World of Poetry

Flashback: “Rusty Love” wins Fourth Place in World of Poetry contest

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That time my poem “Rusty Love” won Fourth Place in the World of Poetry contest. When I wrote this one, I deliberately tailored it for what I perceived WoP would like: something rhymed and sentimental. The title was cribbed directly from the name of an actual person–the property manager of the apartment complex where I lived in Winter Park, Florida. If I’m not mistaken, the real Rusty Love was retired, like most of my neighbors there, but she seemed pretty cool, driving a convertible and wearing youthful looking clothes. Her evocative name suggested the outrageous conceit that leads off the poem: “My love is like a rusty nail.”

Here is the whole piece in all its horrible glory:

Rusty Love

My love is like a rusty nail:
It is old but will not fail.
Tender is the tree, and I am wet;
Rain falls on me, but I won’t weaken yet;
We’ve years to go, and miles, more miles,
than can be counted on the branches of its head.
Quiet times, and times that break a smile;
Animal times, and times of flying fowl.
Quickening times, hears and times that part meanwhile.
I never doubt my love’s location;
She is in me, and I am her vocation.

As you can see, the opening analogy leads to an even weirder one, ad it spirals our of control for a while. I have no illusions about this award, either. Given World of Poetry’s modus operandi, I was probably one of about a thousand (or even more) “fourth place” winners.

This article has been delayed for months because I couldn’t track down a copy of “Rusty Love.” Finally, while going through a box of old postcards, photos, and junk, I found an index card with a pencil draft. It’s possible that I revised the piece when I typed it; the middle section, where there is no rhyme for “head” or “fowl” seems like something I might have fixed. Or I may have decided it was “good enough” for the purpose of competing in a World of Poetry poetry contest.

Flashback: World of Poetry Honorable Mention for “The Spoon Room”

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Submitting poems to the Word of Poetry contests in the late 80s amused me, so I did it several times. Here’s the Award of Merit Certificate I received on Nov 21, 1987–when my poem “The Spoon Room” won Honorable Mention in the New American Poetry Contest. This rank was shared with hundreds of other poets. But I did receive a nice certificate, suitable for framing.

The company also asked to publish the poem in their New American Poetry Anthology. Judging by the photocopy of the form I kept, I returned the signed form authorizing them to use it. Years ago, I found one of those anthologies in a thrift store. It contained thousands of poems crammed onto hundreds of 8.5 x 11 pages, in no particular order. I could never locate any of my poems in the book.

Here’s “The Spoon Room” text on the authorization form:

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World of Poetry’s business model seemed to be rewarding every single poet who submitted work with a personalized certificate or honorable mention, and then selling them encyclopedic anthologies. As a contributor, I was entitled to a discount on the $69.95 price–reducing the cost to $39.95. Poets could pay extra for including a dedication, photograph, or illustration. I didn’t have that kind of money at the time, so I never bought the book. But somewhere, World of Poetry anthologies must be floating around with my work in them.

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Flashback: Golden Poet Award 1991

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I found this “beautiful certificate” in a folder filled with miscellaneous literary correspondence. World of Poetry ran many contests, and anyone who entered would get one of these mass printed forms. I’m not sure it inspired me to “new poetical heights,” but I did write a subversively sentimental poem for one of their contests.

Back in the 90’s, it seemed rather amusing to send stuff to them. Once I got an Honorary Mention Award, but haven’t found that yet. The company made money by compiling huge books filled with sentimental poetry and selling them to the Golden Poets who “contributed.” I could have ordered the “brass and walnut Golden Poet Plaque” mentioned below, but I never did that either. So I have nothing to “celebrate my greatness.”

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Judging by a quick Internet search, World of Poetry no longer exists. That would seem to leave a huge vacancy for an organization to boost poetic egos while fleecing them of their money. I wonder what happened to Edde-Lou Cole and her poetry mission?