and although it took me a while to find the last failed draft, I eventually did.
— Scott
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✿
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Unleashed
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Lately, it’s like I can feel myself aging.
I arrive home and immediately
look for my slippers, slip on a sweater,
put my feet up, close my eyes.
I remember once in the last year
of his life I took my old dog Huck
for a walk in the park. After rain.
The soccer fields were flooded, glistening
with sunlight in shallow pools of water,
and the robins had gathered in huge flocks
to take advantage of rain worms coming up
everywhere. I let Huck off the leash
and for a moment memories of youth
flashed in his eyes once again and he ran
all over chasing the birds up first
in one spot and then in another.
He carried on for longer
than I had seen him run in years.
I hope somehow I know
when I am close to death
and I, too, can have
a last moment of memory like that.
Maybe climb a tree to the top,
round the bases at a ball field,
walk out with no destination
in mind, no concept of how far
I might go before turning back.
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Scott Owens
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Time in nature and time with poetry often achieve the same effects for me: renewal, catharsis, perspective, clarity. I tell my students the most important habit in writing, maybe in life, is paying attention. I teach them how to make it a habit: schedule it 7 days in a row; commit to it; follow through. If at the end of those 7 days you’re not consciously noticing more things. Do it another 7 days. Then I give them a few more pointed assignments to help broaden the habit. I tell them ask yourself every day, What am I doing right now? Write down your answer and everything else it makes you think of. I get a never-ending stream of poems beginning with interesting participial phrases. Lastly, I tell them pay attention to the stories you tell people, especially the ones you tell over and over again. If you want to tell the story, especially if you want to continue telling it, then clearly there is something interesting about it. Why haven’t you written it down yet? I usually try to listen to my own lessons, and one story I’ve told over and over is the story of Huck, at 15, chasing the robins. It always felt like such a poignant moment for me, but I only thought to write it down recently when a co-worker told me a story they had already told me before about how they feel “older,” and at the same time I was putting the finishing touches on a manuscript about aging.
— Scott
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❀ ✿ ✾ ❁
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Threads
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Sometimes
I want to go back
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to where the deer
don’t run in my presence,
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and the frogs keep singing
as I stomp through the creek.
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Back to where
closets are full
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of shotguns-
locked and loaded,
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and the old gas station
is run by a woman
who calls me baby
and takes the tax
off my bottles.
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Where farmers
offer me cigarettes,
and even though
I don’t smoke,
I entertain the idea
over ramblings
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about local roads
that stitch together
our kin —
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threads so tightly knit,
all the heat stays in.
so those frogs
can’t stop singing,
and the deer have learned —
there’s nowhere to run.
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Clint Bowman
from If Lost (Loblolly Press, Asheville, NC) 2024
selected by Jenny Bates
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I have chosen to send the poem “Threads” by Black Mountain poet Clint Bowman not only because he is my friend but because he embodies in his words the simplest of truths as it can be towards the natural world. There is no teasing or fakery in his poetry and he is as honest as a walk in the woods with all its variance and subtle candor.
My own poem “Artifice Thoughts” is more whimsical but true!
— Jenny
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Artifice thoughts as I look out the window
see a Deer casually strolling by and I read
it my favorite childhood book
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I think we envy animals of the wild
what do you say?
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living by the dark of night the light
of day
pressing into the earth or winging above
they truly know how it works, my love
distilling every moment of time not by
clock or watch or phone line
but by the sky and trees and hollows
surrounding them, their home
they don’t seize up with rain or snow
an occasional sound is how they drop
in to dreams of warm days, cold nights
when swirling stars come out
you can hear them whispering as they
touch the ground
don’t close the gate, our entry point
only wait till the Moon is full.
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Jenny Bates
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Thank you for this opportunity Bill to help celebrate and educate on Earth Day 2026. – J
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Something Else
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Suppose, one spring, the birds decided
not to fly north, and the animals
sleeping in the woods decided this year
they’d rather not wake, and turned over instead
for another dream.
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Imagine one summer the butterflies decided
to stay in their cocoons, or the caterpillars forgot
to wrap themselves up inside themselves
and simply gorged themselves instead
until their season passed. One day the tide forgot to rise.
This is only one way of speaking for the world.
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Suppose the spiders stopped weaving, mosquitoes
forgot how to suck our blood, bees
decided not to pollinate flowers.
Suppose the sea turtles never returned
to the beaches that bore them, to lay their moon-drawn eggs.
Or suppose for a moment the rivers held still
and the leaping salmon held still in mid-air.
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Imagine fire stopped burning things to ash
although it still burned. It was no longer hot.
Of course that couldn’t happen. So think of something else.
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Michael Hettich
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from The Halo of Bees: New and Selected Poems, 1990-2022; Press 53, Winston-Salem NC (2023)
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“Something Else” was first published in my 2010 book titled Like Happiness, and though sixteen years have passed since then, it seems to me, looking at the poem now, that the concerns that brought me to write the piece are, if anything, more urgent now than they were then. In asking us to imagine non-human animals and rhythms of nature deciding not to participate in the eternal rhythms of life—a kind of ultimate end-world scenario precipitated in response to human-wrought degradation—the poem (I hope) challenges our complacency. The two italicized lines attempt to articulate a perhaps extreme version of the kind of thinking we all do to deny our complicity. And I think the final line also intends a double reading: we can “think of something else” as a form of denial, or we can do so as a way of imagining a different sort of future.
— Michael
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Let us probe the silent places. Let us seek what luck betides us. There’s a whisper on the night-wind, there’s a star agleam too. And the Wild is calling, calling – let us go.
— Robert Service, Call of the Wild
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We lose our souls if we lose the experience of the forest, the butterflies, the song of the birds, if we can’t see the stars at night.
— Thomas Berry
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Thank you for celebrating the month of April with International Earth Day (April 22) and National Poetry Month. And thank you, Readers, who have shared poems that connect us to our planet and each other. We will continue posting EARTH POETRY throughout the month of April – and beyond April as well, of course, since EVERY DAY is EARTH DAY!
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Thank you for visiting Verse and Image: If you would like to receive an email each time a post appears, please SUBSCRIBE to Verse and Image using the button on the Home Page.
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If you have a hard time finding the SUBSCRIBE button on this WordPress site, you can send me your email address and I will add you to the subscriber list. Send your request to
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COMMENTS@GRIFFINPOETRY.COM
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Thanks again for joining the conversation.
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And thank you again and forever, Mike Barnett, for filling the cool deep well of nature quotations which will never ever run dry.
— Bill
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Why Sing – Scott Owens
Posted in poetry, tagged imagery, nature photography, NC Poets, poetry, Redhawk Publications, Scott Owens, Southern writing, The Song Is Why We Sing on March 27, 2026| 2 Comments »
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[ with 3 poems by Scott Owens ]
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Now and Then
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The mountains came down to Hickory today.
It happens now and then.
Clouds low, mist hanging between the trees,
a coolness that makes everything feel
less urgent, more contemplative.
I saw a boy on a hillside, sitting,
back leaning against a tree,
not minding the fine mist
against his skin at all.
I imagine he was writing.
I imagine it was a poem
about the mountains coming down to Hickory.
I imagine he was me.
It happens now and then.
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Scott Owens
from The Song Is Why We Sing, Redhawk Publications, The Catawba Valley Community College Press; Hickory NC © 2026
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Existential Knot
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I picked up a knot from the ground today,
not an important knot,
not of significant size,
not of any significance really,
at least not initially,
but then I realized if not for the knot
I likely would not have noticed it at all.
In fact, the knot would have just been
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a string, not of any special size,
not of any noticeable color,
not anything special about it at all,
but the fact that it was tied into a knot
made it not exactly like every other
unknotted expanse I’d seen.
Of course, I thought about unknotting the knot
but ultimately decided not to,
as the knottiness was exactly what made it
exactly what it was and continues to be,
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a knot not like any other,
insured by its knottiness
not be left unnoticed.
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Scott Owens
from The Song Is Why We Sing, Redhawk Publications, The Catawba Valley Community College Press; Hickory NC © 2026
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Ten. You, after all,
are half the poet, and in all
likelihood, the better half.
from 13 Ways of Reading a Poem
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Reading a poem is like turning over a mossy log. As you approach, you appreciate the appealing form of the log without even thinking about it. Its green cushion, so inviting, perhaps a scent of fresh pungent life. But when you turn the log over, who knows? I am personally a fan of grubs and larvae, flabbergasted ants grabbing their white nits and sprinting in all directions, an oozy slug or two. Double bonus if there’s a salamander.
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But beneath some logs there’s just not much. A few bark fibers lingering in their immediate pre-humus status. A tired worm casting. Dirt. If that’s all there is beneath the mossy log of the poem, I’m done. Maybe I’ll go turn over that rock over yonder instead. I, the reader, need something to discover when I get down on hands and knees and shift the poem. I have to do the work of coming closer, of noticing, and the poem has to do its work of sharing.
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Scott Owens’s newest collection of poems, The Song Is Why We Sing, is about poetry. Writing poetry, to be certain, but even more this book is about reading poetry. And maybe most of all so many of these poems are about the partnership, let’s even call it companionship, between writer and reader. The lines and stanzas break down the fourth wall. I as reader become part of the process, part of the poem. Perhaps in reading no other book of verse have I been so intimately invited into the mind and life of the writer. Scott’s offer is sincere – here I can be half the poet.
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Scott’s poems are existential knots that freely allow themselves to be untied. They offer up their essence like a flower offers nectar, hidden but discernable, just follow your nose, and always keeping the promise of a sweet droplet on the tongue. I first encountered the term “quiddity” in a philosophy book but I know I first read the word “dailyness” in a poem, and so are these poems, filled with essence and substance. Here is the world with its warts and its wonderfulness. Scott takes seriously his poet’s calling of showing you what you already know in a way you’ve never seen. That mossy log, what lies beneath? I am dying to turn it over. And throughout these pages I know I will find what this poet is determined to show me, because as he says, You have to care / enough about the world / and all who live in it / to take the time / to not just find the words / but also get them right.
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Chores
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fr. Latin, chorus, those who do the work, who carry the play forward
(titles from Poetry in Plain Sight selections July 2025)
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I rise from my knees, not from prayer,
not from planting autumn blooming crocuses,
but from fixing a table bending beneath
the weight of too many ovens. Still,
any rising is a good thing.
In the heat of early July in the South
I head out to make my monthly delivery
of poems. One called “Tomato Sandwich,”
transforming the taste of summer to art,
for the front window of my coffee shop.
One called “Hum,” for the community theater,
about a boy remembering the sound
of his father blowing on his face to cool him
off in a Louisiana Church on Sundays.
Another called “Wild Women,” for the wine shop,
about girls who were told they couldn’t be cowboys,
who hitched up their chaps and spat on the ground.
And one for the library, called “Song
to a Little Tree under the Eve of Terminal 2
at Raleigh Durham International Airport,”
just about a tree in an unlikely place
refusing not to grow.
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Scott Owens
from The Song Is Why We Sing, Redhawk Publications, The Catawba Valley Community College Press; Hickory NC © 2026
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Scott Owens teaches at Lenoir Rhyne University, coordinates the Poetry Hickory program, and promotes poets and poetry year round at his coffee shop and gallery, Taste Full Beans. The Song Is Why We Sing is Scott’s twenty-sixth volume of poetry. Among his many honors and awards are two nominations for the National Book Critics Circle Award and appointment as Hickory, NC, Poet Laureate. Scott’s most recent books are available from Redhawk Publications.
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Sample additional poetry by Scott Owens at Verse and Image:
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Perhaps you’d like to turn over a mossy log (metaphorically speaking)? Walk along Elkin Creek and discover Foamflower in bloom (for real beginning early April)? Watch a Blue Head Chub build its spawning nest in the creek? Breathe deep? Join me and other curious comrades on one of this spring’s naturalist walks, a program of Elkin Valley Trails Association. Upcoming dates are March 28, April 11, April 25. Details and registration (free!) here:
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Thank you for visiting Verse and Image:
. . . . . every Friday I present one or two poems I’ve read this week that particularly speak to me;
. . . . . every Saturday I present one or two poems submitted by YOU, my readers.
.
If you would like to offer a poem for consideration, either by a favorite author or your own work, please view these GUIDELINES for Saturday Readers Share:
.
. .
If you would like to receive an email each time a post appears, please SUBSCRIBE to Verse and Image using the button on the Home Page.
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If you have a hard time finding the SUBSCRIBE button on this WordPress site, you can send me your email address and I will add you to the subscriber list. Send your request to
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COMMENTS@GRIFFINPOETRY.COM
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Thanks again for joining the conversation.
.
– Bill
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