Week Thirteen in Review: Poem Contest Winners, Submissions, and Calls for Submissions


We pulled in about 600  views this week from 150 WP visitors. That’s about 4 poems a visitor! We also pulled in over 120 likes this week from WP users, and over 40 unique visitors from Google and other search engines, not including the WP visitors listed above, alongside 36 comments!


Here are the pieces we published this week:


We announced our winners! Check out the January Poetry Competition post here.

And the next competition has begun! Send us your best poems, and if you want to help contribute to the first-place reward and the upkeep of Vita Brevis, you can donate through Ko-fi here!

That’s all for this week. Stick around, we have some great poems coming up!


Monthly Poetry Contest Winners!

The results are in–thanks for all of your submissions. It was a close call, but here are the winners. Check out this months competition–another $15 reward for first place!



Beyond the Reach of Time, Ann Christine Tabaka

Black crow

sings a song

unknown to man.

Forest awakes,

answering back.


Vestiges of life

fall from the sky

like winter snow.

Existence comes into being.


Dawn bursts forth,

day enters.

Stars blink their goodbyes.

So it is said, so it is done.


The guardian steps forth

as light emerges.

Time lapses …

Burgeoning worlds converge.


The sky is alive.

I hear his song.

Black crow flies off,

Beyond the reach of time.



Fervency, Jill Lyman

What would I know
if I fell, naked,
into the grass
and did not get up for days?

What would I taste
if I waded, bare-armed,
through the cold stream
and did not drink for years?

What would I dream
if I swam, web-footed,
over the volcanic mountains
and did not inhale eternity,

that dangles between each
collision of pulse beats.



Tangier, Alicia Fernández

Late at night, it pops up:
Tangier – says your email. Tomorrow.

I check the results of the Catalan referendum
and picture you walking
down the winding alleyways of the souk,
your skin damp and salty.

The sound of your voice,
loaded with morning,
is fading from my memory.

I cross The Headrow swiftly in the rain
but miss my bus all the same.

You smile at a beautiful stranger.
You lift a sachet of spices to your nose.

Farmhouse Evening

Submitted by Ronald E. Shields

The television in the background is a game of blind man’s bluff.
The small wind beneath the tree – the fluttering of a pheasant’s wings.
The light through the window is the moon hunting.
The night sounds, your voice returning naked
or crickets folded into the wall.
The fields retreat to their dark creases in the folds of hills.
Now is the time of the good darkness
when our hands imagine the ripeness that awaits a feathery sun.


Are you a poet? Send us your best work!
Photo Credit: A Snowy Night – 1939 George Sotter

Between Words

Submitted by GrumpyGorman

the space between

those precious gaps
lies can’t find,

mint clean-

free from request,

rants proceeding

live happily in nooks
between words,

in dusty old

oh shelf

in forgotten old

‘those’ looks-

that push
that shakes

final words
from me.


Are you a poet? Send us your best work!
Photo Credit: Dizziness – Iman Maleki

Our Perfect Life

Submitted by Jerry Brotherton

My wife and I share a dream
Of a modest house among some trees
A garden path beside meadows stream
We’ll walk along in a warm summer’s breeze

Grass enough to set our chair
Under the sunrise of a new day
Washing our souls in the clean fresh air
Letting all our troubles just melt away

A lazy dog at our feet
A glass of sweetened ice tea in hand
No phones, tablets, no Facebook or tweets
Just her and me, following love’s command

Quiet nights with no doors locked
Hearing nature in gentle breezes sway
Awaken in the morn’ without clocks
We’ll kiss and thank God for another day


Are you a poet? Send us your best work!
Photo Credit: Saturday in October – Randy Van Beek

Dark Midwinter Days

Submitted by Chris Black

Eerie is the only description
Those leaden grey skies, leaves
Which not long ago
Dressed trees and hedging
Now clog shores and roadside outlets.
The house lit only by candle light
A collection of torches with used batteries
Add to the dreariness
As dark days fall into pitch black night.
The open fire the only source of comfort
Playing conjuring tricks with food
As the one ring ‘scouting’ stove takes centre stage.
“Hunger is the spice of food”


Are you a poet? Send us your best work!
Photo Credit: Van Gogh – Starry Night Over the Rhône

Whimpering Psithurism

Submitted by Ann Neilson

Effervescently pace the foliage,
Lithe fairy footsteps careful to step untrodden ground.
The trees shift and tremble, projecting history into forbidden spaces,
Dark, unforgotten places revealing ghostly shadows, distant war heroes—
the selfish plight of war that ignited pain continues imprinting bloody carbon marks within the roots.
We misshape the land beneath our pitter-pattering—
They stomped with chemical-laden boots.
Mother earth cries bitter tears frozen by this winter wind,
biting whispers blowing lies of freedom into her hopeful heart.
Her cracked soil and crisp limbs moan and creak.
Her heart has long ago since shattered,
Only to be replaced by manufactured glass shards shaped and molded by unpaid hands.
Ethereal memories and unpromising futures destroy—
Watch as the dim night struggles to throw her blanket upon our souls dutifully,
Striving to envelop us with Mother Nature.
Turn not a blind eye and acknowledge how we’ve ignored her.


Are you a poet? Send us your best work!
Photo Credit: John Constable – Sketch for The Hay Wain