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Eleanor Higgins wins 2009 Pure Poetry Chapbook Contest!

Eleanor Higgins is the winner of Palabra Productions 2009 Pure Poetry Chapbook Contest! On Saturday, April 25th, she received 20 copies of her chapbook entitled "Jocular Veins by Shirley U. Jest".

Second Place went to Michelle Angelini. Michelle also received 20 copies of her chapbook "Hollywood & Vine".

The other eight poets are eligible to have their chapbooks made for half price! So far, Anita Holzberg, Karen Klingman, Radomir Luza, Ryfkah, and Erika Wilk have elected to have their chapbooks produced. (See right side of this blog for prices.)

All ten entrants submitted outstanding poems; the toughest job I've ever had in judging. Just to give you an idea of how difficult it was, try making your choice from this sampling of their poems:



Michelle Angelini
SEVENTH AND FIG: THE HEIGHT OF INSIGNIFICANCE

Dwarfed by manmade monsters of stone, glass, and steel
I look up to compare myself – I am insignificant
next to them, and even more so as two shiny jets bank
southeast in a flawless azure sky.

I instinctively understand it’s not the buildings towering
toward the jets that are marvels of life;
society has only signified them as such. Other existences
where atoms whirl around systems of nuclei;
where electrical impulses dart from one point to another,
and water travels in blood through tiny vessels,
carrying the miracle hidden in DNA;
this is life’s miracle. Yet, as I wait
in the shadow of these edifices, they make up
what matters to segments of humanity
who think more is better and equals their right
to look down on those who have less.

These invisible ones carry their dirty possessions in assorted
plastic bags. They sit along fenced-off buildings,
holding out an empty cup for a few coins.

A few blocks away stores would deny them admittance.
Their few pieces of change and grubby clothes are no good there.

Men and women in business suits
and stylish clothes rush by after lunches in high priced restaurants.
Lunch time is over and they walk quickly back to jobs
where it is normal to work overtime and more. They
do not notice these imperceptible humans.

As my thoughts return to the bus stop
where I stand, I once more look up the clean white building’s
outside wall. I am again dwarfed by the size, but
think about this area of the city
and the diversity of this city where I live.



CaLokie
GHOST SHIPS

While Nazi’s blitzkrieg Europe, I study bone
white replicas of Nina, Pinta and Santa Maria
afloat on table in classroom corner
Ship’s made of plaster by first grade teacher
Her elder hair matches color of ghost ships
“Turn back, Chris, before we fall off edge
of world,” I hear voices plead
Admiral Columbus pays no attention
to ignorant and superstitious sailors
“Horseshit,” he says! “Full speed ahead!”

Pearl Harbor bombed
At Battle of Midway, cousin Leroy killed on cruiser
Mom and Dad divorced
Mom, big sis, Dolores, little brother, David,
and me stand before Trail of Tears painting
at Oklahoma Historical Society Museum
Weeping Cherokee woman walking in front of Anglo-
Saxon soldier on horse could have been ancestor
The soldier too

In family album, box kodak photo of me standing
in overalls and cowboy boots before dad’s car
Don’t remember ever riding in it
In third grade, can’t stand walking in cowboy boots
I take them off and never wear any again
Feet flat on earth the way it was meant to be



Eleanor Higgins
TIGHT SHOES

you forgot to kiss me goodbye as you
handed me a list of errands to do today
(my left shoe's pinching two toes together)
call phone company voicemail
go to the Department of Motor Vehicles
(where the buckle on the right foot digs into the arch)
pick up the shirts at the cleaners with no parking
(the tingle of a blister breaks at the heel;
a president's son actually died of a blister, didn't he)

at the stoplight, I make my decision
(they look so hip in the store but now that sexy strap rubs)

the left foot on the brake
I unfasten the right,
change feet and
roll the sunroof wide open
as the lights turn green
(I toss them out!)

along with you
stinking
crumpled
list



Anita Holzberg
CONNECTION

I chose to speak to you
the summer ends
the world really did not notice
what I endured
nor cared

I chose to speak my heart
Outside
the words came out
pine needles falling before the rin
as my shoulders softened at your response

I chose to hear you
Outside in a park
where the petals of inside truths, fell
too
At times, I did not even look at
your face
crunching Cheetos, for emphasis.



Ed Houston
OLD EYES

They watch them carry their lives in grocery baskets full of bottles or cans
The procession seems endless whether woman or man
24-7 the sound of baskets creaking never dies
A new patch on the torn coat of humanity, viewed through old eyes.

Babies in the trash cans, children eating off the streets
And you better be wary of anyone you meet
Driving on the freeway is really safe, if you have bulletproof glass
Won’t we all be better off when we’re issued our National I.D. pass?

Living in the light of the space age, while dying in shadows of moral decay
Not caring what anyone does, as long as you can have it your way
Seeking all the paths of diversion, to not travel the road to truth
Media savvy reaching deeper, to steal the childhood from our youth.

Too many children seeing the world with old eyes that know the score
Too many kids know hunger and abuse, and believe that sex is what they’re made for
Too many teenager runaways who run away from, only to wind up with what they left
Too many being robbed of living, not realizing there’s even been a theft.

Old eyes watching many that have grown tired of living life, and seek freedom through death’s embrace
A world full of old eyes, set in too many young faces
It’s said, “You reap what you sow,” and if that saying is true
One day, Old Eyes will sit in judgment of what we did or didn’t do.



Jeffry Jensen
A NEEDLE IN THE IVY

I wanted lawn to here and
rose bushes to there and
ivy in the corner to
cover the neighbor's wall
where it was more holes
than sturdy structure.
A perfect order was within
my grasp if only I were made of
the sterner stuff necessary to
control a backyard with
living things needing to be
trimmed on a Tuesday and
fed on alternate Fridays.
From my porch, I could imagine
a satisfactory resolution fit for
the prince of a man that I saw
myself as after a dry martini or two.
But in the blink of a dying
bloom, I was presented with
enough ivy to give cover to
generations of mice and all of
the nocturnal beetles from
across the vast divide.
My perfect order went missing in
action and left me with
lawn somewhere and rose bushes
nowhere to be found and ivy
everywhere in between the
devil and the deep dark chaos
that seems to drive all of creation.



Karen Klingman
1954

I don’t remember much
sick
dizzy
sounds too loud

he carries me fast
he carries me
up the stairs
he holds me tight

now I’m somewhere strange
everything is white and metal
they stand by my bed
wearing gray painting gowns
masks cover their nose and mouth

he hands me rosary beads
worn down from use
I begin to pray



Radomir Luza
THE WINDOW

when the sky is dead and autumn rings in your ears the scattered zephyrs of your life often pinch and pounce

the window on existence is made of satin glass and burned barracudas

slaughtering the moon over moments that could have mattered boxing trees over the infinite possibilities of the sun

indeed the rain falls like mad spoons on a metal table

a hurricane of aluminum symphonies cascading through the woods like bipolar bears and manic mildewed mariachi maine mufflers flooding the meadow like jesus’ bad mood

the window gives an inch either way recovering its equilibrium like racoons with claws larger than god’s mercy and the devil’s compassion toasting the los angeles sky burning naked and forgotten



Ryfkah
PROUD

Some people are proud to be American
Others proud like me to be justly human

Also
I am proud to be a left winger
A liberal A so-called socialist

I am also proud to be a Jew

I love the idea of wealth redistribution
Of true equal opportunity for all
Of real freedom to be happy
The pursuit a passé thought

Stand up and be counted
Don’t be afraid to say
You stand to the left
Understand names will never hurt

But bomb’s right ideas indeed will kill



Erika Wilk
WAITING FOR THE MOMENT

“Open us up
squeeze, let us flow freely”
yellows and ochres
crying out for Van Gogh
blues lamenting Picasso
the deepest red ready
for a bouquet of roses
a barn will do
the browns are getting restless
as are the greens
waiting for fences, houses
grass and trees
brushes standing lonely
in an old glass jar
wishing to dip their hairs
into creamy, luscious oils
still wrapped in its protective plastic
the easel moans
“I have yet to be unfolded
please let my limbs extend”
numerous canvases
staring at me in their blankness
fat tubes of oil paints
demanding to be recognized
I capitulate…but
you must wait
when my mind sets upon a piece of art
and my eye
captures perfect image
I shall proceed
to put you all to use

Cover for Think Poetically--Act Locally event chapbook

Think Poetically--Act Locally
Claremont Forum
586 West 1st Street
featuring 25 poets
plus musical interludes
Hosted by Helen Graziano
April 25th, 6 to 10pm

Find out who wins on April 25th!

This Saturday...

First, an Open Reading between 2 and 3pm, then...

There are ten entrants in Palabra Productions 2009 Pure Poetry Chapbook Contest. They are:

MICHELLE ANGELINI
CALOKIE
ELEANOR HIGGINS
ANITA HOLZBERG
ED HOUSTON
JEFFRY JENSEN
KAREN KLINGMAN
RADOMIR LUZA
RYFKAH
ERIKA WILK

Find out who wins as they all are invited to read for us at Saturday Afternoon Poetry on April 25th between 2 and 4pm inside the backroom of the Santa Catalina Branch of the Pasadena Public Library on 999 E. Washington Blvd.

An anthology featuring the work of all entrants will be given to everyone in attendance.

The winner will receive 20 copies of his/her chapbook at the event.

Hosted by Don Kingfisher Campbell.