Announcing the Winners of the TIWD Poetry Contest
Meet the prize-winning poets and read their award-winning poems
The moment has come. I’m thrilled to announce the winners of my First Ever Things I Wrote Down Poetry Contest.
Thanks to everyone who submitted work and who took up the challenge to write a poem around the theme of Building Up. You’ve made this experience a joy and a success!
I received poems from around the world from writers of all sorts.
There were rhyming poems, sonnets, and much free verse. The poems were judged blind by a panel of successful, working artists (read my interviews with the judges here). The top three poems receive a cash prize.1
Here are the three prize-winning poems and two honourable mentions:
Prize-winning poems
The Bear by Sam Dean — First Prize
Mimosa Pudica by Dabney Baldridge — Second Prize
Where Time Unravels by Veronica Sorgi — Third Prize
Honourable Mentions
God Bless the Bottom Feeders by Melanie Cole
Suppose by Karina Herbel
First Prize - The Bear by Sam Dean
The Bear I can't remember why, but when you were a child we called you bear. I cradled the sleeping cub of you through the night after your birth and then scribbled a few lines, most of which are long since lost, like so many things I meant to give you: There are no scars on your perfect skin. Nothing to forgive or have forgiven. This morning, I lace my shoes while the dogs wait by the back door, earnest as a bowl of water on the floor, and you are denned a just little while longer behind your 16-year-old door. We lope along the back roads and the cool creek, where you toddled with your mother to escape the heat, past the elementary where there is still much laughter. At Read Mountain we take the trail where you and I have walked so many times. The sky colors and I marvel, since all could be otherwise. Much should have been, I know. This is just to say I stumble on yet another gift: a young bear nosing his way up the trail. Oh, how the dogs howl as he crashes through the rhododendron across the hollow beyond reach, leaving us only a furtive glance as he cuts a path over the ridge. If I see him again, I hope it’s with you. I wonder what scars he will carry. I hope seasons will be kind, that he is fat with grubs and stuffed with Morels and blueberries, and I pray he will always find the coolest water in the creek.
About Sam Dean
Sam Dean is a former photojournalist and current director of commercial film and photography projects for the tourism sector. An avid reader of poetry, he occasionally writes down some thoughts that arrive typically during a trail run or on a hike with his dogs. He lives in Roanoke, Virginia, just off the Blue Ridge Parkway with his wife, teenage son, a couple of dogs and cats.
Learn more about his photography here.
Second Prize - Mimosa Pudica by Dabney Baldridge
Mimosa Pudica I stumbled upon you among the weeds And thought that you looked a lot like me, Leaves slowly folding at the slightest touch. Surrounded by tropical flora so lush— Birds of paradise, ohia lehua, Giant hibiscus, sweet plumeria, Leaves of monstera, ti, and alocasia— It doesn’t take much to make you feel Like you are not enough. Mimosa pudica, you make yourself small, So low, not wanting to be there at all. I know how you feel, melting to the floor Wishing to not be, anymore. Sometimes I think that I am nothing too And shrink myself down just like you do, But when I brushed against your little leaves And they moved like magic, you slowly Rekindled joy inside of me. You showed me that we are not too much And are more than enough, small yet mighty, Full of life, spreading wonder with one brush— Moving souls. Thank you for reminding me That we are all worthy to be seen.
About Dabney Baldridge
Dabney Baldridge is a busy mom of three young boys who writes in the middle of life’s messiness to create beauty out of chaos. She has considered herself a writer ever since she could form words and loves finding meaning in the mundane. Dabney majored in English at Grove City College and has published poems with Z Publishing House, Calla Press, Heart of Flesh, and Solid Food Press. She also has a forthcoming short story being published by Dandelion Revolution Press. You can find her sharing a weekly poem on her Substack @dabneywrites.
Third Prize — Where Time Unravels by Veronica Sorgi
I sit beside your hospital bed, waiting for a cosmic sign. Dread, my only company, a specter with your full-moon eyes. He towers over buildings, like shadowed cathedrals, a hoarder of the secrets guarded by skies above. I braid tendrils and flowers into the web of his teachings— four-leaf clover, mystical lover, murmuring spells like a witchling in the dark. Still, I sit, in tender agony, the limbo where apathy and lost hopes congregate. Your mirage aches like a splintered bone, a barrage of memory and conjured stones in the still space of early grief. If only I could unravel the coiled fibers of Time— cinder to ember, road to gravel— I would wrap weathered hands in a blanket of undying stars and whisper through the onyx rift: “Life is an unrivaled gift, Love endures through thick and thin. Pain floods and ebbs like sea-bound tides, Deathless as the ocean’s hymn.” And though he stands at the door, lingering, patient as the shore, beacons trickle down the wooden frame, bathing the room in daybreak gold. So I weave lush gardens from clay and vow to your moonlit visage, afloat with doves in drifting white, to lift you higher than spires, mightier than jeweled streams, and light the shadowed corners with vibrant fires. I sit in the wake of the steady flow, and let the haunts fall into quiet, my heart caught in my sore throat.
About Veronica Sorgi
Veronica Sorgi is a writer and poet based in Brazil. Writing has been her lifelong outlet, a way to process emotion and explore the world through language. From notebooks filled with early drafts to collections of songs, stories, and poems, her creative journey has taken many forms. Poetry, however, remains her deepest passion and most resonant form of expression. Follow her on Medium.
Honourable Mentions
God Bless The Bottom Feeders by Melanie Cole
Someone told me that eating bottom feeders is a sin But I grew up with the Holy Trinity– onions, green bell peppers, and celery Our church wasn’t through those doors but in the kitchen Hot sweat rolling down our necks like holy water, “Praise be!” Someone told me that eating bottom feeders is a sin But they ain’t never met a shrimpin’ man and the boat that provides for his kin Or a workin’ noodler, sticking his hands into muddy holes Hoping to God that a snake doesn’t bite back, singin’ “Praise be!” Someone told me that eating bottom feeders is a sin But I take it very seriously when I stir the crawfish in their giant pot Knowing I’m cooking them just right, so their meat is juicy and tender And that pot is used in the family for years and years, ”Praise be!” Someone told me that eating bottom feeders is a sin So I went to the church and I asked the priest and he pointed to the Bible And He said, “I’ll tell you a secret.” He said, “Baby! We all bottom feeders.” “We wrap ourselves around each other like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle and we make love and oh Lord do we pray and do we sing! Praise be!”
About Melanie Cole
Melanie Cole is a poet and writer from Tacoma, Washington, in the Pacific Northwest. Her writing focuses on place, resilience, the natural world, and unusual storytelling. She has been published in Grit City Magazine, the Tacoma News Tribune, and on The Mighty. Melanie runs her own literary journal called The Faoileánach Journal. You can find her at www.melaniewrites.com or melanieannecole.substack.com.
Suppose by Karina Herbel
Suppose …encourage one another and build each other up … -1 Thess. 5:11 Suppose a house upon a hill Has stood through many a storm. Suppose its clapboards are battered Its shutters crooked and worn. The yard is littered with shingles, The chimney missing a brick. You can't even see one window is cracked The dust on the glass is so thick. And suppose the One who built that shack Has sent you just this way With hammer, nails, shingles, bricks To be His hands today. To straighten a shutter Paint a door Fit a brick in place. Gather up shingles Sweep the floor And be His means of grace. If encouragement was a hammer Kind words a nail or two, Could you say “no” to such as He Who gave His life for you?
About Karina Herbel
Karina Herbel is daughter to parents who led her to her Savior, sister to her nine best friends, and aunt to a growing number of nieces and nephews. She thinks way more than she speaks, and those thoughts most often find expression on the written page. She tries to capture a portion of her Creator's beauty through every form of art she can, while enjoying His love and the relationships and adventures He sends along the way. Her desire is to ignite a passion in others to pursue Him for themselves through the skill He’s given her fingers. Follow her on Substack.
First place - $300; Second place - $200; Third place - $100. The prize money isn’t huge, but it is both Petra and my humble way to invest into others' creativity. Contests have opened doors for me, and served as important catalysts for creativity. Our hope is that this investment of resources and platform will inspire and encourage others in their creative journeys.
Congrats to all! Fine work. :)
What beautiful poems. I loved them all.