Sonnet Contest
Established in 2014, our annual Sonnet Contest inspires (and rewards) writers around the world. This year, we accepted entries January 1 – February 29 in two categories: Sonnets and Tallahassee Poems. Submissions came in from as far away as Ireland and India, and the winners of each category are below!
Join us on the evening of Friday, May 10 at Cascades Park in Tallahassee, Florida to hear these winning words read for the audience prior to our FREE nightly performance of The Winter’s Tale!
Congratulations 2024
Sonnet Contest Winners!
Middle School Winner
“Pollution: A Celestial Tragedy”
by Aleena Ahmed (She/Her)
In twilight’s glow, the stars once brightly beamed,
celestial threads, a wondrous tapestry’s light,
but now obscured, their brilliance deemed
invisible and lost, swallowed by the city’s blight.
Pollution’s grip, a smothering embrace,
tears our community with its sharp blade,
the stars, once guides, now are torn with disgrace,
cosmic whispers, silenced by man’s cruel raid.
The heavens weep for what humans have done,
in our quest for progress, we lost our way,
a price too high, the cost beneath the sun,
as darkness soars, the stars no longer sway.
Together, let’s cleanse pollution’s lasting stain,
to let the stars reclaim their rightful reign.
Special Thanks
“Thank you to my English teacher Mrs. Adams for introducing me to this contest. I’ve begun to develop a liking for poetry!”
2nd Place: “Guilt” by Sophia Stoutamire (She/Her)
3rd Place: “I love food so much it makes me happy!” by Taige Leathers (She/Her)
High School Winner
“To the Artists of the World”
by Caroline Cox (She/Her)
How can one be creative in this time?
Has the art of art been lost with poets past?
Catullus and Horace poems do rhyme,
While the works of Keats and Shakespeare be vast.
Must modern poets echo these classics–
Such Virgil did to distinguished Homer
And too the artists of such famed graphics
Yet these could simply be misnomer
They were original after all– these
Artists merely inspired, as all must
Be– and so creatives do as you please,
Work from these pieces lest they turn to dust
Thus artists of this day to you I urge:
Study these works and your muse may emerge.
2nd Place: “Sonnet V” by Noodle (She/Her)
3rd Place: “As something falls, another must then rise” by Levi Bennett (He/Him)
Adult Winner
“Entropy”
by Shane Leavy (He/Him)
I’m sweeping the yard at my parents’ home.
Sweat prickles my head; I drag the wire brush
through rank, brown leaves, half-rotted back to loam.
Dusk falls as I work. Birdsong falls to hush.
A podcast plays. My back will ache tonight,
my hips, my arms. Ten crescent arcs of soil
are clogging my nails. This smell: I delight
in the earthy stench of this dust-damp toil.
‘Cos things decay, the yard gives ground to dirt,
things rot. The garden falls to weed and briar,
mould splatters walls, and unless we avert
the course then all things burn: the world’s a pyre.
Night falls in my parents’ yard. It stands, clean.
I ache, I’m sweat-drenched, sore, my heart serene.
2nd Place: “Reversion” by Shamik Banerjee (He/Him)
3rd Place: “Arboreal Echoes” by Daniel Moreschi (He/Him)
Tallahassee Poems Winner
“Tallahassee’s a town of great heart”
by Miriam Hall (She/Her)
Tallahassee’s a town of great heart,
Of theatre, and music, and art!
Two hundred years in,
We can say with a grin
That our knowledge surpasses Descartes!
2nd Place: “Love Tallahassee” by Jake Askey (He/Him)
3rd Place: “Tallahassee, city of culture” by Samia Khan (She/Her)
Sonnet Submission Guidelines
Sonnets are poetic forms, originating in 11th century Italian Courts, which initially celebrated a chivalrous, literary conception of love.
Five hundred-odd years later, thanks to 14th century Italian humanist Francesco Petrarca, the Sonnet form we recognize as ”Shakespearean,” emerges in England. And for the vast majority of the Bard’s 160 stunning examples, each poem’s form is as follows:
- Fourteen lines total
- Composed of three Quatrains (A Quatrain is a four-line stanza. 3 Quatrains = 12 lines)
- Ending with a Rhyming Couplet (two lines of the same length which rhyme and complete one thought)
- Each of the twelve lines of the three Quatrains are to be exactly ten syllables
- Each of two lines in the Rhyming Couplet are to be exactly ten syllables
- In iambic pentameter.
Provided submissions hew (basically) to the poetic form above, the words are up to each contestant!
Though sonnet structure is centuries old, our intention with this contest is that the form inspires highly contemporary expression in our contestants. Now for a quick bit of Q & A to guide your creative process:
“Iambic pentameter”? Please explain.
Poets love rhythm. And though known principally for his plays, at his core, Shakespeare was a poet. And poets are keenly aware that though imagined content can suggest linguistic forms, it works the other way too: form can suggest content.
A Sonnet, like a Haiku, is a defined structure, necessitating that poets, like Shakespeare (and you!), take imaginative leaps to make all the word choices fit.
Iambic Pentameter then, is the name given to the rhythm that Shakespeare most often used in his works. Similar to a rhythm a musician might use when composing a song, the rhythm of a single ‘iamb’ is that of a heartbeat: “De-Dum.”
Iambic Pentameter then, refers to a line composed of five heartbeats in a row: “De-Dum, De-Dum, De-Dum, De-Dum, De-Dum.” Five ‘iambs,’ ten syllables. Here’s an example:
Within his bending sickle’s compass come
What’s the rhyme scheme for a Sonnet?
Shakespearean sonnets typically follow the rhyme scheme of the form abab cdcd efef gg. To illustrate, here’s the full example, from Sonnet 116:
A Let me not to the marriage of true minds
B Admit impediments. Love is not love
A Which alters when it alteration finds,
B Or bends with the remover to remove.
C O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
D That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
C It is the star to every wand’ring bark,
D Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.
E Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
F Within his bending sickle’s compass come;
E Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
F But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
G If this be error and upon me prov’d,
G I never writ, nor no man ever lov’d.
Often, at the end of the third quatrain occurs the volta or Poetic Turn, where the mood of the Sonnet shifts, and the poet expresses a turn of thought, in the above case:
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
***
As you compose your sonnets for this competition, please see the Sonnet’s form as a creative catalyst. The tight, poetic structure is intended to compel your deepest word skills and yield images and themes previously unimagined. Fare the well and thank you for your participation!
Video Resources:
Sonnet Insights from SSC’s own Shakespeare Man
Iambic Pentameter insights from
Britain’s Royal Shakespeare Company
2024 Sonnet Contest Judges
MIDDLE SCHOOL JUDGE
Terri Carrion is a first generation American conceived in Venezuela and born in New York to a Galician mother and Cuban father. She earned her MFA from Florida International University. Her poetry, fiction, translations, art, and photography have been widely published in print and online, including The Cream City Review, Hanging Loose, Pearl, Penumbra, Exquisite Corpse, Mangrove, Jack, Mipoesia, and Dead Drunk Dublin, among others. Terri Carrion is co-founder of the global grassroots movement 100 Thousand Poets for Change and is Board President of Anhinga Press. She is also on the Board of Directors of Poets In Need, and treasurer for the advocacy group, Friends of Lake Jackson.
HIGH SCHOOL JUDGE
David Kirby teaches at Florida State University. His latest books are a poetry collection, Help Me, Information, and a textbook modestly entitled The Knowledge: Where Poems Come From and How to Write Them. Kirby is the author of Little Richard: The Birth of Rock ‘n’ Roll, which the Times Literary Supplement described as “a hymn of praise to the emancipatory power of nonsense.” Entertainment Weekly has called Kirby’s poetry one of “5 Reasons to Live.” In 2016, Kirby received a Lifetime Achievement Award from Florida Humanities, which called him “a literary treasure of our state.”
COLLEGE/ADULT JUDGE
Virgil Suárez was born in Havana, Cuba in 1962. At the age of twelve he arrived in the United States. He received an MFA from Louisiana State University in 1987. He is the author of ten collections of poetry, most recently 90 Miles: Selected and New and The Paintied Bunting’s Last Molt, published by the University of Pittsburgh Press. His work has appeared in a multitude of magazines and journals in the United States and internationally. He is the recipient of a National Endowment for The Arts Grant and a Florida Arts Grant. He lives with his wife and co-editor, Delia Poey, and they make their home in Florida. His most recent book is Amerikan Chernobyl, available from Amazon.com.
TALLAHASSEE POEMS JUDGE
Rick Minor was elected to the Leon County Board of County Commissioners in August 2018 and took office in November. He represents the citizens of County District 3 and is focused on reducing crime, growing our economy by helping businesses bring quality jobs to District 3 and the County, protecting the environment, and ensuring that our local government performs at the highest ethical standards.
For more information about Comm. Minor’s work, visit his official site.
Timothy Hughes
Oh how I love the sound of your sweet voice
Oh how I love the sound of your sweet voice,
Your dulcet tones are pleasing to my ear.
But sometimes you barrage me with your noise,
So much that I can’t stand to listen here.
Some music is like angels sent from heav’n,
It soothes me like the purest foreign balm.
Sometimes it stills me like the cream of Dev’n,
And it provides for me a wondrous calm.
I love to play a wide range of music:
Bach preludes to the waltzes of Chopin.
The lovely rhythm although sometimes quick,
Is wonderful to my attention span.
And as you see music is my great love;
I treasure it as if it were a dove.
I wish my writer’s block would go away
I wish my writer’s block would go away
I hope it leaves me here to write alone.
If it does not then I refuse to stay,
It will stay here and I will just go home.
I’ll write a story about something else,
Maybe some horror or just fantasy.
There could be trolls or faeries and more elves.
The faeries float without Earth’s gravity.
I may end up writing a sweet romance,
The story would end up so happily.
The characters might travel an expanse,
The pair would run through fields so rapidly.
But only here I sit with writer’s block,
Leaving me here not to write, but to talk.
A piece of homework every now and then
A piece of homework every now and then
Is healthy for an educated mind
But if I’m doing homework after ten
I don’t think that would all be very fine
I know that often I write very slow
And when it has to do with history
There are so many questions I don’t know
And Latin homework’s always hard for me
My homework always takes up all my day
Imagine I had no work none at all
I think that it would be alright to say
That homework was created from the fall
It always takes a large amount of time
To think of how to make a simple rhyme.
Ode to a White Crayon
An artist who holds me within his fist,
And presses me upon his paper slate
I try to free myself but can’t resist
The gentle pressure of his writing’s weight.
How freely he draws what’s inside his mind;
But nothing marks the movements of our hand.
An artist’s tool is somehow wholly blind,
Perhaps my hue’s too pale to understand?
He picks me up to read my label torn
And sets me down—no artist job to do.
I plead with eyes that ask ‘bout secrets sworn;
White crayons won’t show the splendor that he drew.
I watch him shade and scribble from the shelf,
As Reds and Blues grow duller than myself.
The Latin language is superior
To all the tongues ere spoken on the Earth
English, howe’er, if founded as an err
Would be envied by wine for causing mirth
Compared to Romans’ structured mother tongue
For exceptions, we are exceptional
For breaking fewer rules, good men are hung
Foreign ears bleed when we’re colloquial
In case you think of cases, they are scarce
But worry not! They all end in an “s”
The language will make thee tear out thy hairs
And fill thee to the very brim with stress
And so, my friends, we hope this proves to you
That Latin should have proven “Vero”, true
Sarah Patell
Running Through a Sonnet
Through scorching sun rays of Saturday’s race
Within miles of quiet mossy green grass,
My exhausted legs try to push my place.
My sinewy self feels like melting glass.
Splash! My sneakers enter murky water
While I increase pace, trying not to tire.
Florida’s breezes feel mildly hotter
And the crowd’s cheers calm like a golden lyre.
I pick up my head and feel far stronger.
My stride widens across a muddy pool.
The big race will not last too much longer
And I look forward to practice at school.
The race ends and the team gathers around,
Smiling for a photo on the moist ground.
EDEN WITHOUT US
for Thurston and all children of the Anthropocene Age
Scry the horizon where our city broods—
a smoky wound consuming drought-stripped hills
where no green branches dance the rough winds’ moods.
Is it too late to heal all that is ill?
The world’s ablaze. From space, men signal down
a continental snapshot ringed with fire
yet our compulsive greed leaps every bound
and species after species fuels the pyre.
In olden days, we’d whisper bees this news;
in sympathy, they’d sweeten what they could.
What we do now is argue against truth;
we sheathe the world in concrete, call it good.
When fire melts what we callously hardened,
Earth will drink our ashes and yield gardens
A Sonnet for Ukraine
I wonder why a land so large and vast
would grab and grasp for more, and strike right through
a neighbor near who struggles to stand fast.
A noble nation should decline to do
aggressive acts against a sovereign land.
Incurring indignation, to invite
incensed denunciation, nations stand
in condemnation, for Ukraine unite.
A girl who had to choose which dolls and books
to bring, and which to leave might have been me.
Returning, finding rubble, dust, grand brooks
dried-up, an oft-climbed, newly withered, tree.
Pysanky eggs remind me of Ukraine.
How could I help alleviate its pain?
A Sonnet for Hiroshima and Nagasaki
I felt ashamed when first I learned what we
had done. We dropped atomic bombs and killed
civilians, leveled forests, burned a tree
beside a school, the students’ voices stilled.
I read somewhere that someone said his hair,
so thick and black, became a snowy white,
and he was only seventeen. This dare
to end the war devoured our inner sight.
By desperation blinded, chose we death,
destruction, all-annihilation of
two cities (other countries held their breath)
for heard we just the cry of nation-love.
Now friends, we fold an origami crane.
Forgiven, after causing so much pain.