Rattle Poetry Prize
Deadline: July 15, 2025 (11:59pm EDT)
The annual Rattle Poetry Prize celebrates its 20th year with a 1st prize of $15,000 for a single poem. Ten finalists will also receive $500 each and publication, and be eligible for the $5,000 Readers' Choice Award, to be selected by subscriber and entrant vote. All of these poems will be published in the winter issue of the magazine.
With the winners judged in an anonymized review by the editors to ensure a fair and consistent selection, an entry fee that is simply a one-year subscription to the magazine—and a large Readers' Choice Award to be chosen by the writers themselves—we've designed the Rattle Poetry Prize to be one of the most inspiring contests around.
Past winners have included a retired teacher, a lawyer, and several students. It's fair, it's friendly, and you win a print subscription to Rattle even if you don't win.
We accept entries online via Submittable. See Rattle's website for the complete guidelines and to read all of the past winners.
Please enjoy this finalist poem by Demetrius Buckley, published in Rattle #86, Winter 2024:
The We
after Gwendolyn Brooks
we cars, we jewelry. we hey hey
at shorties who are often forward.
we unbelievable, two tone, cut
with or can't be cut from.
we prisoner. we congress. we
just don't care about answers from mouths
—woman answer it's 2 o'clock I need my money.
we sick. we need her to bow our heads
and say gracious things to the courts.
we adults, we a force of infinite white lies
cuz a black one will get you whacked.
we Cesar, Moses, Imhotep. we ain't
colors in your coloring books. we ain't
ammo or pawns.
we easy on the eyes. we wise man
once said. we
painting pink panties to pull it off,
we magic a cell left for ceremony.
we Caine we Caine. we don't complete
the scale. we open dreams
like tuna packs, mix that shit
in a plastic bowl and bang it. we, honestly,
if you keep getting me mixed up
with a fake activist, power to the—what
I stand for is what I stand on.
we introduce ourselves like transformers.
we turn into things that they have to house
the housed.
we many boxes you have a hard time opening.
we born again and again
until your cash app is flagged. we don’t
know much about telling folks
where to hide their marbles. we
all scramble. we first time
caregivers, foster dads, a bad advice,
poor leaders. we dummy enough
to kill over a 36-cent noodle.
we first responders.
we peeking out the clouds, down
on mother's house. we trees
we trees we trees we trees. we ain't
letting it go. we can't move a muscle
so we spiritual. we all essence of life
anecdoting scriptures.
we the people don't stand for no fucking day job,
lack of housing,
education, reform, so hurry up and pass that damn bill.
we know Bill in Angola corrections
baling hay for 3 hots and a box.
Michigan slave ship 34,000 plus.
we out-of-time a global tel-link tribute.
we please try your call again or repeat after me.
we make a full room.
we the number that has been disconnected.
we bad signal through a storm
after visitation. we just wanna say
we brother of struggle who
is too far away to make the drive.
we brother of struggle we brother of struggle.
