LYRICAL LANGUAGE LAB
3RD ANNUAL SUMMER POETRY CONTEST *for kidlit
THEME:
It’s a Wonderful World – Poems about Places, People, and Travel
slept under us
after our camper-van tires
crunched, grunched
across gravel, rocking
through mud-ruts
to level ground
beside the goats
how they pranced
with baby-goat legs
boinging, sproinging
like the tiny spring
we found that time
we unscrewed
a ball-point pen
how the old goats stood
like museum statues
munching, mashing
tired yellow grass until
swooshing, sploshing
rain drops stopped
our watching
how we huddled inside
& heard them knocking,
bonking, clunking
goat heads underfoot,
counting them in our sleep,
their restlessness
under us
That time the goats in Ohio
scattered like marbles
at daybreak when we
shooed them,
broomed them
out from under us
& zoomed away
© 2026 C.V. Blaisdell
C.V. Blaisdell is a New England writer and poet whose first published poem appeared in Kids Magazine when she was only eight years old. Since then, her work has appeared in several online journals, multiple anthologies, and even in a community cookbook. As a member of 12×12, SCBWI, and a fabulous local critique group, she’s always seeking to improve her craft. When she’s not writing (or even when she is), she enjoys playing in the dirt (gardening), staring at trees (birdwatching), and general noise-making (singing and playing guitar).
Website: cvblaisdell.com
Bluesky: @cvblais.bsky.social
We love how the poet drops us right into this charming scene with a fresh, young voice that, as one judge says, “rumbles with goat energy.” The story develops in an imaginative and inventive way within its clearly considered structure. Of particular note is how each stanza zooms in on a small moment with one image (e.g., “how they pranced” and “how the old goats stood”) and then develops the moment with concrete details–not to mention the surprising similes (“like the tiny spring” and “scattered like marbles”) that so aptly and humorously convey the joy of baby goats and the skittishness of those being shooed off with a broom. Add in the seamless use of onomatopoeia, internal rhyme, and other sound devices, and we have a delightful recalling of one of those unplanned moments that make travel so special.
Schools of motorbikes
dart crisscross through an urban sea
like gas-powered minnows in rumbling tides.
Four-to-a-bike families freeflow the turbulence,
arms relaxed, knees akimbo,
sandals dangling like rubber tailfins.
© 2026 Doida
Doida dabbles in poetry for middles, littles, and sometimes biggles—as well as in prose, paints, pics, and prints. His author-illustrated collection of children’s poetry, Flux: Poems for Middles, will be released in spring 2027, followed by Bullyworld in 2028. Several of his pieces have recently been selected for publication online and in print including Darkwalkers, While Raccoons Roam, Itchy Itchy, and Origin Story. Doida resides in Hillsborough, NC.
Web: doidadabbles.com
There is much to be said for short poems, and this is one of the most tightly crafted ones we’ve come across. There is not a single wasted word or breath in this keenly observed moment, laser-focused as it is on a very specific street and the people traveling on it. We love that the title immediately places us so the poem doesn’t need to bother itself with further exposition. Instead, it rewards us with an expertly navigated extended metaphor that puts us in the middle of this “urban sea.” The vivid imagery is consistent throughout, with its “Schools of motorbikes,” “gas-powered minnows,” and families that “freeflow the turbulence”—and, of course, that final, marvelous image of “sandals dangling like rubber tailfins.” Sigh. One of the many gifts of travel is simply watching life unfold in unfamiliar places, and this poem masterfully captures that fleeting moment of discovery.
We’re finally inside
the flurry
of
shimmers
stripes
streaks—
Blue morphos
float
by my nose,
zebra longwings
hover
by my knees,
malachites,
ruby-spotted swallowtails,
giant owls
in eyespot disguises
flower the air
above my head.
I beam land on me
to their antennae but
they s w o o p
to petals,
orange slices—
juicy treats
to butterfly feet.
I wish I smelled like a banana.
I stand still as a fern.
Wings!
On my arm.
The skyest blue.
Branches leaf over us,
vines blossom up trunks,
my feet
taste mist, nectar,
flight
© 2026 Elizabeth Kuelbs
Elizabeth Kuelbs writes for children and adults, often with an eye toward natural wonder and our relationship with the living world. She holds an MFA from Vermont College of Fine Arts and you can find more of her work for young readers in What is Hope?, Things We Feel, Tyger Tyger Magazine, Spider, Cricket, The Dirigible Balloon, and elsewhere.
Web: elizabethkuelbs.com
IG: @elizkuelbs
In a poem with so much to love, one of our favorite things is that every time we read it, we discover something new. First we loved the language (“flower the air above my head,” “The skyest blue”) and sound (“morphos/float/nose,” “longwings / knees,” “eyespot disguises”). Then we loved the child’s voice, her deep desire for the butterflies to “land on me,” and her excitement and wonder when at last one does (“Wings! / On my arm.). And then we loved the flitty, floaty format, with words darting and swooping around the page. We could see the child looking in all directions at once, and then coming to stillness with the adorable surprise of “I wish I smelled like a banana.” And then—we loved the tiniest hint of magical realism as the child’s feet “taste mist, nectar, flight.” Isn’t that gorgeous? This poem is as delicate and ethereal as its butterflies.
(alphabetical)
look like concrete arches over sunset gold water, like
our sold-out pontoon and dogs in kayaks. Like swan
boats, and people leaning over the bridge rail.
Like tailgaters on the riverbank knolls,
like one-inch niches running
the underside,
unexpectedly right
for roosts. Sound like
chee chee chee, like countries
of wings waking, like fetal hearts
snugly beating, like my sister shouting Hey,
baaats, come out! Like the night’s feasts calling. Smell
like corn tortillas, like warm eel grass, like sweated off
sunscreen, like a guy came to tell a city bats are good
and the city listened. Taste like maybe work
works, like everyone wants
to fly, feel like life
is gonna
ooh!
© 2026 Elizabeth Kuelbs
Elizabeth Kuelbs writes for children and adults, often with an eye toward natural wonder and our relationship with the living world. She holds an MFA from Vermont College of Fine Arts and you can find more of her work for young readers in What Is Hope?, Things We Feel, Tyger Tyger Magazine, Spider, Cricket, The Dirigible Balloon, and elsewhere.
Web: elizabethkuelbs.com
IG: @elizkuelbs
They promise I’ve been here
before and point at the door
where I’d wait,
stomping, brand new to walking,
for keys to spring—
with a final tug—
from a pocket
or a bag.
We don’t have those keys
anymore.
They swear that across the park,
past the pharmacy,
somewhere between
the market square
and a string of art galleries,
there’s a favorite café—
thick hot chocolate,
almond biscuits.
Easy to miss it.
I vow to come back
one day and, holding
my own kid’s hand,
retrace the steps
I now map in my head
so I don’t forget
again.
Because there’s a first time
for everything,
even remembering.
© 2026 Korena Di Roma Howley
Korena is the author of Sarang Saves the School—winner of the 2025 Freeman Award and a Bank Street College Best Children’s Book of the Year—and the upcoming picture book A Hanbok for Hana, available September 8, 2026. Her poem “Freedom” won second place in the Lyrical Language Lab’s Summer 2024 Free Verse Poetry Contest. She lives in Virginia with her husband and son.
Web: korenahowley.com
IG: @korenahowley
Bluesky: @korena.bsky.social
We pad upon deep piles of pine needles,
Grandpa tilting a stick like a carefree clock,
waving away spiders’ snares.
ten o’clock
to two o’clock
back to ten
Time’s up, webs.
We have somewhere to be.
We step over long-fallen trees,
squish on spongy moss carpets,
and bounce across the footbridge where we like to race crabapples down the stream.
We exchange nods.
That’s for later.
We turn an evergreen corner.
Light sings off the pond,
its beach rich with ready stones.
The pond whispers
That one.
Almost circular,
purple and red,
serious in my hand.
I wind up and whip the stone sideways.
GLUNK
The pond isn’t always right.
“Try this one,” Grandpa says, and I do.
“Nine!”
Grandpa flings his own stone
“Seven!”
(We’re so loud we scare the frogs.)
We throw
until our arms droop like taffy
and it’s time
to collect crabapples.
© 2026 Russ Wolff
Russ is a writer who enjoys running, making ice cream, eating ice cream, and running. His work has been in the winner’s circle of Vivian Kirkfield’s #50PreciousWords contest, Susanna Hill’s Holiday Writing and Halloweensie contests, and the Kidlit Chuckle Challenge. He is a member of SCBWI, Inked Voices, and 12 x 12. Before turning to writing full time, Russell was a criminal justice researcher and educator. He lives in New Jersey with his wife and two daughters.
IG: @russellwolffwrites
Bluesky: @russellwolffwrites.bsky.social
The driver stops
in the middle of the desert,
a solid two hours from Amman,
to wait out the storm
on an almost empty road.
There’s nothing outside
but the sun blazing redly
through a blizzard
of sand. He asks about
our family, our travels,
where we’ve been,
where we plan to go,
then adds that he’s a big fan
of National Geographic—
loves the channel,
makes a point of watching it.
I ask what show he likes best
and how long the storm will last.
Maybe hours, he says,
or just a few more minutes.
© 2026 Korena Di Roma Howley
Korena is the author of Sarang Saves the School—winner of the 2025 Freeman Award and a Bank Street College Best Children’s Book of the Year—and the upcoming picture book A Hanbok for Hana, available September 8, 2026. Her poem “Freedom” won second place in the Lyrical Language Lab’s Summer 2024 Free Verse Poetry Contest. She lives in Virginia with her husband and son.
Web: korenahowley.com
IG: @korenahowley
Bluesky: @korena.bsky.social
Scrambling over
stones
as round
and wrinkled as an
elephant’s belly,
we reach
the top.
Our eyes scan
the desertscape for blooms–
toys in a sandbox–
poking out
of the powdery dirt.
Yellow.
Orange.
Red.
The yolk of the sun
lowers,
lowers,
into the bristle-bound branches
of the Joshua trees until–
POP!
Sunlight seeps out.
Yellow.
Orange.
Red.
Color and heat
retreat,
lizard-like,
back into the stones.
Darkness
softens the skyline,
save for the Joshua trees.
The spiked sentinels hold the line.
We hold our breath
as they thrust their tines upwards,
puncturing
the night sky.
Starlight
streams down,
lighting our way
out
of the desert.
© 2026 Danielle Maris Lacob
Danielle studied literature and creative writing at Tufts University and Wadham College, Oxford University, and received her MFA in screenwriting from Columbia University School of the Arts. She works in higher education and writes picture books and poetry for children and their adults. Danielle is an active member of SCBWI and 12×12. Her poems can be found in the upcoming anthology A Parade of Preposterous Poetry for young readers. She lives in the Pacific Northwest and loves rainy days almost as much as she loves words.
Voices dim
to muffled sound
as footsteps bounce
on padded ground
Trunks so thick
my arms can’t reach
Fingers wiggle
in the breach
Furrowed bark–
its lines run deep,
forming roads
where beetles creep
Gnarled roots
like monster feet
make a cozy
mouse retreat
Peaks aloft
stretching high
filter light
and patchy sky
Hollow trunks
beckon me
to crawl inside
a massive tree
Tucked within,
I’m safe and snug,
burrowed deep
in nature’s hug
© 2026 Kelsey E. Gross
Kelsey is the author of the picture books Winter: A Solstice Story, Summer: A Solstice Story, and Fall: A Seasons Story, all illustrated by Renata Liwska and published by Simon & Schuster/Beach Lane. She is a graduate of the Lyrical Language Lab. Kelsey aims to write books and poems that inspire readers to take care of one another and the natural world.
Web: kelseyegross.com
IG: @kelseyegross
Bluesky: @kelseyegross.bsky.social
No, no, no! Not for the daffodils yelling
yellow—all 250,000 of them—
and those few spewing
orange, the flock
whimpering white.
Forget the stunted, chunky,
nose-overload
hyacinths.
Ignore the grownups drooling
over the sloppy
froth of blossoms clotted
by storm clouds
of bees.
Geez.
Come see slip-glop-tastic-muck-ful
ME!
At the thaw, I arrive fine-shine.
Thick, rich,
picturesque grit.
High desert eye dessert.
Take to the trails, I say—
squelch-splash!
I’ll give you and your spring-sprung
shoes the garden’s dirt.
Let me be
your souvenir.
© 2026 Lisa Roullard
Lisa resides in Salt Lake City, Utah, where she enjoys a view of the Wasatch Mountains on her neighborhood walks. Her poetry has appeared in magazines in more than 25 U.S. states as well as online and in her chapbook, An Envelope Waiting. Her children’s poems can be found in Tyger, Tyger, The Dirigible Balloon, The Toy, Little Thoughts Press, and Parakeet.
IG: @LRoullard
X: @LisaRoullard
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The judges chose your poems out of hundreds of entries!
