The theme for Issue #16 is: Homelands. Artworks featured in this issue will be those of the Group of Seven, once known as the Algonquin School, a group of Canadian landscape painters from 1920 to 1933.
The deadline is March 31st, 2024. A single $100 award will be given for an outstanding poem. There is never a reading fee. An interview with the prize winner will be published in the same issue (optional).
Poems can be any style, but preferably non-rhyming. Submit up to three poems, each no longer than 64 lines, to laststanza@outlook.com as a single Word document or within the body of your email. There is no budget for author copies. Published poems will be considered for a Pushcart Prize nomination. Authors retain all rights to their poems. Reprints are rarely accepted, and if the poem has been previously published, please credit the prior publication.
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Backling
ReplyDeleteIn my sleep I heard someone reckoning, and had thought it was a goldsmiths' panging,,but it turned out to be a man raising up a shield, looking restless ready for a war with me.But how could it be when only me, when it would be when everyone would be out? It must be a fight to win,but then suddenly I woke up from the strange resonance being. It was on a very late afternoon, when everyone was out, I heard the door bell ring and felt someone may be at the door.
Dizzily I got up from bed to check who was at the door,but when I checked there was no one and the bell went on repeatedly.
"Who would win; who would win!"went on the memory of the dream,the ring bell kept ringing, my blood got chilled,my eye brows wrinkled up.
What had he had, the window sill, as I stared, the ticking clock? they all looked calm, working ,like one had whispered," What would I be waking up to compel their hearts pieces?" Could it be that I have broken someone's heart? Can I wake a roughly spoon and make him a thousand Knight's!.,He had just being one like me, much the longest piece ,when I was asleep. Had he any thought I thought,however, all things may have some aid holden for us when they whorl, when they scream, how so often?
I rode to my pillow what it seems, and hold the record of the best man close to him.He probably will not scream or cry when I win,he would seem so happy at ease.
What had he want the window sills! the ticking clock? They all looked calm, like one had whispered," What would I be waking up to compel our hearts pieces?" Could it have been buried lakes! Can I wake a roughly folk or hold a fork ,make him a thousand Knight's?
He had just being one like me, much the longest piece ,when everyone seemed away..I had thought it was a witch.
He wouldn't swipe on the phone although the bell rang on and on until the batteries were properly fixed.She had seemed an acrobatic and I have heard her once retain a stunning silence (sense)pleasing.
What best things had he done,when she had her strength ? She wouldn't say she was ill. She will have a clarity to say, every thing that frightens pleads that they may be fixed when we hadn't been so quick.
Eboh Solomon Ogbonnaya
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