The top submission in each category for our October 2025 writing contest: write a poem using one of these categories as the primary subject or metaphor: weather, insects, or flowers.

spring after it rains

Uma Cormier-Marri, Weather Category

The day after the groundhog
They're all giddy, he foretold spring soon
Two days after the groundhog
They grumble
They cannot find the weather he promised
He smiles
Because he knows
The flowers they admire in the sun
Are watered by the rain
And strengthened by the wind
The flowers they admire in the sun
Spring after it rains

Heterocera

Miriam Boersma, Insects Category

Adult moths do not feed.
As is the case with many insects.
Only the larvae eat.

Moths don't think of their final form
as their most important one.
Their youth matters more.
When they gorged themselves
and talked of the flavor
of the leaves they rested on
and the color of the sunlight
as it filters through the canopy
and did not for a moment
think of the future.

The adults are prettier, though.
Loving moths is not uncommon.
Loving caterpillars is.

As I stand on the stage today,
in my cocoon of navy blue cloth,
I look out at a crowd of antennae.
I see a few young faces, eager,
but mostly I see wide eyes and wings.
I melt into my robe under the lights.
And when I step away, my wings still wet,
I do not feed anymore.

The Resilient Bloom

Lily Partridge, Flower Category

The vines grab my arms, thorns piercing through my skin,
Tears falling into puddles I once saw myself within.
Flowers surround me, like a bud cornered by petals,
All around me, I feel the pain of stabbing nettles.
The puddle is now surrounded by blood, the picture I once saw fading,
Rotten petals fall from the bud, becoming nothing but ashes, degrading.
The image I once saw of myself is no longer there,
Fading like the petals that once stood perfectly around the stud, now bare.
Shriveled and falling into the puddle of bloody thorns,
A garden of sorrow where beauty is forlorn.
Yet amidst the decay, a single bloom fights to survive,
A symbol of hope, struggling to stay alive.
Its vibrant colors defy the gloom,
A beacon of light in the midst of doom.
Though the vines may grip and the thorns may tear,
This resilient flower of hope is always there.
In the garden of despair, where petals fall and dreams shatter,
The bloom stands tall, reminding us that hope still matters.
For even in the darkest times, when all seems lost,
A single flower can endure, no matter the cost.