Assumption Contest • Lenten Contest • Sacred Poetry Contest

2021 Advent Writing Contest

Congratulations to the winners of CLA’s 2021 Advent Writing Contest Winners! We thank all who entered into the contest.

Please read the beautiful winning entries below!

First Prize: Matthew Kohut
Second Prize: Tamara Nicholl-Smith
Third Prize: Hannah Roberts
Honorable Mention: Lubna Haddad Walford
Finalists: Peggy Earnest, Tyler Julian, Michelle Lehn, Cindy Madara, Mary Grace Mangano, Miriam Rutegard, Roseanne Sullivan, Lynn Grace Wong

First Prize - Matthew Kohut

Nowhere to Arrive

Everything swells
the month before birth—
feet, hands, cheeks.

With nowhere to arrive,
the echo of each footstep  
is the pain of becoming,

sharpened by knowing 
God rested after six days,
exhausted by birthing. 

Faith is an expectant mother
in a threadbare shawl,
walking with only a prayer.

Matthew Kohut has worked as a writer, teacher, and musician for thirty years. His poetry has been published in The Dewdrop, Leaping Clear, Wild Roof Journal, Ekphrastic Review, and two anthologies by Beautiful Cadaver Press. He is the co-author of a book on social judgment theory that has been translated into nine languages. For the past decade his work has focused on helping people communicate more effectively in high-stakes settings.

Second Prize - Tamara Nicholl-Smith

Stella Maris

We may choose something like a star

  To stay our minds on and be staid. 
— Robert Frost 

You wear the night, shimmer with the 
milk-light of Orion’s Belt, and 
hold the North Star in your outstretched 
palm. You once grew round and full to breaking, 
your belly, a moon — full with promise, 
small as a wink whispered into your womb. 

I, filled with shadow song,
bloated with emptiness,
heavy with waiting, 
fertile with want,
nearly missed your invitation,
written in the pointing stars: 
Make of yourself a manger.

At the foot of the Northern Cross
Albireo blooms orange and blue.
I turn my face to the flowering sky.

Tamara Nicholl-Smith's poetry has appeared on two Albuquerque city bus panels, one parking meter, numerous radio shows, a spoken-word classical piano fusion CD, and in several publications, including the Mutablis Press anthology Enchantment of the Ordinary, Kyoto Journal Issue 95, The Examined Life Journal Issue 8 (also forthcoming in issue 9), and Catholic Arts Today. 

She is currently pursuing an MFA in Creative Writing at the University of Saint Thomas in Houston and is developing a creative productivity workshop. She has been featured locally on KPFT, in Public Poetry’s Library Series, and selected multiple times as a Houston Poetry Festival juried poet.

Third Prize - Hannah Roberts

Maranatha

Forgive me, Mary, but was it enough?
Bead styrofoam drifts down the Delaware.
We pass a day care open 24/7,
A pair of addicts, bandaged legs, sunk eyes.
There’s solace in the aster’s honest face.
The Eastern white pine’s arms outstretched in praise.
The sycamore’s pale trunk adorns the ‘hood,
Rattling glad a dry and windy hymn.
But Mary, tell me straight, was it enough?
Can we forget too long or fall too far?
Does He allow too much? Suffer too long?
Like Joseph, does He mean it all for good?
Still the choice remains: to whom shall we go?
Come quickly, Lord, in purple and in gold.

Hannah Roberts was born in Yorkshire. She and her American husband Chris met while they were both studying Theology at Oxford University. Before kids, Hannah worked freelance in the East End of London, helping poor churches redevelop their property for weekday community and commercial use. She is now a homeschooling mom of four girls in Philadelphia, teaching homeschool literature classes and directing outdoor productions of Shakespeare.

Honorable Mention - Lubna Haddad Walford

O Bride of Nazareth in Galilee

O Bride of Nazareth in Galilee,
The rocky hills of Judah bloom today,
And stars of chamomile perfume the way
Arrayed with iris and anemone.

The Earth is in its springtime infancy
And songs of Eden whisper from the clay,
O Bride of Nazareth in Galilee,
The rocky hills of Judah bloom today.  

Although the fig leaves bud upon the tree
The dread of summer’s toil holds no sway,
And joy beguiles the stony path’s delay
As we ascend the hills triumphantly,
O Bride of Nazareth in Galilee.

Lubna Haddad Walford is a homeschooling mother of four from Downey, California. After teaching high school Latin poetry, she received an M. A. in Classical Literature from the University of Chicago. She loves gardening and has an interest in the theme and imagery of abundance in Scripture and literature. She is currently completing a writing course on formal verse at the University of St. Thomas-Houston.

2021 Assumption of Mary Writing Contest

Congratulations to the winners of CLA’s 2021 Assumption of Mary Writing Contest Winners! We thank all who entered into the contest.

Please read the beautiful winning entries below!

First Place: Stephen Kramp
Second Place: Cristina Legarda
Third Place: James Prather
Honorable Mention: Julianne Hyrcza

First Place - Stephen Kramp

Assumption Sonnet

From the gold gods speechless in Zeitoun.
From the scrub plain where a holly oak
transfixes Fatima.  From Tepeyac
swirling with snakes.  From lightning without rain
on midnight Carmel.  From the green-glass Gave
de Pau.  From La Vang—the napalmed canopy,
deities jackknifed in banana tree
bark hissing still. 

                               From earth, from men, from love
and lack of love, our mother now escapes,
but not by climbing plumes or scaling clouds.
As she joins Christ, he brings her nearer yet
to us: a secret only heaven keeps,
and then imperfectly.  It’s his delight
to see her tend his body and his blood.

Judge Mike Aquilina's Comments on "Assumption Sonnet"

Rhythmically sophisticated and dazzling in its images, this poem conquered me with the lines in its counterturn, which describe our Mother’s “escape,” “not by climbing plumes or scaling clouds.” And then came its theological climax, which killed me: “As she joins Christ, he brings her nearer yet / to us.” That, of course, reveals the significance of the places in the poet’s opening lines. Bravo.

Second Place - Cristina Legarda

Assumption

It was like this before: the sound of wings –
Jacob’s angel, apostles’ dove,  Elijah’s whisper,
wind through leaves, its origins impossible to tell.

Breath surrounds me; light ignites from crown
to soles – as when their hands are on my head
in prayer, a mighty rush. Before I go

I want to tell them: set the crossbeam down.
The heavy fear and shame he came to banish.
He embraced apocalypse to teach us of our glory. 

I’m unafraid. I have no needs. My body
is a swathe of light. No more aching, tiring,
weeping, bleeding. The Lord has magnified my soul.  

My God, when you arrive, speak not your Word but sing.
Come, Lord Jesus. It is time. Love bears everything. 

Judge Mike Aquilina's Comment on "Assumption"

Images from Scripture and devotional art dance in these musical lines. The closing couplet, with its simplicity and ordinary rhyme, resolves the work in a satisfying way.

Third Place - James Prather

The Assumption of Mary

Her bowed head hangs above her praying hands
Like crucified flesh. In wedding white, she kneels
On wooden floors in Ephesus, silent
And deserts away from her home. There, the veil
Was pierced. An angel stooped to say, “Hail”
To her, who had each ark and ancestor
Still longer wait, from her “how?” to her fiat.
Her knees, no longer kneeling, ache as her soft strides
Sever the falling dusk. She seeks a secret place
To die alone, with God. On her way, her God
And son swaddles her in night and starlight.
Now veiled, she speaks to lonely souls in secret:

“I say silence is a myth because the dark
Speaks. So does the streetlight shine,
The ground swell, and naked limbs of bark
Shiver like bells. Like loudly-whipped wind,
All that is floats, flows, tucks, tugs tension
Across what was, what will, what would be, but better
It speaks: one word, a sun, rising in me
Unfettered, smoke from my flesh afire, lettered
By song and scream. A word unseen
Still I say, now, in my own voice,
As a whisper, from beyond, at bottom
Of me and the oldest myth told: Behold!” 

Judge Mike Aquilina's Comments on "The Assumption of Mary"

I like the boldness of this imaginative venture — conjuring not only Mary’s place at the end but also her thoughts. The alliteration and internal rhyme make the lines fairly explosive, but in a controlled way, like fireworks, which are entirely appropriate to such a feast.

Honorable Mention - Julianne Hyrcza

The Assumption Sonnet

Dear mother, take your place in Heav’n above
the earth and clouds and sun you’ve called your home.
Take my hand and rise up like your Son’s love
when he triumphed in glory from the tomb.
Upon your head shall twelve stars dance amidst
your immaculate beauty cloaked in blue.
Within a creviced moon your feet shall rest
while saints and angels echo songs to you:
Salve, Regina! Ave Maria!
Our Mother of the Most High, Jesus Christ!
Salve, Regina! Ave Maria!
Our Lady who said yes to Jesus’ life.
“Behold, you are the handmaid of the Lord.”
Body and soul, you depart from this world. 

Judge Mike Aquilina's Comments on "The Assumption Sonnet”

This poem has all the endearing qualities of medieval devotional verse. It is simple and clear, a tapestry of biblical imagery and stock phrases from popular piety. But the expressions still surprise with their music: “Within a creviced moon your feet shall rest.” The poem is daring in its sudden insertion of lines that break the form, but work perfectly nonetheless: “Salve, Regina! Ave Maria!” All of this poem’s surprises are quiet but pleasing.

2021 Lenten Writing Contest

Congratulations to the winners of CLA’s 2021 Lenten Writing Contest Winners! We thank all who entered into the contest.

Please read the beautiful winning entries below!

First Place: Roseanne T. Sullivan
Second Place: Noah Beurskens
Third Place: Andrew Kays
Honorable Mention: Nancy Foley, Stephanie Howe Sullivan

First Place - Roseanne T. Sullivan

Mater Dolorosa in Via Crucis

Through her heart, His sorrow sharing,
all His bitter anguish bearing,
now at length the sword has passed.

I. As He Leaves the Palace of Pilate

In agony she can see, He is almost dead already
Lashed, mocked, weakened, pale, unsteady.
Rivulets of blood from thorns in His crown trace
Along His supernaturally patient face.

Skin and flesh in tatters and dried blood adhere
To the seamless garment woven for Him by her.
No one else on earth, but she alone, can hear
His moan as the cross is thrown onto His raw shoulder.

Soldiers scourge Him again, rain curses shrill
To drive Him along the sorrowful way
Towards Calvary, the hill of Adam’s Skull.
The crowd engulfs her, she is torn away.

II. After His First Fall

The crowd now somehow parts for her.
The centurions turn aside for her.

He meets her eyes, in com-passion and love.
No words can express the inseparable mix
Of shared anguish and a firm resolve
In the long deep gaze they mutually fix.

This day has redeemed you already, my mother.
To save all Our Father’s children, we will not shrink.
You and I together, only us and none other—
We’ll share this cup between us,
to the dregs of its bitter sweet drink.

Second Place - Noah Beurskens

Simon of Cyrene

Shall the Carpenter bear his cross alone,
And die on the road to death?
Or shall I walk with the man called Christ,
And help deliver life?

Shall the Carpenter bear his cross alone,
And deliver us from Hell?
Or shall I walk with the cross of Christ,
My love for him to tell?

Shall the Carpenter bear his cross alone,
The world’s weight to hold?
Or shall I walk with the flame called Christ,
Who lights our frigid souls?

Shall the Carpenter bear his cross alone,
And crumble to the street?
Or shall I walk with the key called Christ,
That opens heaven’s gates? 

Third Place - Andrew Kays

Calvariae Via

A distant tree upon a hill, that groans with all the earth.
While laments sound like labour pains, creation’s second birth.
The clamored roar of slander hurled, upon a lonely face.
His grotesque Image inverse of th’ntire human race.
The bread of Life will be your fill
If you will walk with Him.

Broad road is flowed with spring and vine, up towards the heav’nly feast.
A bloody banquet wedding, of th’mortal Prince of Peace.
Your lonely God is burdened under weight that’s not His own.
As He’s freely forced to climb that hill, unto creation’s throne.
Oh take and eat eternal fruit
If you will walk with Him.

The cross He bears weighs not on you, unless you willing take.
The crown He wears you made for Him, accepted for your sake.
Oh empty out your heart for Him, who empties His for you.
Oh pierce His side and victory seize, that gift that makes you new.
You’ll see His face, that of your own,
If you will walk with Him

Oh sing hosannas, wailing weep, your King is here at last.
Oh die to Him, He dies for you, who the first stone did cast.
Oh drag your feet through dust of sin, you hypocrites who fell.
Oh can’t you see the other road is hubris high to hell.
My God, I have abandoned you,
Why won’t you walk with Him?

Honorable Mention - Nancy Foley

Empty Hands

To symbolize the forty-day journey
I paint my nails pandemic purple.

Hands in prayer, head bowed
sheltering at home, alone.
Am haunted with future fears:
loss of salary, savings, security,
shut-downs, sickness, six feet
of separation, six feet under.

His hands folded in prayer
wandering in the desert, alone.
Sensing they will hand Him over,
He’s besieged with shrouded visions:
betrayal, denial, spit, whips, thorns,
piercing nails, crucifixion.

Yet He stretches out His hand to me.
First, I must empty mine, He says.
What must I leave behind, I ask?
But I already know. I take His
blood-stained hand. Through His
wounds, my hands are made clean.

We stumble along together
hand in hand.
His passion-punctured palms
my pandemic purple nails,
trusting there will be light
at the end of the journey.

And an empty tomb.

Honorable Mention - Stephanie Howe Sullivan

Walk With The Word

Our Lenten Walk
With Christ our Lord
Is foreshadowed
In His Word

For forty days
By Spirit led
Christ denied
What Satan said

Turn stone to bread
Your angels call
Feed yourself
Halt your fall

Bow in worship
You will be served
Temptations of
God’s Holy Word

It is written
You shall not test
Your Lord God
Was Christ’s behest

And Satan fled
At Christ’s command
Christ our victor
Son of Man

These forty days
That Christ endured
Aligned us with
The Incarnate Word

Our Lenten Walk
With Christ our Lord
Is forty days
In His Word

For forty days
Let spirit lead
Heart and mind
Hands and feet

We do not live
Alone on bread
But by the Word
Our spirit’s fed

And when we leap
We may but fall
Trust Lord Jesus
Bears us all

Bow penitent
Though none deserve
Grace of salvation
Of Him we serve

Our Lord God
We do not test
Honoring true
Christ’s behest

As Satan flees
At Christ’s command
We find rest
In Son of Man

These forty days
We walk assured
Led by Spirit
With the Incarnate Word.

2021 Sacred Poetry Writing Contest

Congratulations to the winners of CLA’s 2021 Sacred Poetry Contest Winners! We thank all who entered into the contest.

Please read the beautiful winning entries below!

First Place: Whitney Rio-Ross
Second Place: Stephen Kramp
Third Place: Douglas Taylor-Weiss

First Place - Whitney Rio-Ross

Comments on Passable Prayer: Witness from Judge Jane Greer

“Whatever formal poetic tools a poem does or doesn’t use, if it doesn’t use evocative imagery, it’s something less than a poem. The language in this work is gorgeous and does the job it is meant to do. ‘I welter in birthright riddles;’ ‘Now I rove, a cockeyed home / for maggots and mutters;’ ‘whisper me / from ruins. Say among the rants was a shrapnel / of truth. Name me what you wish / and plunge these tremors beneath your current.’ The language does not tell us about but leads us to experience the Baptist’s inner and outer turmoil, his suffering, his love. This is poetry.”

Second Place - Stephen Kramp

Comments on New Life from Judge Jane Greer

“‘We washed / God’s flesh one awful hour, / and now our prayers are hushed: / the Sabbath slams its door.’ With quiet, confidence, this poem uses many of the tools in the poetic toolbox. Tight metrics, striking near-rhymes, strong imagery, and rigorously controlled language become the handmaidens of meaning. The use of ‘we’ places us firmly in the action where we belong, and we are guided with the lightest of touches to realize what is happening behind what we can see. Poetry is not just about deep thoughts; above all, it’s about craft. This poem is crafted so well that form and content work together.”

Third Place - Douglass Taylor-Weiss

Comments on The Last Day from Judge Jane Greer

“This difficult poem rewards our efforts to understand it. ‘Private records / Linger in the library, waiting, / Sealed and soiled.’ ‘Railings quiver. / Underneath the railings rocks turn / Into river, / Wreck the sortings, / Ruin spelling, ground the colors, / Boiling, browning.’ Little of the narrative is suggested by the painting; instead, the poet uses the painting as a springboard to perform a triple gainer, inventing a narrative from whole cloth. The controlled trochaic meter and near-haiku stanzas propel us, the language is lush and unnerving, and the cumulative result is foreboding. ”