Cleveland SOHO Media

Poetry Contest Results!

End date: November 30, 2011.

Thanks to all our participants!

1st Prize:   $200
2nd Prize:   $100
3rd Prize:   $65
4th Prize:   $40 
Thanks to All Who Voted!



"The Dock on Which the Heron Sits"       
by Jenna Nakagawa, Fresno, Calif.

The dock on which the Heron sits
Once had a brilliant frame,
Like the docks on which all sea-birds sat
(The docks were all the same).
While the Heron's eyes were always closed
He listened to the words--
Those mumbled by the ocean's prose
And only someday heard.
But the dock on which the Heron sat
Began to rot away.
As the breeze replaced their habitat
Most birds left in dismay.
So one by one the planks, they fell,
And board by board all crumbled,
But the Heron to this day won't tell...
Tell the breeze from someday's mumble.


"The Gardener"       
by Mary Hines , Campbell, Calif.

He tends his garden with precision
Avoiding all of life's decisions.
His kids are strangers by their choice,
But his beans make him rejoice.
His wife is cold without affection,
But his roses exude perfection.
He speaks to all who cross his path,
No one would ever guess his wrath
Nor know the loneliness inside.
His garden is his place to hide.


"White Knight"       
by Robyn Corum, Hartsell, Alabama

Where did you come from, my gallant white knight?
Why is it each move in this dance feels so right?
With a flurry of hoof-beats,as I turned, you were there.
Mist covered your feet. Mist circled your hair.

The wind 'bout us whistled and whispered the word 'chance,'
and though no words were spoken, my heart was entranced.
Your armor was polished and echoed a moon's beam.
How could any one man be all that you seemed?

Nay, There are dents in your suit, small wrinkles I see.
But with each imperfection you seem more real to me.
Would this be a scar, a wound once cut deep?
A painful reflection whose secret you keep?

Where did you come from my gallant white knight?
Will a distant land call you with the break of dawn's light?
But your cloak is the mist and no promises are made.
My heart may regret a price easily paid.

But, my knight... Your eyes are not covered.
They speak without sound.
Your eyes say the words
Your lips won't allow.

The night passes quickly. The time, with wings, flies.
Will your eyes speak the same when the sun starts to rise?
Where did you come from my gallant white knight?
Dance with me, dance... to break of dawn's light.


"Serial Poet"       
by Ford Zimmermann , San Anselmo, Calif.

Into the coming darkness of winter,
The rain, the cold, the stinging bitter.
Through nights that pry at the delicate soul,
The soft sagging chest that feels so old.

Forward with a prayer for days less glum,
Clutching your head so you drop the gun,
Reaching for a handle that's long sense been broke,
Feeling the pain as you run out of hope.

Your hands are so cool and your heart doesn't beat,
For once more, a poem lies dead at your feet.

Honorable mention:

by Jeff LeBlanc , Westland Michigan

"I See You"        
by Collier Rice, Dallas, Texas

"When You Danced With My Daughter"        
by Krissy Herren, Lebanon, TN

"A Poet's Sorcery"        
by Jason X., St. louis, MO

by Alexander Smith , Astoria, NY

"Etchings in the Sand"        
by Nikita Eaton-Lusignan, Montreal, Quebec

by Andre Rutkowski , Tucson, Arizona

"Storm Dance"        
by Margaret Marie Smith , Phoenix, Arizona

by Corey A.Allen, New Prague, MN

"Untitled (Caught in the Web)"        
by Nykki Yeager, Pittsburgh, Penn.

"Open Arms"        
by Scotty Ray, Glendale, Arizona

Do you enjoy trivia?
Read about Shakepeare and the task of translating
Psalm 46. (Click here)