Help us celebrate the 26th Anniversary of this local tradition! 
Welcome to Fresno County Public Library's 26th Annual Poetry Contest happening April 1st through April 30th. Poems will be judged by talented, local professionals and our winners will be celebrated at an in-person Awards Ceremony in June 2025. 

DATES
The contest runs from April 1st – April 30, 2025.

Winning poems will be announced online and in person on June 8, 2025.  

CATEGORIES
3rd-5th Grade
6th-8th Grade
9th-12th Grade
Adult (18 and up)

PRIZES
Winners in each category will receive a gift card, generously donated by the Friends of the Fresno County Public Library.
1st Place: $200
2nd Place: $100
3rd Place: $50

RULES AND GUIDELINES 
  • Submit your poem using the link on this site.
  • Participants must be residents of Fresno County.
  • One poem can be submitted per person.
  • Poems written in previous years can be submitted.
  • No previously published poems will be accepted (including but not limited to theses, academic journals, and online publications).
  • Poems can be submitted in English or Spanish. 
  • Participants will retain the copyright on their poems.
  • FCPL reserves the right to not publish poems that violate the FCPL Rules of Conduct and Comments Policy (linked below).
  • Participants are responsible for ensuring the poems submitted do not violate the guidelines for the contest and are not plagiarized or violate an existing copyright.

Remember: This contest is for all ages so please use appropriate language. The Library reserves the right to not publish or post entries. Poems that violate the FCPL Rules of Conduct and the Comments policy (linked below) or violate the rules of the FCPL Poetry Contest will not be eligible and will not be published.




Rules of Conduct
Comments Policy

Communion

He looks out at the dark field before him, kissed by moonlight. The dry grass has a slight shine to it, miles away from the whole world, the church before him terrifying and big.

White accented with hints of black and red,
Gorgeously pristine and dauntingly perfect.

He felt further than far here, but he was right where he needed to be,
The dirt beneath him is loose and noisy but it doesn't matter now.

One day he'd be buried in it, the Earth, where the worms would feast on him,
He'd return to where he came from. For as long as he could remember, he was floating.

Like a distant burning star, or a leaf in the wind, headed for a black hole or a rushing river. They would swallow him whole until nothing remained of himself, his confusing self.

This was what he always understood, what he always felt would eventually happen and he knew everyone around him could see it, he'd have no choice in it.

Everyone. Could. See. It

His mother would try to be kind when telling him he needed to try harder, think positively, the bindings on his chest squeeze horribly at his lungs.

The skin on his back peels off as tape uncomfortably pulls and tugs, pressing down what made the world just a bit more unbearable. The tape on his chest trying to undo what God created.

When would it happen? Would the world finally get to him and finally, finally he'd jump?

Everyone. Could. See. It.

The only place of solace was the tall building, marked with stained glass windows and the loud bell that rings every moment in his brain.

The only place of solace was in the words of an old wrinkly looking man with detailed unique robes, the warm words that held him tightly.

Yes, these were the only times he was really safe, as much as his fellow parishioners with their beautiful clothing hated him too, it didn't matter here, it never mattered at all.

He would work on forgiving God for creating him this way, everyday he would find it in his heart to understand nothing is perfect, not even God.

Even when his words are taken and chewed on by hateful mouths, spit out with sickly gross vitriol, the world is too beautiful to listen to any of that. The worms will one day have them too.

He knew God could also forgive, forgive the scars on his chest, forgive the drop in his voice, forgive the change in his name. God wouldn't punish a flower for blooming, would he?

They could forgive each other, they could get to know one another again too even though it had been such a long time, like rekindling old friends.

This was the God he knew, and maybe God would recognize him again, it would be a sweet thing to do, he thinks to himself. Like seeing a flower in the spring that died in the winter.

Across the dark field is that tall wonderful church where he spent so much of his time feeling fear and maybe even disgust, looking like a heaven of its own.

Those stained glass windows, high white halls, and at the top, the loud ever ringing bell. The smell of wooden pews and old paper, that is like a second home to him.

One day he will be able to walk in, with no eyes in beautiful clothes on him, with no questions or curiosity he would receive the body of Christ and it would be normal.

He. Could. See. It

At least he would certainly hope so,
Or else he'd feel a little silly still praying, here and there.

--Raúl R., Adult

Fresno: The Musical

Musicians take their places,
The oboe tunes the orchestra,
Lights dim, and Mother Nature
Strides to the podium, raises her baton,
And sweet melody washes over the valley.

The arc she traces calls up springtime.
Trees proud and tall,
Shrubs and bushes fully robed,
Fresno flaunts her emerald,
Her mint, jade, and lime.

Celebrating the hours,
Violins, violas, and cellos
Serenade shrubs, leaves, and blossoms,
The lushness of Mother Earth.
Her bosom bursts with color.

In the hands of a master composer,
Foliage reaches a crescendo.
Strings catch fire, colors shift
As eyes lowered, Fresno blushes
To purple, yellow, and red.

Mother Earth blows colder,
And Fresno sways seductively,
Drops a leaf or two.
Then, more and more float
Down into open arms,
Leaving bare limbs outstretched
For all the world to see,
Naked and unashamed.

The sky darkens.
The song turns ominous.
Winter melds into a Russian folk tune,
Dark and doleful,
While Fresno shivers and trembles
With the heart of a jilted lover
Listening for spring.

--Wayland J., Adult

Moon Breeze

After a long, busy day,
The bright sky becomes a calm
Night with a skirt of stars,
Lock the door, turn off the lights,
Turn your back on the noisy world,

Lying on the bed, a plain face with narrowed eyebrows,
Counting twinkling stars and reminiscing,
The moon breeze flows through the window
As the translucent curtains dances along the rhythmic wind,

The sweetness in the smile and
The saltiness in the tears,
What memory is this that has brought
You back from the past?

The night cereus blooms under the full moon,
Its aroma fills the room with delight,
Making me remember when we met that evening,
With the breeze in our ears and the moon in our eyes,
That nostalgic feeling is hard to resist.

Love is a romantic affair, a glimpse
In the unpredictable year,
You're the cheerful arrival and
Unhappy departure of my thoughts,
What to do with this memory that has recollected itself to me?

Love is boundless, a fascinating suspense,
Just like a flower that blooms from
An opposing energy, we were pricked by it,
But reminded by the scenery of the moon breeze,
Love is either fate or calamity,
And so it is, the sweetness in the smile
And the saltiness in the tears....

--Cha Y., Adult

Bittersweet

the sweet lemons in the backyard have yellowed
brightened as deciduous trees shifted
green to orange to spiral down
citrus is ripe in winter a fruit
that does not match its season
I always feel loss when summer slips away

I dry the flowers my fiancé gives
tie them in ribbon bouquets hang dry
arrange them in glass vases collect
shriveled petals in coffee mugs
preserve the way I feel in
moments of exhilaration
his name in my mind and I smile
then comes the sinking feeling
this cannot last nothing lasts

patterns are relentless
half moon warm in the sky
nectar bursting orange slice
full moon cold hard like a dime
thin metal in my mouth

he lives in a millennial apartment
clay pots white planters waxy young leaves
the tetras in the aquarium
have some sort of degenerative disease
one died after months of eating
through a swollen mouth jaw flesh ballooning
now there is medicine in the tank
dyes the water sepia
still the fish are fat and energetic
even the things that die in his home
seem content loved
I thought everything I touched died
but the houseplant I bought two years ago
is still unfurling striped newness

how is it possible
to be incandescently happy yet wait
heart tight weighted stone on my chest
for the ending I never expect

even so many years later
it is hard to admit
my brother chose to leave us
he was a spiraled leaf a ripened fruit
a star already burned to dust
do people who decide to die
even choose anything
choice implies seeing more than one option

I am unsure which season
this is which phase of the moon
half dark or cloud covered or mostly glowed
one edge unclean faded soft

we absolve everyone of their choices
it just wasn't right it's not you it's me
but how far does it go
polished diamond centers sharp edges
my brother didn't mean to hurt us
but we carry tragedy now
a heavy container a solid stone
I don't think he meant to hurt us

I used to heave when I laughed
nausea in the back of my throat
capsule powder grainy thick
plastic casing dissolved on tongue heat
biting bitter still preferable to
nightmares where he appeared
superhero ghost runaway hideaway
curl sleep after gut sobs
ask my body to be kind to itself
I never thought I could be happy again

I was afraid of love watched
for signs of red horizons but
not everyone decides to leave

winter fog in the valley
settling white wispy cold
inside are colorful bulb lights
oversized blankets floor heaters
my lover asleep in my lap
we look for sun we have everything

--Trianne H.F., Adult

My Ancestors

The women of my ancestry were brave, clever, and loving.
Strong, resourceful women of integrity.
They were humble warriors, putting down deep roots of heritage and tradition.

The courage of those women is in my blood.
Their valor courses through my body,
while their love and gratitude empower my spirit.

I respect and honor their struggles of the past.
I stand up for those who cannot stand in the present.
I fight for the rights of generations of the future.

The women of my ancestry embolden me to be strong.
They left a rich legacy that I now understand is mine to continue.
Their efforts, tears, and hardships shall not be in vain.

--Andrea C., Adult

"Will you accept Me"

Will you accept me if I let the truth out
I've been carrying this heavy portrait of myself
I can't be this anymore
My smile is not real it falls after you leave
I've been walking in someone else's path
This life I have it's so far from me
I've grown into this person that I'm not
You think that this is me
You're wrong, I've never been myself
I've only shown what you think I am
My past behaviors are just unexpressed fears
Will you accept me if I let the truth out
You have only met my portrait, but you never met the real person behind it

--Miguel V., Adult

"Patrice"

Steely eyes and metal thighs

With a heart that has no rue,

Her lips on the anvil formed,

For love there was no room;

Only rust will kiss her lips,

And never our death she'll die;

Nor never will she be forlorn,

And never a tear she'll cry,

For in her heart's a thorn

That she is of metal borne

With steel eyes and metal thighs

And a heart that has no rue.

--Bill S., Adult