A selection of poems from FBC’s inaugural creative writing contest, Stories from Here. Learn more about the contest and its connection to our mission here.

Poetry Winner

 

In defense of a small life
Nina Barufaldi

Where we lived was the
            end of the earth  

A terrific sea to the east
            mountains to the west  

We were barnacles
            too stuck in our ways to leave  

The tides came and left
            tourists with cameras.
            whales
            lobsters
            Herring
            children with ice cream dripping down their chins  

We watched them
            come and go
            from our sessile homes
            cemented to rock  

We heard about how it was
            other places  

They said we should
            see what it’s like
            come for a visit
            go elsewhere
            The world is infinitely large, you know  

With one crusty eye
Half-open
I chided
            You know, the infinite extends in both directions

 

About the Poet 

Nina Barufaldi writes from Bar Harbor with a little white dog and a space heater nearby. Her recent work appears in Flash Fiction Magazine, WestWord, and After Dinner Conversation, among others. She was long-listed for the American Short(er) Fiction Prize and The First Pages Prize, and she is currently a finalist in the Purple Ink Press Chapbook Contest. You can find her on Substack as @writingwithnina and teaching creative writing online at PracticeofWriting.com.

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Honorable Mentions

Seasons
Christine Yurick

 

I want to go out at 4am and see what the fishermen see.
The sun, long and hard in the sky. Early morning,
dawn and dusk, the most beautiful things.

I watch the purple-pink cosmos sway in the wind.
I hear the coyote outside my window,
the wild woods, the only place we can be alone.

Where would we be without the seasons?
The robins are eating magnolia berries.
The orchid begins a new stalk, ready to flower. 

Why does a bird cross a field, or a boat cross the sea?
A tree needs to get everything from where it stands.
The dogwood holds on to red leaves,

the eagles play in the air high over the hill,
my lover is in the yard carrying wood and smiling.

 

About the Poet 

Christine Yurick is the founding editor of Think Journal. Her chapbook At the End of the Day and other poems is available from Kelsay Books. In the summer she lives in Brooklin, Maine, where she spends her days sailing on clear blue water.

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November Storm Rising
Stephanie Lyn

 

Shadows come alive on the grass
outside the window. I know it’s sunlight
shining through the trees. But if I squint just right,
I can see a flutter of faeries
or wood sprites, thronging together
in their sun worship. Basking in
the last bit of warmth
before the storm clouds lurking on the horizon
rush in.

Shadows twist and turn, dip across
the stone path, dance through the garden.
Remaking the color of grass and stone. Deepening
the brown of the dying hydrangea bush. Dappling
the rocks along flower beds. House silent
but for the creak and groan
of the weathervane, turning, battered
by heavy gusts of wind. Dried-up husks of leaves
smack into windows with a shockingly loud whoosh.

Tips of pine trees
through skylights. Sway in air currents
lashing around them. Nature
whipped into a frenzy.
A storm in the making.

I can almost hear the shadows singing tribute
as they writhe on the ground.

 

 

About the Poet

Stephanie Lyn (ordinarily based in Los Angeles for reasons she has begun to question) came to Maine last fall for what was meant to be a four-week stay and has yet to leave. Captivated by the ever-changing beauty of the Blue Hill peninsula and the warmth of its communities, she has spent the past seven months wandering the coast, woods, and back roads of Downeast and Midcoast Maine. She draws inspiration from the people and places around her and remains endlessly entertained by whatever is happening outside her window. When not out exploring, Stephanie works remotely as a writer and editor and spends her free time writing poetry and fiction.

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Frenchman’s Bay
Molly Wood

 

Far away places
Undisturbed spaces
While working the islands
Within Frenchman’s Bay
Tides of the water
Try to ferry us away 

Hold’s growing deeper
As we motor along
Seagulls are riding
The wind off the beam
Weaving through distances
While eyeing the sea 

Blue and bright orange
Like the sunsets at sea
The lobsterman’s buoys
Show where to go
Connecting to souls
Of the doomed far below 

Blue Moon’s a rising
Shows its love for the sea
While I watch in this moonlight
On the granite lined shore
The stillness of slack tide
Has me wishing for more 

Far away places
Undisturbed spaces
Take me back slowly
To savor this day
The peace and raw beauty
of Beloved Frenchman’s Bay

 

 

About the Poet

Molly Wood divides her time between her homes in Winter Harbor, Maine and Villanova, Pennsylvania. She plays 6 and 12 string guitar as well as ukulele focusing on Hawaiian Slack Key and composing lyrics and music. Recently she retired from being a coppersmith, designing and making custom weathervanes. She has been coming to Frenchman’s Bay for over 35 years, enjoying its natural beauty.