The Lyric College Poetry Contest is open to undergraduates enrolled full time in an American or Canadian college or university

First Prize ~ $500
Second Prize ~ $200
Third Prize ~ $100
Honorable Mention ~ Year’s subscription and bragging rights

SUBMISSIONS GUIDELINES

Poems must be original and unpublished, 39 lines or less, written in English in traditional forms, preferably with regular scansion and rhyme. We welcome up to three poems per student.

Winners are announced and published in the Winter issue of The Lyric.

Entries may be sent by mail to Tanya Cimonetti:

The Lyric College Contest
c/o Tanya Cimonetti
1393 Spear Street
South Burlington, VT 05403
Inquiries and information available at tanyacim2@aol.com

Note: please submit entries as a PDF if sent by email

We will once again be considering collegiate contest entries by email.  Please add a short cover letter stating the traditional form that is entered, along with your name, undergraduate year, college or university, and postal address (in case you win!) to the following email:  tanyacim2@aol.com

We look forward to receiving beautifully structured and inspiring work from America’s colleges and Universities!  Entries must be postmarked or emailed October 1st-December 31st.

2024 WINNERS

What Is Home? You Ask Me

Home is where I collect fresh tomatoes with my mother
in the early summer morning,
where our small hands pluck bean pods from their stocks
and let them tumble into the woven baskets.
Home is the taste of my father’s cooking,
when rosemary and paprika coat my tongue
and whisper stories of their past.
Home is the sound of my friends’ laughter,
mouths open wide, shining with large smiles,
illuminating the evening sky.
Home is the smell of my grandmother’s baked turnovers,
the rich fragrance I inhale
when I greet her in the kitchen.
Home is the tear that drips
down my grandfather’s cheek
when he sees me arrive in Razvad.
I swim across its stream and swallow the salty water,
taking his worries away.
Home is where I follow your veins on a long, twisted road
and crawl into your heart.

Dana Serea, Princeton University, Rutherford, NJ
First Prize, Collegiate Contest 2024

The Stars Will Carry Us

The wind is wild, it pulls me through the trees,
I dance with ghosts beneath the silver moon,
a tide of stars sweeps me to endless seas.

my heart is heavy ,but the night is free
it whispers truths that dawn forgets too soon –
the wind is wild, it pulls me through the trees.

i give my soul to rivers running deep,
they sing of love and loss, a sacred tune,
a tide of stars sweeps me to endless seas

in shadows thick, I feel you close to me,
your voice a storm that breaks the quiet gloom,
the wind is wild, it pulls me through the trees.

we fall apart, but still we rise and bleed,
a flame ignites and rises to the moon –
a tide of stars sweeps me to endless seas.

in fire and light, we find eternity
the night surrenders to the world too soon,
the wind is wild it pulls me through the trees
a tide of stars sweeps me to endless seas.

Emma Field, Harding University, Searcy, AR
Second Prize, Collegiate Contest 2024

Have You Seen

myfathermyfathermyfather
caught in the parenthetical
thin black lines separating his life
(the three times he wrapped a rope
around his neck like a bow)
(when he took his parents out west for a week
to sit in long beige rooms with therapists
went to the river when they gave up
(when he stood in the diving light of a streetlamp
asking my mother if he could keep kissing her
again and again and again)

myfathermyfathermyfather
trapped in his lungs climbing up
North Carolina hills
draped in thick glazed snow
bookmarked between his father and brother
running an ax through a rooted tree
hoisting its green blooded bark onto his wiry shoulder
walking home and holding
the stones his father collected in his hands

myfathermyfathermyfather
stuck in the good southern boy
his lawyer argued for
the boy who sped his car around the corner
sprinted over long rolling fields
away from cold metal handcuffs
is he still standing in his good hurch shoes
Is he still the cross he carries
for all the people
who weren’t white boys
nice enough and poor enough
for a lawyer to take pity on

myfathermyfathermyfather
still lying
in his old bed
listening to the scrape of the oven door
watching the bread edges crinkle
the cheese blister
hearing the whir of a trailer park complex
the sports newscaster on the teevee saying
strike one time, two times, three times

myfathermyfathermyfather
is he caught in the mousetrap
he nestled in our pantry
is he lying flat between the pages
of the bible that he reads
is someone drawing thin black lines
curving the ends of his life and saying
one time, two times, three times
you’re out

Zoe Ward, Demison University, Granville, OH
Third Prize, Collegiate Contest 2024