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2025 Poetry

FIRST PRIZE

On Hope                 by Theresa Coty O'Neil

This is the same planet on which I took

my first steps on Lilac Street and was knocked

flat by a neighbor's big lab who lumbered

over to say hello. His name was Bear.

How could he know I was new to walking?

Today when I'm leaving the house to walk

our dog, I feel a brace in my knees

and to steady, glance down: snow-laden

crocuses, tulip leaves, those brave spears,

and dwarf irises bending their heads

like congregants awaiting a blessing. i am

the priestess  who bleses as I'm blessed.

​This is the same planet on which I fell

flat on my back after tricks on the swing,

looked to the clouds for some answering,

and there, a butterfly in wing clap showed

I could get up again, though the breath 

had left my lungs and I felt pinned

to the earth like an insect to Styrofoam,

an exhibit for whomever passed by.

But no one did. Sometimes we are alone

in our suffering but the earth says I will

hold you till you catch your breath, till

you rise, till you clap your wings again.

​This is the same planet on which I buried

a child, just two days old, in a cemetary

called Hope. The message was not lost

on me. For a year, his spirit visited me:

a startled bat on the mantle, a hairles

squirrel on the windowsill, a fawn

lost in the yard without his mother. All

I could think is how we would be 

reunited again, even if it meant

in death. Burial made me think differently

about the way the earth reclaims us,

in all our fledgling guilt, in all our innocence.

ARTISTS and POETS were invited

to submit work on the theme:     

                  "One Planet"  

SECOND PRIZE

A Villanelle for the Earth     by Renee Szostek

​The earth's our home; we have no "Planet B."

Pollution here affects life far away.

On conservation first we must agree.

Deforestation harms diversity.

Climatic change, eroding soils and clay.

The earth's our home; we have no "Planet B."

​With greenhouses gases growing, can we see?

Our water cycle changes, towns decay.

On conservation first we must agree.

Yet people suffer, too. Alone are we.

Pariah is a role we each could play.

The earth's our home; we have no "Planet B."

 

​A life in isolation limits me,

and you. We struggle, keeping tears at bay.

On conservation first we must agree.

Recycling dreams, ideas, too, we see

a life apart from others cannot stay.

The earth's our home; we have no "Planet B."

On conservation first we must agre.

MANY THANKS

to our 2025 poetry juror Phillip Sterling

and to all the participating poets!

THIRD PRIZE 

 Tiger Claws Are Longer than House Keys  by Gail Martin

For a while, breweries 

and credit unions proliferated.

Then, roundabouts.

This was long after the time

of leaving a spare key beneath

a phony stone, emotions more

nuanced, less outraged.

 

*

And long, long after the time

in childhood when we slept with our hands

curled as fiddleheads in the woods

and when we woke, our unfurled wrists

did not hurt.

*

When it started, I was unloading

the dishwasher, my husband sorting

his pills. I could have been walking back

to my car carrying wine and sunflowers,

their yellow heads glowing

in my reusable grocery bag.

*

There are infinite ways to respond

to the same thing. Silence is one.

*

Each aspen leaf I've seen in the high desert

had a full lifetime to turn yellow.

The Statue of Liberty took 30 years

to become green.

I can't make this evil

small enough to write about.

How to breathe through

the breach between 

what's within me

and what comes out.

*

Gaza has nothing left 

for its ghosts to return to

still carrying their house keys.

*

When it started, I could have been

ripping open a pepper's red cathedral,

chunking cukes into the processor for gazpacho.

Removing every seed.

*

Normal's a construct we adjust 

to. Ten years ago if my husband 

slept until nine, I judged him 

idle, now I'm afraid he's dead.

*

Today, I refuse to call it complicated.

Don't kill children. Don't write their names

on their skinny shins.

*

I could have been plopping an olive

into a dirty martini.

It was an ordinary day I did nothing

to earn. A day delivered

with my name on it,

its clean white envelope.

 

HONORABLE MENTION

Reincarnation      by Christine L. Parks

HONORABLE MENTION

In the Air     by Ruth Moerdyk

HONORABLE MENTION

Best Laid Plans          by Elizabeth Rae Bullmer

More Poetry
 We have created a beautiful book that includes all 2025 poems submitted as well as pictures of the art from the exhibit.  The book is available at the church.  
Westminster Art Festival   1515 Helen Avenue  Portage, MI 49002

269-344-3966

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