Tampa Review Poetry Prize—get those poems shined up

In Monday’s mail, a contest announcement arrived. The Tampa Review invites poets to submit manuscripts for the annual Tampa Review Poetry Prize. I’ve researched the contest and feel comfortable sharing the news with my readers. The fee is reasonable--$20. The prize is worthwhile—hardcover book publication, $1,000 in prize monies and selected poems published in the Tampa Review. This is one of the few contests I haven’t seen criticized by poetry insiders, so shine up your poems.

Steve Kowit won the 2006 prize for his collection ‘The First Noble Truth.’ Kowit is a poet whose work engages the reader because (1)the work is accessible and (2)emotion is always evoked. His book ‘In the Palm of Your Hand’ is a handbook I frequently recommend to poets when I speak and read. Kowit is also the very best workshop presenter I have ever encountered.

Read guidelines and get full information by visiting the Web page about the Tampa Review Prize. Deadline is December 31.

I’m tempted to enter it myself; I can’t seem to shake the lead out when it comes to submitting poetry. Conversely, I can’t seem to stop writing it. I think we poets are completely muddle-headed.

Facebook poem--because you asked

A poetry group I belong to at Facebook came up with a contest. Write a poem beginning with 'Face' and ending in 'Book.' I did that, but my poem is too long for the contest guidelines. I mentioned I'd written one, here at my blog and on Facebook. Well, that spurred curiosity. People have visited this blog in hopes of finding the poem, according to the keywords showing on search inquiries. Others have asked me by email and in person, "Where's the poem?" I usually don't place a poem on my blog unless it's been published. But this time, to make a few people happy, I'm sharing the poem here with you. It'll be part of my forthcoming collection, 'Notes from a Florida Village.' And naturally, it will be revised several more times because I have a red pen and my fingers itch.

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Facebook, Wall to Wall

Face love like war, daughter,
and gird your vitals with more than simple trust.
There’s much to be gained by watching dogs—the male
shows, snared by scent, then mounts and goes his addled way.
The female receives, often willingly, and once she’s done
needs only her litter, and those for only a little while. Dogs,
you see, have mastered the artifices of love, and it worked
because we have lots of them lifting a leg on corner hydrants,
barking at the moon and waking neighbors, chasing cats
and overturning trash or perhaps stealing a sandwich
right off your lunch table. There’s no love war between dogs.

But here’s the truth. With men, there’s war aplenty,
even when you’re skirmishing with the best of them.
And if you’re not doing battle with the best, walk away
like a warrior sated, do your nails or climb a mountain.
Open a bottle of wine, read some poems and close the book.


—Kay B. Day/copyright Kay B. Day, all rights reserved.
From the forthcoming collection, ‘Notes from a Florida Village’

Facebook group inspires quirky poem

Poems are ridiculous, insecure creatures. They show up at all hours with no warning, demanding immediate attention like a troubled friend who believes you exist for him or her on demand. I joined the "Poetry" group on Facebook recently, and noticed a contest. The challenge: write a poem beginning with the word face and ending with the word book. The impossible—for me—challenge: confine the poem to 8 lines. The reward: cash prizes.

So in the middle of what I can only say is an absolutely insane week of freelancing—multiple deadlines, Monday a holiday, end of the month means time to send invoices out, not to mention duties related to home and hearth—a single line of poetry came to me. Last night at 12:30 a.m. So I jotted those lines down and after finishing an article due Friday, I finally went to bed.

This morning, the poem showed up in its entirety, knocking in my brain and demanding admittance. I wrote and revised it twice. That is very unusual for me, because I usually revise with almost neurotic intensity. The poem “Facebook, Wall to Wall” will be part of my next collection. It's too long for the Facebook competition.

Had I not followed my older daughter’s advice and joined Facebook, I’d never have met this poem. Sometimes, the writing of poetry is a near-ridiculous process.

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