Here are three such contests, all of which require poems written to fit a certain theme.
Inglis House Poetry Contest
The consistent theme from year to year is disability The contest used to be restricted to disabled poets but recently added an open category for all poets. With the two-category system, poems may now reflect first hand experiences of the disabled and/or an understanding of the issues surrounding disability.
Annual deadline: June 1st
Prizes (in each category): $50, $30, $25 plus anthology publication
Don't let the title fool you. Just because you're not a Scot living in London doesn't mean you can't enter. But you do have use that premise as your theme. And bear in mind that the dinner portion of the prize takes place in London, England. Guess how you'll be spending your prize money?
Prize: £1000 plus two tickets to ScotsCare's St Andrew's Dinner; the top five poems will be displayed in ScotsCare's offices and published in ScotsCare Shout.
Family relationships are at the heart of this competition. Poems should be emphatic in nature and reflect personal experiences with relatives, both good and bad. The experiences, not the relatives--or maybe not. ;-)
Prize: £100 plus publication in online magazine
By posting these contests, I am in no way endorsing them. Exercise due diligence and check them out before participating. And be sure to follow the guidelines if you do decide to enter. Good luck!
Today Ive been on my desktop computor
ReplyDeleteall day trying to find out a place where
I could simply send my poems via email
body or leave them on a webpage for poetry contest for the dissabled. You see I dont know how to do word doc pad pdf files on and on other complexities
Im still looking for help with this why does every place make it so hard for people that are brilliantly talented yet have zero computor skills? Im so tired, I dont even know why Im writting this, want to hear some of my poetry?
ok-
The Quest
she woke with a sunbeam of fire
between green eyes of soft hope
another day pulls the life from me
like a tree, my spirit grows...
There, by the well of wishing, tart
beginnings ripping blood from cloud
she turns the track of pain and eats
raw systematic papers, files, words
and stranger things..with old dead the
meaning anyway. So, they whisper in halls, secretary's pretend to be nice
so sickeningly nice, like fake plastic
artificial mcdonalds foods and cakes-then the truth is birthed of the internet and the rest of the black government that steals us blind daily and gently kills us off, the poor and sick ones anyway... now she ponders who might try to knock her off, oh well we can just stop, they never see you anyway, they never do, its always first do this and then do that on and eternally on, until we dont give a damn to enter the contest anyway- and they say they are here to help the dissabled, whos helping us?
Noone is here to show me, but Im love
if only they had time to read the happy ones, will I be in trouble now?