Category Archives: Writing Contests

Poetry Contest/ #50 PRECIOUS WORDS/

The Eyes of a Dyslexic Child By RL Brown (WC 190)

My brain hurts.
My eyes won’t work.
I can’t read anymore.
Why do letters move?
Be still, so I can read you.			
Yet, I hear the letters whisper-
Don’t give up.

Jumbled Words.
Letters flip and flop. 
Then they jump and hop.
Why do letters move?
Be still, so I can see you.
Still, I hear the letters whisper. 
Say my name.

Grumbled Sounds,
And mumbled tones, 
Never sounding the same.
WHY do letters move?
Be still, so I can hear you.
Then I hear the letters whisper-
Blend the sounds.

Teacher, Teacher!
The letters are moving!
No, no, that’s in your head.
Why do letters move?
Be still, YOU!
Now, I hear the letters whisper-

Taking Test
Orally, I’m best.
I can’t print on the test.
Why do letters move?
Be still, so I can write you.
Scared, I hear the letters whisper-
Yes, you can. 

Read aloud!
Nervous mistakes,			
Makes my insides quake. 
Why do letters move?
Be still, so no one laughs at me. 
Wow, I hear the letters shout. 
Keep on going. 

Every day,
my teacher says,
“You’re reading better today!”
“Why did letters move?”
Not anymore! 
I hear the letters shout, hooray!
I’m reading today. 

Rex hated to read aloud. Words skipped, tripped and stumbled over his tongue like jabbering gibberish. Flustered, Rex stopped.

Susie loved to read aloud. Her words glided in seamless syllables of streaming sounds. Her correctness rattled Rex. 
Susie closed the book. Torrents of confusion ceased; his heart sank in horrible comparison.  Susie can read and he cannot. 

Rex wished he could slash words off all the pages. Then there would be no more letters picking at his brain. The pages would be silent like listening to quiet rain.

Photo by mentatdgt on


By RL Brown (WC 147)

Brontebrown2 GIF - Find & Share on GIPHY

GIF for Spring Fling 2021/ Designed in / excerpt from RasulRaumaVideo

The little things that run the world 
with silent beats, their wings unfurl. 
As ambrosia seekers,
they're nature's keepers. 
Spreading golden pearls as they twirl. 

Susie and Becca, friends since birth, 
stretch their roots in fertile earth. 
Butterflies frolic and play.
When finding nectar, they stay. 
Rudbeckia’s titter reveals their mirth. 

Bees love blossoms of purple and red, 
and wildflowers mix with anther thread. 
Lavender flowers are pure and sweet.
Honeybees make a delicate treat.   
Non-hybrid blossoms yield the best spread. 

Sweet aromas attract this flying jewel. 
Hummingbirds need to constantly refuel. 
They search for fragrant flowers, 
to feed every three hours. 
Territorial, these feisty birds duel. 

Trees need pollinators for apples and cherries, 
also for drupes like peaches and raspberries. 
Hummingbirds, bees, and butterflies 
toil diligently under blue skies. 
They sweeten our world with bountiful berries. 

The little things that run the world. 

Autumn Breeze by RLBrown

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is 20181201_121330.jpg
Photo by R. Brown
Old Mill, NLR, AR

Snuggled in a blanket, thick socks warm my toes, a hot latte melts my insides, and a fall breeze tickles my nose. Achoo!
Hay bales decorate storefronts with scarecrows and pumpkins, adorn with autumn hues. It’s a typically crisp autumn day, lacking the humidity and heat of yesterday. ACHOO – Achoo.
A visit to the pumpkin patch on a sunny afternoon, thick with particulates and allergen visibly floating in the air. Achoo, Achoo, and ACHOO!
The Harvest Moon fills the evening sky, the horizon allowing only the yellow, orange, and red hues to filter through – Achoo, ACHOO!
The smell of cinnamon and spices and a warm pot of stew remind me of fall and winter coming soon. Achoo!
The Harvest Moon disappears for another year as the fall wind blows the dust away and brings the fresh, clean air. Time to slow down, look around, and breathe in this fall season, even with a sneeze or two.

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is fallfrenzy.png

#50PRECIOUSWORDS 2021 is Officially OPEN!

Fairytale Fishing / A Haiku (WC 49) written by RL Brown

Excerpt from My Grand is an Alien

Acrylic Pointing by RL Brown
Just Grand, Gramps, and me-
There’s no carrying large totes,
no buckets, no boats.

A pole in each hand
Crickets wait by the pondbank.
Gramps catches our bait.

Nibble, then a tug.
Fishermen feel the line and-
wait to jerk the hook,

-then reels-in a big fat brim.