Announcing a winner to Mayfield’s Lizette Reese Poetry Contest!  The votes are in from a panel comprised of  Lake Ave resident Kimberleigh Eagleston “who has always loved poetry.”, a published poet and Mayfield resident Nate Butler, and three poet friends of Nate.  Here are their comments.     
 

• 1.  A Michigan friend who publishes a poetry blog said, “Tuscan Lady” had some interesting imagery but “Grind” was the best of the bunch, very condensed & evocative.

 

• 3. 2..immediately liked “Grind”. I was struck by the spareness of the language & the familiarity of the feelings & experience described.

 

• 4. They were taken by the concreteness of “Grind” but spent a lot of time discussing the imagery of “Tuscan Lady”.

 

• 5. was impressed by the images in “Tuscan Lady” but was very taken by the condensed language ( almost haiku-like) & the universality of “Grind”.

 

• 6. “The Grind” was the my pick.

 The “Grind” by Courtney Barlett takes First Prize and dinner for two at the Parkside Restaurant.  Runner up is “Tuscan Lady” by Russell Wedekind. 

 Thank you all for your entries and hope for your submission in next year contest remembering Lizette Reese, Mayfield’s first nationally recognized poet.

 The Grind     

 

Bean beginning

Grind, spin, soften, separate

Scoop, sprinkle, saturate

Brew, steam, drip

 

Stainless crib

 

Fill, steam, warmth

 

Carton, cold, milky-white

Pour, blend, rise

Stir, sweeten, cool

Sip, swallow, sigh

 

 The Tuscan Lady by Russell Wedekind

White shoes, white house, white wash to wash

the white days out,

introducing the royal huses;

blues so thick, so rich,

I lose.

 

Tuscan Lady, of many hues.

 

Over dinner, you made me greens,

a rainbow in their shimmer – glisten -

flavors escaping sumptuously

over the brow of your fork,

raised corssed over mine;

 

My lemon drop lover,

the daughter of artists,

prone to fancy and whim,

love, passion, tenderness -

 

you were red in my mind’s eye,

my head ensnared around the thought

of your crimson ways,k bold,

fervently passionate about whimsical

pursuits of passing fancy;

magenta soul

 

Tuscan Lady, sun kissed,

too bright for me to miss

 

In fields, in showers, in days not measured in hours, you threw

me lady, for your brightest color was darkest, antithesis of

mine.

 

Tuscan Lady, o woe of woe’s

Refract some shimmering goodness to those

Who words wish to know the answer

as to where the breath of the shoreline goes

 

Black rock, a point, scar

Upon the façade of our town,

Hazy smeared coast fade

 into the stormy sky of taupe,

 

and you, Tuscan Lady,

are at the reins

of tomorrow