We’ve just wrapped up our first annual Poetry Awards Contest, and we’re so excited to finally announce the winner for 2021!

Why We Started This Poetry Awards Contest

We decided to host this inaugural poetry awards contest as a way to support and empower poetry writers everywhere, regardless of their experience or background.

You don’t need a creative writing degree or a Pulitzer Prize under your belt to be a poet. Anyone can pick up a pen (or grab their smartphone) and create poetry. That’s why we set out to make this contest as accessible as possible by making it international and maintaining a low entry fee.

The result was an overwhelmingly talented pool of writers and outstanding poems to choose from. While it was challenging to choose just one winner, we couldn’t be happier with the excellent submissions we received.

2021 Poetry Awards Grand Prize Winner

We’re pleased to announce that the Grand Prize winner of the 2021 TCK Publishing Poetry Awards is…

Nicole Banez

and below is her winning poem:

God’s Palette

One night I asked God
when my heart was extra sad,
“Why are things down here so bad?
Why couldn’t we all just be the same?
And not go by our colors,
But instead by our names?”
He searched my eyes
And told me to think
“Have you looked at my art?”
he asked. I blinked.
“My child, have you seen only one color of flower?
A one-color rainbow?
Or sunset hour?
If my palette is varied in all that I do,
Why would I differ
When painting all of you?
The answer you seek
Comes from looking inside
For your hearts are one color
Despite the outside.”

Honorable Mentions: The Runners-Up

While there could only be one Grand Prize winner, choosing one was no easy endeavor. We received nearly 1,700 entries (many of which contained multiple poems) and the talent we saw was astounding.

We’d like to acknowledge the following runner-ups for their outstanding work:

HAPPY?

By Madie Dhaliwal

i can’t do this
i feel sick
i can’t make my
happy stick

am i using the wrong glue?
how does your own happy do?

my sad smile
has some rips
she still tries
but she just slips
am i using the wrong screw?
or are you unhappy too?

is it o-kay
to be not?
i can’t be
a happy bot

cuz i do not
think it’s the glue
or a stupid
silly screw
today
i am just
feeling blue
and i love you
for all of you
no matter how
your happy do
so you
don’t always
have to be
faking
your
happy
with me.

Dark

By Daneisha Bowers

Dark as the midnight sky
No dark as the soil where seeds
Are planted and forgotten
Until they grow
And burst through the ground
With a vengeance
Determined to be seen
And loved
And admired
Dark like a winding road
Heading south
Or north
Don’t matter what direction
It takes me
As long as I’m away from here
Dark like the night, after the sun
Has gone down and children
Have been put to bed
And candles have been blown out\
And prayers have been said,
Dark like the eyelids when I close
My eyes and wish upon a star
Or a dandelion
Or a birthday candle
Or an eyelash,
Dark like mama and daddy
Dark like me
When they say I ain’t pretty enough
I ain’t smart enough
Tall enough
I ain’t gon‘ never be enough
For them,
Dark like every bad thing
They told u to fear
Dark like that

The Seeds of Despair

By Elle Fran Williams

Today was a day to be cherished; Yesterday a day to forget
Tomorrow a day to be valiant. Life is, in essence, a debt

A debt that we owe to the former; A prize we must always ensure
A challenge that they never dreamed of; A future that could be no more

We owe it to the future to be careful; We owe the past to atone
We owe the present to stay watchful; for the world is merely on loan.

No one can think themselves blameless; No one can think themselves clear
Condemned in the dock altogether and all but the baby should fear.

The world was left in our keeping with all that was healthy and sound
With greed and with violence we abused it. Now nothing but waste can be found.

We plundered and looted and pillaged, until nothing was left in the can.
We drilled and we dug and we looted, fighting both nature and man.

Be wise before history condemns us – whether God be a factor or no
Whether Science is right about matter, the end will be deadly and slow.

We used to be fearful of others; We feared the bomb and the gun
Today we must change our attention. The foe is a different one.

The modern day bomber or martyr thrives because people feel need
As nation upon nation becomes victim, the root of the matter is greed.

The zealot uses need for recruitment when people feel badly betrayed
By life, and by fate and by rulers; no wonder they look for a trade.

No recruiting of people with plenty. No enticement where parity’s felt
When people feel worthwhile and cherished, never the word revolution is spelt.

VOID

By Gabriel Jones

To the woman I never knew
Without whom I still grew
Too young for understanding the reason
Gone from my life like the passing of a season
What would it have been like, where would I be
If only you hadn’t been taken when I was but three
Hurt inside with no ability to express
Wishing you were here to help me through this mess
Fault is not yours this I know
Yet without your love I had to grow
Missing a person I have never known
A heart at times feeling like stone
Pain inside comes and goes like days of the week
Comfort for my inner child is what I seek
Writing these words from a heart destroyed
Spending year after year with an unfillable VOID

The Cicada Woman

By Draven Jackson

There is a life in which I am a different woman –
I see her in the people I love
But do not love.

1. The neighborhood boy with brooding eyes
And an Italian name,
The cigarette smoke staining his breath.
How would he kiss me
If I’d let him?
His hands gripping my shoulders,
The stale, nicotine-tinted air between us.

2. The girl four aisles over in the grocery store
With soft autumn curls
I could run my fingers through.
Her voice would say my name
And I would hear Beethoven’s 9th Symphony
(her favorite, not mine).

3. The best friend I left back home
Who felt as familiar to me
As my favorite boxed wine –
The one we shared on warm summer nights,
Listening to the cicada’s concerto
And wondering whether the sky would look the same
When I left for the East Coast.
The wine felt warm in my belly
And smelled sweetly of pomegranates.
I know I lived many lifetimes
In that still Alabama air.
There is another life in which I am a different woman,
But she exists separate from me,
And I can only see her
In the eyes of the people I love
But do not love.

Coming Home

(For the troops)

By Shannon Shay-Dobbs

You saw me without seeing me.
Felt me without touching me.
You knew me without knowing me,
And made me feel like I had come home.

When the whole world has been cold.
Lost your path and crawled alone.
Wore your heart down to the bone,
Find the ones who feel like home.

I said a prayer into the night.
Broke my own heart and lost my fight.
Begged and pleaded all alone,
God please just bring me home.

When the darkness was all I knew,
You reached in and pulled me through.
When my world had crumbled into stone,
You were the light that brought me home.

When the whole world has been cold.
Lost your path and crawled alone.
Wore your heart down to the bone.
Find the ones who feel like home.
Please do not hide away from me.
The caged bird sings though it is not free.

When the demons call your name,
I will be the one to hide your shame.

I promise I will bring you home.

I Wish I Were A Sonnet

By B. Douglas Miller

I wish I were a sonnet
#18
I would compare you to Summer
Winter
Spring
All my days
Yet to be seen

No raven with a shadow
Or kingdom by the sea

Just a quiet Monet daydream
With you
The sun
And me

I’m Grateful to be Me

By Cara Garner

I may not know what tomorrow will hold.
Deep down inside I know I’m never left out in the cold.
For even though I may feel like it now and then.
When I do I will try to remember this over and over again.
There is no one I’d rather be,
I’m grateful to be who I am, I’m grateful to be me.
I may make a mistake a time or two.
Deep down inside I know what is true.
Even if the path is bumpy or I might lose my way.
There will always be down the road a brighter day.
For when I remember this one thing.
I can find joy that life can bring.
There is no one I’d rather be,
I’m grateful to be who I am, I’m grateful to be me.
I may not be the easiest person you’ll know.
I have my trials and sometimes they show.
I may not be strong but deep within,
If I keep this with me I know I can win.
There is no one I’d rather be.
I’m grateful to be who I am, I’m grateful to be me.

The Secret Dragon

By Arte l. Whyte

In the summer hazy memories of my youth
We were knights, you and I. Both
With mighty wooden swords riding on
Broom-handle steeds with fiery bottle-cap-eyes.
We’d gallop and explore
The undiscovered trails,
To the vacant lots next door.

There we slayed the bad and
Saved the good.
We were the stuff of legends,
You and I.

On our street
We climbed the highest hill,
And rode our giant cardboard ships,
Like two captains on a stormy sea,
Screaming down the precipice,
Till we fell
And rolled
In an entangled clump of laughter and glee.
And never satisfied we climbed to the top
Only to scuttle down
Again and again.

On our street were
Winter castles of newly fallen snow;
Shining sparkling fortresses,
Built by the two of us,
The hero knights,
Armed with snowballs,
Standing back to back,
Surrounded by enemies,
Too scared to attack.

On our street
We were the heroes,
You and I. Yet

On our street lived
A secret dragon.

She would visit us
In the night.
Her sharp and crooked claws
Reaching down,
Pressing, smothering
The fear, the screams
That nobody heard,
Or chose not to hear.
Ripping away
Trust and tears
Leaving only a
Piece of flesh,
Betrayal and
Nightmares;
She was the dragon.

When we saw her we
Would
RUN!

. . . if we could.

When we did escape
To some secret place,
Like heroes need to do,
We ran, stumbling, through the conquered fence
To the imaginal lands a yard away.

There in our secret hide-a-way tree,
Where we flew like monkeys,
Devouring the ripe, juicy, grapes
That hung in easy reach of
Our greedy little fingers;
Our mumbling mouths,
Filled till they spilled,
Running purple down our chins.
There in that
Safe and sacred spot
We’d howl at the skies,
But never talk
Of the dragon we couldn’t slay.

In our safe spot
We were the heroes,
My brother,
You and I.

Time passed.
The hero-child faded,
Left behind with forgotten toys
And stolen innocence.
Gone were the knights.
Grown were the diffident courtiers, and
Three thousand miles apart,
You reached out and
I wasn’t there.

You cried pitiful tears
Caused by those painful years, and
I wasn’t there.
The wooden steed stood
Standing alone in the corner of your kitchen,
Lamenting the loss of the hero child and
I wasn’t there.

But the dragon was . . .

Your final scream at heaven
Was a howl for peace.

So it is
you are there
And I am here.

Then and Now

By Ute Carson

When I was young, fog enshrouded me.
I forged my own footprints
but paid little heed to their traces.
Now in old age,
as a bright sun pierces the fog
I wish that years back
my vision had been clearer.
What can I do now?
If I was judgmental,
I now see life’s complexities.
If I took love for granted,
I now love with wonder.
If I consoled sparingly,
I will now help shoulder sorrows.
If I was self-absorbed,
I will now attend to the lives of others.
I cannot spool time backward,
but I can spin my intentions forward.

Words

By Bento Leal

Words are little packages of meaning and sound
Created with letters that are crooked and round.
Each word with its story, its history, its lore,
Some made only recently, some way back in yore.
Words from the mountains, the seas, and the plains,
Forming, evolving, like sprouts in the rains.
Man put his thoughts and desires into words,
From the grunts of Neanderthals who were chasing the herds.\
A word can be kind, comforting and sweet, or
It can be a dagger leaving death at its feet.
Words, words can be out of step, out of time,
But when put to poetry are sublime when they rhyme.
Some words are holy, some may be vain,
They are used by both geniuses and the insane.
Whether conveying ideas or the many species of birds,
We express ourselves through
Little bundles called…
Words.

Gone the Rainbow: A Father’s Day Remembrance

By C.M. Barrett

On Father’s Day
I remember the man
Who taught me fear
By telling me how unsafe the world was,
Who taught me to worry
Because you could always find something
Worth worrying about.

I remember learning
That too much happiness
Would endanger me.
It could vanish in a moment.
A life of unremitting gray
Was better than the sight of a rainbow
That always died.

When my rainbows died,
He comforted me and said, “I told you so.”

I have walked in the gray
And stumbled in the dark
Until the day I decided that
To see a rainbow was worth the risk
Of its dying
Because gray is forever.

And I thank the father
Whose worry earned him early death,
Who turned gray too soon,
Who turned his sight from rainbows.

To save myself from his life,
I had to learn that
All beautiful things die,
But faith makes them live anew.
If only he had known
That he, too, was beautiful.

And I Will Hold Your Hand

By Rebecca Mullinex

Can I hold your hand?
When you stand up after a long fight
Can I hold your hand?
While you plead for your sacred land
Can I hold your hand?
As you march for the rights to your body
Can I hold your hand?
When a secure classroom is all that you demand
Can I hold your hand?
As you enter your place of worship
Can I hold your hand?
While you and your children search for safe soil to land
Can I hold your hand?
When ignorance forbids you to love in peace
Can I hold your hand?
While you fight against the same racism your ancestors had to withstand
You may walk in different shoes than I
Have different skin
Or come from a foreign land
And the struggles you have to endure
I may never fully understand
But I will stand up
I will fight for you
And I will hold your hand.

What Is a Story?

By Mario Eusebio

A way to make an idea tangible/ palpable and visible to the naked eye/ a way to explain the who, what, where, and why/ the new baby shoes never used/ or the cultures whose roots were fused/lost to time/ life to words grow rapidly like a Vine/ intertwined with the perspective of time/ to find the voice to make these words mine/ so what is a story but to begin with the first line/ who am I?

Wayward Wind

By Christian Scarsbrook

What wayward wind led her to this?
The mosquito thinks as she sits
On horrid ground by vile grass
The only red, that burning mass

Did the wind take her where she needs to be?
She sits alone and tries to see
Just what the weather had in mind
When it ripped her from her home – unkind

Unfair? Unjust? Undeserved? Unmerited?
But that was the fate she already inherited
She pounders her surrounding – only brown and green
Until she spots it, with eyes so keen.

Could it be? Something red at last?
She dares not hope as she climbs the green mast.
Dodging and fluttering past turgid sails
Until at the top, her eyes turn pale

Is this some terrible trick?
If she had eaten earlier she would have been sick.
Petals. Of course. This had happened before.
Stupid wind. One day she’d settle the score.

But is there even a chance to fight back?
It’s always been vigor and confidence she lacked.
Her thoughts drift darker. The wind always lies.
She lays down, curls up, and sighs.

See Me

By Abigail Powell

I knew it was right to love someone
To see the gold in a broken heart
Never to push one another down
Always to fix each other’s crowns

I knew it was good to be kind to all
To give up myself for another’s sake
Never to push away someone in need
Always to clothe, and to nurse, and to feed

But I didn’t know I existed too
Too busy was I with the thought of you
Never did I think to love myself
Always putting my heart broken on a shelf

I know not to regret a life of love
To do that would waste many years
Never did I think that it was a weakness
Always making you smile while I pushed back the tears

I know there were some who truly tried
To take care of me all of my life
Never really thought I needed your help
Always walked through the darkness myself

I looked in the mirror and saw a worthless fool
Someone who thought of herself as a footstool
A mat to be walked on and left at the door
A girl who thought she was doing something more

I cried as I realized what I had done
I forgot to fill my cup while its contents you consumed
Useless I feel, though surely I cannot be
Because I did so much just to make you see me

Memories

By Irene DeLorenzo

The Hallmark Store
My father’s snore
The porch in summertime
Cinnamon and scented pine
Saddle shoes and rolled up skirts
Apple pie baked for dessert
Allowed to lick the batter spoon
Time to go to bed too soon
Squeezing in between the sheets
Making room to move my feet
Yardley Slicker-powdered blush
Trying not to use too much
Fire truck sirens scream at night
Sleepover relatives delight
Tabu and Ambush strong perfumes
Three sisters sharing one bedroom
Precious memories held so dear
Silence sadness that I bare
They come to visit in my dreams
When I need them most it seems

Where Are You Going?

By Alexa Hodkins

Everyone sees you running, where are you going?
She became everything
the people who hated her
said she was.
She became everything
the people who loved her
begged her not to be.
She became selfish and unfriendly
arrogant and condescending.
Constantly forgetting
and never truly settling.

Perhaps it was unsettling
upon her fate repenting.
all the while she was defending
His character,
protecting a ghost
that once was her one and only
held her hand when she was lonely
kissed and loved her slowly
Now the pieces of her memory
scattered,
No, wait
shattered
Nevertheless,
battered.

Forever she’d be racing
but never quite escaping
her scars never erasing
and she was never good at pacing.
Her smile was amazing.
Her perception was distorted.
Her direction was adjacent.
Her journey remained unsupported.

but there is that one thing
whatever she was chasing.
I don’t think she ever found it
but she found substances replacing
the people who loved her.

They begged her long ago
to just stop running.
They warned her long ago
that the monsters will keep coming.

What’s Next

This was our first annual Poetry Awards Contest, and we’re so grateful to all everyone who participated. We can’t wait for next year’s contest!

Entry in the 2021 Readers Choice Awards contest is available right now, so if you have a book you’d like to submit, be sure to do so by November 30, 2021.

Enter TCK Publishing’s Short Story Contest

In addition to our annual Readers Choice Awards and Poetry Awards Contest, we’ve recently launched the first annual TCK Publishing Short Story Contest.

Submissions are open now through August 31, 2021. A winner will be declared and awarded $1,000 on September 21, 2021. Enter your short story today!

 

If you’re interested in more posts about writing contests, then you might also like:

• What to Do After Winning a Writing Contest: 5 Ways to Celebrate Your Win
• How to Enter a Writing Contest: 8 Tips for Success
• 2021 TCK Publishing Poetry Awards Contest
• List of Short Story Contests (Updated for 2021)