IBPC August 2017 Submissions

This forum is for announcements concerning the IBPC (INTERBOARD POETRY COMPETITION) and the ARCHIVE of past IBPC results.

IBPC August 2017 Submissions

Postby M » Sun Aug 06, 2017 8:37 pm

Sorry I'm late posting this, but I've been out of town for a week and away from any computers.

Many thanks to those who participated in making nominations for our IBPC submissions this month. We thank our nominees for allowing us the pleasure of having them represent WPF in the competition.

The poems have been submitted already, so there is no time for any edits, and we apologize for that. Should any of the nominees be recognized, and there are edits they would like to make, we will notify IBPC administration at that time and have the corrections made.

As a reminder, if there are no or not enough IBPC nominations in any given month from the membership, we choose from the eligible poems (those poets who gave permission) from the prior month. So, if your poem was not selected in any given month, please know that you still might have an opportunity for it to be submitted the following month.

Congratulations to our entrants and best of luck in the competition!



August 2017 IBPC Submissions from Wild Poetry Forum

Poem # 1

Title: Ruby Ear Ring
Author: Midnight Moon

Even her shoes knew
she couldn't get away with this one.
Looking down from my perch,
the other ruby ear ring and I watched

The men pulled her pushed her they laughed
men laugh in her face
her silvery glittery shoes
climb so many stairways to heaven
carefully creeping down fire escapes
just that one time, trying to get away

Sorrow, we've seen her tears
naked, she has a perfect body
and she loves to feel she is so dramatic
though on this dirty street corner

at the break of day, crying

No no please
the magic of her life

That other ear ring gets knocked to the ground
I'm alone then, and
the men push her
she is a sack of merchandise

Crying wishing for someone to help
in the sweet dramatic pity of her life
never will she run free again
they caught her in those shoes
She was easy to trap
I harden my heart
knowing someday she'll look at me
and say, "Damn it, I lost one!"

Even though I am closer to her
than the men who think they own her
she'll leave me someday
alone by the porcelain sink
alone in some hotel room
while I listen to her shoes
take her clattering down the staircase,
so very far away.

My sweet one, I'll miss you.


Poem # 2

Title: 1934 Model T Ford
Author: Mary Susan Clemons

I was young just off the assembly line, that’s my excuse, and bored
after all I was built for speed, a V8, 10 horsepower more than the ’33 models,
a dazzling 85hp! I think that’s why they chose me,
the wide leather seats and real wood dash, just a bonus.

It was a sleepy Kansas spring morning. The sunlight blazed off my curves
I dozed in the sun, again, he had walked to the neighbors
instead of revving my engine, when they jumped in,
jumped! not slid in slowly

I knew I was in for a thrill, they were young too,
the way they backed out of the drive with a sharp halt,
then we were off! I was proud, I was a member
of the Barrow gang.

Nothing big, no banks, just stop and go real fast
I didn’t see any action until Texas, a town called Grapeville,
two men in uniform confronted us. Bonnie was asleep on my back seat
Henry, newest member, a bit squirrely if you asked me, shot one and Clyde
had to defend himself from the other.

After the bullets stopped flying. Bonnie went to the downed men,
checking to see if they could be helped, she just shook her head and got back in.
She gave Henry the tongue lashing he deserved. Next day the newspapers reported that Bonnie
had killed one of the men, Bonnie! She wrote poetry while she rode!
The report said a cigar with tiny teeth marks was found, Bonnie’s they said!
I’m here to say she never smoked a cigar, she smoked,
like an empty radiator, but only Camel cigarettes!

Five days later, more gun fire! What a life, better than a snooze in a driveway!
One man down, one rode awhile. They set him out in Kansas with a clean shirt, money,
and a request from Bonnie, “tell them newspaper folks, I don’t smoke cigars!”

Louisiana, just Bonnie and Clyde and me, Henry’s dad waved us down,
I didn’t want to stop, never liked Henry or his dad, but Clyde was the boss.
From the bushes out jumped men and started firing. They put 167 holes in me!
Bonnie, never hurt no one, was dead. My radiator dripped tears.



Poem # 3
Title: Whatever Glorious Else It Is
Author: Guy Kettelhack

Divine mist of happiness – a fine
gold silt – an entourage of tiny

sparkling particles which follow
light as if light were Apollo:

then the sun as it obliquely hits
and swallows several pearly

swatches of translucent curtain
now ignites the thing to fire: soft

probity, desire – and the sweetness
of the state of mind that this

engenders: tender and replete:
like baby Mozart, chubby fingers

flick pink toes into a syncopation
as he gurgles three-part harmonies:

this infantile art with its surpassing
subtleties: this jubilant involuntary

gasp! – so cowed by the enormity
of fleetness that it breeds a brief

and bleeding sadness: makes you
wonder if this isn’t, here –

whatever gloriously else it is –
the root of human madness.


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