Below are the eight selected nominees for the 2018 Lafayette Poetry Contest. Each poem is paired with another. Vote for your favorite out of each pair, and the winner of that voting will move on to the next round! Poems are published in the format they were submitted. For corrections or additional questions, email us at: [email protected]. Voting will end Friday March 23rd.

Poem #1

By Bobby Payne

A chemist faced with daily task
A scholar so bold and so brash
A mixture of Coke
Some bourdon and sulk
Swirled ’round in Erlenmeyer flask.

Poem #2

By Riley Madsen

Song of the Forest

A special place in forests hold
An aura many men have told
Where dancers dance their hearts around,
Where no disguise would bring us down.

In there our shoes would not belong;
Reborn we’d stomp to our own song:
A throbbing rhythm with its roots
In all the planet’s fertile fruits.

No fear of iron spears a-thrown
By those mature who’ve overgrown
Like vines around the necks of trees,
Like poison borne upon the breeze.

At night we’d lay beneath the sky,
Not knowing stars reside so high;
We’d reach our hands above to take
Those shining spots within the lake.

A special place concealed by shade,
Unseen on walks down paths man-made;
A baby born today must fight
To keep their wonder burning bright.

Which poem do you prefer?

• Poem #2 (76%, 71 Votes)
• Poem #1 (24%, 23 Votes)

Total Voters: 94

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Poem #3

By Steven A. Marks

Our Perfect Structures

The past that once nailed detail to the earth-
quakes the green caught between our toes
shaking the ground that circles around the concrete maze.

Dazzling detonation dropping down
down down down down
down fall the chills on my spine
each floor screaming a story
hailed by their own woes
killed in the blaze.

The future’s frivolous falling triumphs
and the belief that we can paint over an already colored canvas
(even if it peels away with age)
must not go on record without
the significance of this moment
hidden beneath the railways.

This moment
frozen in deafening silence
(only hearing the earth whispering into our ears).
This moment
where the eyes of the youth become immune to the destruction of progress
(their memory fades as time overlaps its original hue).
This moment
when history is once again shown to be blown to bits
crumpling the future along with it
and its’ never ending spin cycle without a rinse.
(Enough enough enough)
we will never have enough.
we will try to be perfect
until the past perfectionists
pass through the passage of destruction
and complete the cycle of our days.

This moment
as the tower slowly fell
we saw what once prevailed
in blooming flowers
breathing silver haze.

Poem #4

By Philip Dority

Letter to an Addict

What could I do?
I never knew
how’d you go from good at school
to no shoes

you were troubled
I know
you struggled
so slow

yet it happened so fast
gradual but soon the turning point past
we reacted aghast
something so extreme that it surpassed

what we could’ve expected,
never suspected that u injected
didn’t detect it
and now we’re infected

addicts don’t have relationships
they take hostages
but maybe this is our fault
did we break our promises?

to love and care through all the wear
upon these values did we share
never once did we think to break this swear
yet here we are
and you
there

this disease affects you monumentally
physically and mentally
it changed our lives heavily
but I want you to listen carefully

you are not a regret
you are not a mistake
we have always loved you
and still do this day

our love is not fake
you are wanted
we want you with us
and not departed

I’m sorry if I’ve failed you
what’s done is done
maybe I could’ve done more
or maybe I’ve overdone

but now there’s only one goal
and that’s for you to win
I’ve been cheering for you
and I will beginning to end
please come back to the living
the land of your friends
your family misses you
we want you healthy again
-Letter to an Addict

Which poem do you prefer?

• Poem #4 (71%, 111 Votes)
• Poem #3 (29%, 45 Votes)

Total Voters: 156

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Poem #5

By Olivia Kramer

I Am

I am the lady.
I sit, I write, and I never stop.
Drops of sunlight and creativity seep through the cracks of my window and rain on the desk, my desk, and I never know why.
I never ask why. I never ask anything, or say anything, because the words I say don’t come from my mouth; they come from my brain, and they empty onto the page.
I don’t speak, I write.

I am the lady at the desk.
My pen is no longer a tool, but an extension of my arm.
It is ever flowing, never empty, always in motion.
My arms never shake, I am never tired.
My door is kept shut and no sound escapes these lips.
There only sound from the room is the sound of my pen dragging along sheets and sheets of paper.

I am the lady at the desk who writes.
Page after page is set aside as I write, write, write and I could never imagine what my life would be like except as the lady at the desk who writes.
And as the sun sets and my arms stretch, I do not grow weary.
The stars emerge from their hiding place and the breeze slows, but my pen never stops.

I am of the silent kind.
While in daylight the kids outside my window play pretend,
Fantasies and ‘what ifs’ roaming in their minds,
I sit inside, allergic to the outside and its sounds.
I used to wonder if all children were like those outside my window: loud, obnoxious, and outside.
But I, I like it in here, where it is quiet.
I like it in here, where silence is my companion.
In here I can read and write for as long as the shortness of quiet eternity allows, as if the longevity of the stillness of the air is my only source of energy.

I am the writer.
I have never been anything other than a writer, and I could never be anything other than a writer.
I do not come from the outside, and I will never go outside.
I am inside, and my quiet soul will remain here.
I am the writer.
I think, I write, I revolutionize.
And as I write, I glance back at all the pages I have made mine, all these words that were stored in a container from my brain, are mine, they belong to me.
And this, no one can take from me.
These words are mine, and I am the one has written them.

Now here we are at the end of the stem.
Though the stem does not continue, my roots run deep, and I will never quit being what I am.
I run deep into the ground,
My roots travel to the inner part of the earth,
And these roots of mine will never be pulled from the ground.
I am the lady at the desk who writes.
I am of the silent kind.
I am the writer.
I am.

Poem #6

By Ama’KI Allen

Photographs

Click! From broken down cupboards to the scent of freshly picked honeysuckles to still life and B&W and indulgent effervescent colors and frozen reminiscences to backyard brawls and kickball games and longing for a brighter future and the recognition of past friends and childhood rivals, the vivid click! Of life’s moments is what brings me back to my family and receive the transmission of an old hobby…

Which poem do you prefer?

• Poem #5 (68%, 49 Votes)
• Poem #6 (32%, 23 Votes)

Total Voters: 72

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Poem #7

By Rory Hefner-Templar

Exposed:

Out on the deserted battleground I stand
A lonesome figure with her cracked helmet
Hanging at her side in an unclenched hand
Fingers callused and worn by rough terrain
The icy green chemicals sting my face
I lick my lips for I can still taste
Its fiery fumes burn on my tongue
But I have been exposed to the nitrogen
And now that I know, I crave it.
This feeling knocks the wind out of me
Let me hold it in my heart forever
For I have been exposed to love.
Salt in the wound
Let me bleed tears and sweat blood
All for the man that I love
All for the boy that I love.
Now that I’ve been exposed
There’s no pain I do not know
I’ve had my heart broken and broken bones
Continue to toss me out into the wind
I’ll soak up the sun and I’ll roil in it
Now that I’ve been exposed, I think I want to know
Keep showing me what love is.

Poem #8

By Susie Slusher

i fell in love with a poet once

the last time you saw the moon
you used the curve of the cresent
to represent the slim of my waist
as if the rocks declaration of nighttime
was enough to make your
insides roar.

the gleam of the universe
made nothing less than an
animal out of you , yet
i still let you claw out my insides
because im sick
of being a metaphor to you.

i want to be your morning coffee,
to be some type of drug
keeping you stable throughout
the day, not an urge
trapped beneath your teeth
that keeps you strained
throughout the night

Which poem do you prefer?

• Poem #8 (64%, 50 Votes)
• Poem #7 (36%, 28 Votes)

Total Voters: 78

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