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week of September 29 - October 5, 2003
This week presenting the winners of the
2003 (sixth annual) Poetry Super Highway Poetry Contest:
see the complete contest details here
PJ Nights
John Poch
and
Marc Awodey
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PJ Nights
tangerine_reflections@yahoo.com
Bio (auto)
P.J. Nights lives in Brunswick, Maine. She teaches physics and astronomy further inland, and is the senior poetry editor of MiPo . Her poetry appears in print in Animus, Penumbra, the 2002 Slow Trains Anthology and the textbook, Language of Prejudice.
Her works have been published on the web at Apples & Oranges, Steel Point Quarterly, The Green Tricycle, Erotica Readers & Writers Association, Slow Trains, CleanSheets, The Lightning Bell Poetry Journal, MiPo, LotusBlooms, the muse apprentice guild, Lingerings, Mind Caviar, Amoret, the Emerald Collection, Ophelia's Muse, Tasha Klein's Gallery, Hoot Island, Writer's Hood, Tryst, La Rosa Blanca, MiPo Print, and Erosha. Her poetry has been recognized by the IPBC, NPAC and the Preditors & Editors Reader's Poll . She was chosen as the Poet Laureate for the Spring '02 edition of Amoret's Emerald Collection.
She won first place in this year's contest.The following work is Copyright © 2003, and owned by P.J. Nights and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.
three parts wormwood, one part Solomon's Seal
it starts with one word
and then I find myself adding
all the accoutrements
.........to sculpt a space
................where you might appear
to chorizo, I scramble in some eggs
over a can of sterno
c'mon, john, look! my swiss army knife
has a spork and a toothpick!
.........the once-empty sleeping bag
................rises and falls with your snores
yellow needs more definition
you aren't the type to materialize
saint-like in a solar flare,
no special glasses needed
or pinholes to peep through
but rub it to butter - yes!
the burnished blonde wood
of a vintage Guild
.........and your voice curls
................in the nest of my belly
manias - addictions, obsessions
I've the pen, the perfect nib,
the blackest of India inks
with which to write yours down
on a square of paper
that I fold upon itself nine times
.........(no more creases possible
in such a shape)
to slip beneath my mattress
.........where you'll leave your mark,
................a purple bruise on my spine
invocation - incense burned
in a waning moon, my lips around
that first embryonic word
always
...............................one of yours
John Poch
john.poch@ttu.edu