Hi,I would like to enter the what3words poetry competition.I registered on their website, and searched for a special place in Italy, where I lived as a child. Anyway, I have been given my three words, but I'm not sure of the rules, The three words, alone don't make a great title, can I add or delete words? Also how many times do I need to use my three words in my poem, and is their any minimum, or maximum poem length please?
Get creative with it. The three words must be in the title. They don’t necessarily need to be in the poem.
“The avoidant student thinks she has nothing to write about because no one is more boring and dull than she. She writes poems with flat language to mirror her supposedly flat subjects. In extreme cases, she may retreat into fantasy, writing genre-inspired poems populated by vampires or zombies, or simply stall out and refuse to write entirely. Then there’s the student who believes his life is endlessly fascinating. He presents a magnum opus on the subject of his recent breakup. Often this student’s work is so personally coded that it is entirely opaque to readers. In a workshop setting, such poems can be frustrating for everyone involved. To greet these efforts by simply reiterating “write what you know” will seem futile and tone-deaf to these students. They believed, they tried, and it didn’t work. But what is the alternative? Rather than preaching “write what you know,” consider persona poetry. It seems paradoxical, but writing as someone else—exploring what you don’t know—can prove an excellent method of coming to know yourself as a writer. Using a persona allows a student to temporarily shake loose her devotion to portraying her “true” self and be someone else for a while.”—
I swear to every heaven ever imagined,
if I hear one more dead-eyed hipster
tell me that art is dead, I will personally summon Shakespeare
from the grave so he can tell them every reason
why he wishes he were born in a time where
he could have a damn Gmail account…
Barn Owl Scanning and Encoding Fluid Sacrament of Retrofitting Pets with Collapsed Wave Functions Rocket to Mars (and Back) Post-coital Algorithms Silicon Nothingness (with Third Party Plug-Ins) CryoPoetry Flat-Screen Citrus Software for Understanding November
Dale Wisely thinks a good bit about things to come. All of these are coming and you know it.
How many-peopled is the girl who once sat so solitary!
Humming “I Feel Free”, she runs from Fairfax to Vienna and catches the metro of liberation from singular overthought obsessions.
A double rainbow (as seen on YouTube) she beholds and stays up way too late, again, until her fingers are covered in hot wax from both ends.
Oh how the mills have fallen! I grieve for you, Youngstown my father, but your love did not surpass my need for life and I now have a stepfatherdistrict. One day someone shall remove your belt, but not I. Not I.
steadfast evanescence captures the edge of you silently fading from a shadow’s orphanagious droplet in the house dreaming simultaneous dreams transparent pulse flutters off, nightshades collapse from the wish frailly balanced on good and evil— the meaning and cause of yawns mingle with cartoonglow memories of childhood keeping a liquid glass of sympathy shrouded by wet pupils partly drained yet somehow rock-hard in wonder of how the euphony was stretched from the raspberry rubies of sleep and thrown onto the everlasting hazel blaze of morning.
Heath currently at work on two different chapbooks and a full-length book of poetry and is also in the middle of writing a book of philosophy. He lives in York, PA and attended Temple University.
how did she get to this point: the civic orgy of orgies? it started with tape and a cricket bat in a cheap hotel room and the final surrender. "enjoy your new prescription and have a good time in the capital, sugar!”
Sometimes change smashes lows.
close to being poured
displays a soft lip on the decanter neck.
My father asks why I’ve never fallen in love.
It’s a good place to get to
whether or not it lasts.
In places curls of butterscotch
remember the cool pines.
In places a glass of wine recalls
the shoddy tumble of its leaves.
Here’s the devil tree,
the buddhas in the bamboo.
Here’s a sword and a scarab beetle.
Here’s an argument
with German fairytales.
How any monk will tell you
a cradle is a deathbed.
Sometimes change smashes lows.
But sometimes the lows are fine.
Sometimes the whole sea
is just a white rag to wash
the hermit crab’s prodigal back.
Sometimes what seemed
a crystal wave
pulls away your house and leaves behind
five pretty rivers of debris.
I. In an elevated hole somewhere on Earth we grip each other’s breakfasts against our chests. A toll booth matter- of-fact kind of waking up occurs every time the push/pull narcolepsy keeps us in between mountain ranges and shit-stained hiking boots. It’s becoming fonder, the act of sharpening gardens against our teeth, quivering beneath the rubber gloves of a stay-at-home dad. Waiting to strike at his beard, rouse the spectators into a fiction of telephone wires and Internet.
II. "I watched the stars quiver last nite." "I know, I was there with you; we both threw our cups of hot chocolate over the CAUTION fence and made out to existentialism.” Amnesia plants deep, hides in a hovel away from the sun. Without a quick-start shiver, or expectation, the garden eats its malignancy whole, a hoard of bugs crawl, spectate, develop jowls. "Oh, please, anywhere but here." "Shh sugar, I’m whittling down wood into a flute; chiseling and cherishing.” Somnambulism will leave and never come back; there are sirens beeping at the foot of the mountain that remind me to look forward.
III. Gardening a lazy state and nothing changes; Quivering in rest among fish of an ancient sea; Someone tell the spectators to go home, for once.
Logan Ellis is a full-time student studying creative writing and Linguistics. His work is scattered across the Internet in various lit mags, including The Brasilia Review, theNewerYork, A Literation, and the upcoming issue of Eleven Eleven from the California College of Arts. He loves kittens.
All I can hope is that during my autopsy when I am old, (when my scalp is flipped back, skin folded and rolled, when I am cut into quarters and left in the corner of a morgue) it is you, gaseous and glorious, garish and ghostly that they will see inside of me.
What3Words has named every 3x3 meter square in the world with a unique combination of 3 dictionary words. The basis for this poetry competition is to use the three word address where the most significant event in your life took place as the title of your poem. The event could be anything from your birth, to the place you got married, to the exact place where you got your dream job. In addition to making the three words the title of the poem, use the three words, any associations with them and the memories of the time and place in your poem.
Entries will be reviewed by Brooks Lampe, editor of Uut Poetry, and the finalists will be judged by literary agent Sallyanne Sweeney of Mulcahy Associates. Sallyanne was also a judge for the 2014 Undiscovered Voices Award. First prize for the competition will be a year’s full membership to the Poetry Book Society, second and third places will receive complimentary what3words t-shirts.
To find your three words, go to the app (iOS/Android) or to the website what3words.com. You can search by address or postcode and then move the pin over the 3m squares to find the individual three word address for your poem’s title.
Submit your poem here. One entry per contestant. Please follow formatting guidelines and select the “contest” tag. Finalists will be posted on Uut Poetry. Ends Aug. 3.