Saturday, June 4, 2016

2016 Winning Sonnets Announced

Thank you to everyone who entered the 19th annual Anne Dittrick Sonnet Writing Contest.  After reading over 100 sonnets from adult and student writers, they had to narrow it down to the following three winning sonnets:

Adult/Post-Secondary Sonnet Winner


A Sonnet To Our Dad
By Barbara Van Dyke

To us you were almighty as you tilled
Away the dismal gray of winter's scene
In spring it seemed you lit the sun and willed
The rain to wash the fields in friendly green

When summer bloomed in shades of purple hay
You breathed its scent and caused the southern breeze
To blow and warm the tender stalks of May
Which grew from seeds you spared from April's freeze

In fall you seemed to halt the setting sun
Until the hay was baled and brought inside
Day lingered late until the work was done
And cribs with golden grains were filled and dried

We saw your might in all that you could do
Now we can do, for we have learned from you.

High School Sonnet Winner


Do You Remember This November?
By Julia Briones

Some years ago, in confidence, I told
A friend of hours I spent admiring you.
She fled my side, betrayed my trust so bold.
The very ears not meant to hear soon knew…

Thus ridiculed, sentenced to shame, I fell.
Despite all that, you lent a caring hand,
A friendship promptly bloomed—again, I fell.
Secrets and laughs alike we shared all grand

A reverie of years did waltz on past,
Each wore its own unique color and dress,
But when you came of riper age, you cast
It all aside in spite of my distress.

Although my wounds did heal with Time, I muse,
What mind-erasing medicine you use.

Middle School Sonnet Winner


Curse the Sonnets!
By Kellen McLaughlin

Why does Shakespeare always write in this way?
Was he precise or merely just insane?
Iambic pentameter makes me gray.
This choppy meter scrambles up my brain. 

I never can create a clever rhyme.
I cannot think; my mind is blank and dry.
I try forever, wasting all my time. 
Preferably, I’d rather sit and die.

And if you think that rhyming’s hard enough,
Try cramming ten syllables in one line.
It’s pure torture, for fitting rules is tough. 
It’s either eleven beats or just nine. 

Shakespeare, that loon, with his eccentric style.
I curse the sonnets, they are cruel and vile.


Read honorable mentions on our website.
Be sure to join us for Shakespeare On The Green,
June 23-26, 30, July 1-3, 5-10.

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