Sonnet Contest
2025 Sonnet Contest Winners
The Southern Shakespeare Company is proud to announce the winners of its 2025 Annual Sonnet Contest, a celebration of poetic excellence held each spring. The contest, open to poets in middle school, high school, and college/adult categories, drew entries from across the country and showcased the timeless power of language and imagination.
Watch a video of the winning sonnets!
Adult Winners:
A Sonnet from a Director to her Teen-aged Actors by Randi Lundgren
Class Assignment by Michael Waterson
Dream Sonnet for Jimmy Baldwin by Alexander Riggs
High School Winners:
Leon Track Team 24–25 by talenmarchel
A Poet’s Word by Zoe Reicher
As it Once Was by Emily Stuy
Middle School Winners:
Violin by Ben Wallace
The Night by Carolina Jordan
The Thread I Held by Shruthika Posani
“These sonnets reflect not only a deep respect for classical form but also an extraordinary ability to connect timeless structure with modern emotion,” said Southern Shakespeare Company’s Executive Director Bianca Montague. “We are honored to uplift voices from all stages of life through this annual tradition.”
Special thanks to our Sonnet Contest Judges: David Kirby, Paula Kriger, and Phil Croton.
MIDDLE SCHOOL
The Thread I Held
By Shruthika Posani
I saw you dancing, James, beneath the lights,
Her summer smile was brighter than the flame,
You left me wondering through all those long nights,
If I should speak your name or bear the shame,
August whispered secrets soft in your ear,
Her laughter echoed where my heart once stood,
I held the memories, so crystal clear,
Of promises you swore were always good,
Yet here I stand, my heart a fragile thread,
Between the love I lost and what could be,
I wonder if the words I left unsaid,
Could bring you back to me or set me free,
But if you choose her, James, I’ll let you go,
For love is not a fight, but what we know.
—
Violin
By Ben Wallace
The violin is a wonderful thing,
Hear the beautiful sound as I play it.
You either use the bow or pluck the string,
The sweet music that’s played is exquisite.
Sometimes it can sound like a chirping bird,
Or the cluck cluck cluck of a mother hen.
Some people even say that they have heard
The growling of a bear inside his den.
It can make your heart beat extremely fast
Like a wild lively hare running free.
Or make you stop and listen to the last,
Well, at least that is what it’s like for me.
Playing it is really simple, you see
Mastering it is as hard as can be.
—
The Night
By Carolina Jordan
The night is laden with melodies sweet,
Brash cicadas with crickets sing their tunes,
And bats with chipmunks as comrades do meet,
The moths surface out from cushioned cocoons,
Fireflies dance in the light of the moon,
Blithe hedgehogs frolic among the ryegrass,
Great horned owls to their wee offspring croon,
Shy deer are grazing along the pass,
Feathery flowers of blush and light cream
Cast intoxicating perfumes afar,
On the still water are the soft moonbeams,
Pockets of water reflect the evening star,
But the night does not remain forever,
And the creatures disappear together.
HIGH SCHOOL
Leon Track Team 24-25
By talenmarchel
The officials line us up and my heart begins to race.
Spikes laced on my feet and I'm ready to go.
The sun is blazing, making sweat run down my face.
As I set my blocks, my anxiety begins to grow.
The gun goes off and I push with all my might,
Each step I take is a blur but, my focus is clear and fine.
The wind fades by, and I see my goal in sight.
My team cheers as I sprint through the line.
From my mark on the runway — I jump and become one with the air,
My body levitates, like I was made to fly.
In long jump, triple, and high — landing in the pit, I leave my mark there.
My marks, my pride, and arms all reach up to the sky.
In track and field, I run, I jump, and I thrive.
In each race and leap, my lion pride comes alive.
—
As It Once Was
By Emily Stuy
The winds now whisper when they would once roar/
And the leaves still lie where summer used to gleam/
A chill resides by the old barn door/
The grass forgets their dream/
Amber fades out from the thinning trees/
And the earth exhales its warmth with silence deep/
The quiet goes quick, animals saying please/
While frost completes the year’s unfinished sleep/
A panel of white replaces bark and blade/
The rivers still, the water moving far and wide/
No footsteps move beyond the endless shade/
The world itself appears to turn aside/
Yet deep beneath, the roots still sing/
The thaw will come, and with it, something winged
—
A Poet’s Word
By Zoe Reicher
A poet by profession— Ha!
What dullness drives one to adore
A man whose each confession’s a
Mis’rably muddled metaphor?
But still, I fell for sonnet’s snare;
The loopy letters intertwined
To bind my heart, defenses bare.
I’d fully gone against my mind.
So, in true poet fashion, he
(As if to ridicule my trust)
Gave in to fits of passion:
Sincere love’s labors lost to lust.
To poets, words are merely play.
Beware becoming poets’ prey.
COLLEGE/ADULT
A Sonnet from the Director to her Teen-aged Actors
By Randi Lundgren
Shall I compare thee to wandering cats?
Thou are more annoying and more dreadful.
Every time I pause, you obnoxious brats
Wander the stage, making life more stressful.
Sometimes too crazy the actor appears,
And often is he off task and lazy,
And too often, calling “line”, is what I fear
When in rehearsal your minds get hazy.
But when the curtain rises and lights glow,
And costumes are on, and the props are set,
The herding ends and Mama must let go
And trust that her progeny’s goals are met.
Curtain falls, my vision revealed on stage.
Applause and pride replaces all my rage.
—
Dream Sonnet For Jimmy Baldwin
By Alexander Riggs
They told me how to find you since you’re dead;
To look for you beneath your words. Like stones.
But I found you amongst the poppies red;
You’d gone to Troy to heal your broken bones.
Your life, you said, had cut you like a gem.
The mountains arched their backs into the sky.
Your laugh burst open at the sight of them.
I wanted to, but never asked you why.
I only said that I had known your love;
That you had found and turned me into flames.
We scorned whoever ruled from clouds above;
We know that Heaven goes by many names.
You said it’s clear. Just like a midday moon–
The truth is that we’re goin’ home real soon–
—
Class Assignment
(For third straight year, firearms killed more children and teens, ages 1 to 17, than any other cause including car crashes and cancer. Johns Hopkins Bloomberg School of Public Health; Sept. 12, 2024)
By Michael Waterson
Our boomer generation ducked and covered,
diving under our desks in classroom drills;
when told that in a flash life might be over,
our eyes all scanned the sky for Russian missiles.
As Kennedy went on TV that night
to face down Khrushchev’s Caribbean threat,
our nation viewed the world in black and white,
and red, the emblem of the evil Soviets.
When leaders signed arms limitation treaties
reining in the escalating MAD-ness,
consigning civil defense to history,
we all hailed civilization’s progress.
So for your essays due next week discuss
solutions when the enemy is us.
Are you a sonneteer? Watch our past winners and guest readers for inspiration!
Sonnet Submission Guidelines
Sonnets are poetic forms, originating in 11th century Italian Courts, which initially celebrated a chivalrous, literary conception of love.
Five hundred-odd years later, thanks to 14th century Italian humanist Francesco Petrarca, the Sonnet form we recognize as ”Shakespearean,” emerges in England. And for the vast majority of the Bard’s 160 stunning examples, each poem’s form is as follows:
- Fourteen lines total
- Composed of three Quatrains (A Quatrain is a four-line stanza. 3 Quatrains = 12 lines)
- Ending with a Rhyming Couplet (two lines of the same length which rhyme and complete one thought)
- Each of the twelve lines of the three Quatrains are to be exactly ten syllables
- Each of two lines in the Rhyming Couplet are to be exactly ten syllables
- In iambic pentameter.
Provided submissions hew (basically) to the poetic form above, the words are up to each contestant!
Though sonnet structure is centuries old, our intention with this contest is that the form inspires highly contemporary expression in our contestants. Now for a quick bit of Q & A to guide your creative process:
“Iambic pentameter”? Please explain.
Poets love rhythm. And though known principally for his plays, at his core, Shakespeare was a poet. And poets are keenly aware that though imagined content can suggest linguistic forms, it works the other way too: form can suggest content.
A Sonnet, like a Haiku, is a defined structure, necessitating that poets, like Shakespeare (and you!), take imaginative leaps to make all the word choices fit.
Iambic Pentameter then, is the name given to the rhythm that Shakespeare most often used in his works. Similar to a rhythm a musician might use when composing a song, the rhythm of a single ‘iamb’ is that of a heartbeat: “De-Dum.”
Iambic Pentameter then, refers to a line composed of five heartbeats in a row: “De-Dum, De-Dum, De-Dum, De-Dum, De-Dum.” Five ‘iambs,’ ten syllables. Here’s an example:
Within his bending sickle’s compass come
What’s the rhyme scheme for a Sonnet?
Shakespearean sonnets typically follow the rhyme scheme of the form abab cdcd efef gg. To illustrate, here’s the full example, from Sonnet 116:
A Let me not to the marriage of true minds
B Admit impediments. Love is not love
A Which alters when it alteration finds,
B Or bends with the remover to remove.
C O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
D That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
C It is the star to every wand’ring bark,
D Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.
E Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
F Within his bending sickle’s compass come;
E Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
F But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
G If this be error and upon me prov’d,
G I never writ, nor no man ever lov’d.
Often, at the end of the third quatrain occurs the volta or Poetic Turn, where the mood of the Sonnet shifts, and the poet expresses a turn of thought, in the above case:
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
***
As you compose your sonnets for this competition, please see the Sonnet’s form as a creative catalyst. The tight, poetic structure is intended to compel your deepest word skills and yield images and themes previously unimagined. Fare the well and thank you for your participation!
Video Resources:
Sonnet Insights from SSC’s own Shakespeare Man
Iambic Pentameter insights from
Britain’s Royal Shakespeare Company
Timothy Hughes
Oh how I love the sound of your sweet voice
Oh how I love the sound of your sweet voice,
Your dulcet tones are pleasing to my ear.
But sometimes you barrage me with your noise,
So much that I can’t stand to listen here.
Some music is like angels sent from heav’n,
It soothes me like the purest foreign balm.
Sometimes it stills me like the cream of Dev’n,
And it provides for me a wondrous calm.
I love to play a wide range of music:
Bach preludes to the waltzes of Chopin.
The lovely rhythm although sometimes quick,
Is wonderful to my attention span.
And as you see music is my great love;
I treasure it as if it were a dove.
I wish my writer’s block would go away
I wish my writer’s block would go away
I hope it leaves me here to write alone.
If it does not then I refuse to stay,
It will stay here and I will just go home.
I’ll write a story about something else,
Maybe some horror or just fantasy.
There could be trolls or faeries and more elves.
The faeries float without Earth’s gravity.
I may end up writing a sweet romance,
The story would end up so happily.
The characters might travel an expanse,
The pair would run through fields so rapidly.
But only here I sit with writer’s block,
Leaving me here not to write, but to talk.
A piece of homework every now and then
A piece of homework every now and then
Is healthy for an educated mind
But if I’m doing homework after ten
I don’t think that would all be very fine
I know that often I write very slow
And when it has to do with history
There are so many questions I don’t know
And Latin homework’s always hard for me
My homework always takes up all my day
Imagine I had no work none at all
I think that it would be alright to say
That homework was created from the fall
It always takes a large amount of time
To think of how to make a simple rhyme.
Ode to a White Crayon
An artist who holds me within his fist,
And presses me upon his paper slate
I try to free myself but can’t resist
The gentle pressure of his writing’s weight.
How freely he draws what’s inside his mind;
But nothing marks the movements of our hand.
An artist’s tool is somehow wholly blind,
Perhaps my hue’s too pale to understand?
He picks me up to read my label torn
And sets me down—no artist job to do.
I plead with eyes that ask ‘bout secrets sworn;
White crayons won’t show the splendor that he drew.
I watch him shade and scribble from the shelf,
As Reds and Blues grow duller than myself.
The Latin language is superior
To all the tongues ere spoken on the Earth
English, howe’er, if founded as an err
Would be envied by wine for causing mirth
Compared to Romans’ structured mother tongue
For exceptions, we are exceptional
For breaking fewer rules, good men are hung
Foreign ears bleed when we’re colloquial
In case you think of cases, they are scarce
But worry not! They all end in an “s”
The language will make thee tear out thy hairs
And fill thee to the very brim with stress
And so, my friends, we hope this proves to you
That Latin should have proven “Vero”, true
Sarah Patell
Running Through a Sonnet
Through scorching sun rays of Saturday’s race
Within miles of quiet mossy green grass,
My exhausted legs try to push my place.
My sinewy self feels like melting glass.
Splash! My sneakers enter murky water
While I increase pace, trying not to tire.
Florida’s breezes feel mildly hotter
And the crowd’s cheers calm like a golden lyre.
I pick up my head and feel far stronger.
My stride widens across a muddy pool.
The big race will not last too much longer
And I look forward to practice at school.
The race ends and the team gathers around,
Smiling for a photo on the moist ground.
EDEN WITHOUT US
for Thurston and all children of the Anthropocene Age
Scry the horizon where our city broods—
a smoky wound consuming drought-stripped hills
where no green branches dance the rough winds’ moods.
Is it too late to heal all that is ill?
The world’s ablaze. From space, men signal down
a continental snapshot ringed with fire
yet our compulsive greed leaps every bound
and species after species fuels the pyre.
In olden days, we’d whisper bees this news;
in sympathy, they’d sweeten what they could.
What we do now is argue against truth;
we sheathe the world in concrete, call it good.
When fire melts what we callously hardened,
Earth will drink our ashes and yield gardens
A Sonnet for Ukraine
I wonder why a land so large and vast
would grab and grasp for more, and strike right through
a neighbor near who struggles to stand fast.
A noble nation should decline to do
aggressive acts against a sovereign land.
Incurring indignation, to invite
incensed denunciation, nations stand
in condemnation, for Ukraine unite.
A girl who had to choose which dolls and books
to bring, and which to leave might have been me.
Returning, finding rubble, dust, grand brooks
dried-up, an oft-climbed, newly withered, tree.
Pysanky eggs remind me of Ukraine.
How could I help alleviate its pain?
A Sonnet for Hiroshima and Nagasaki
I felt ashamed when first I learned what we
had done. We dropped atomic bombs and killed
civilians, leveled forests, burned a tree
beside a school, the students’ voices stilled.
I read somewhere that someone said his hair,
so thick and black, became a snowy white,
and he was only seventeen. This dare
to end the war devoured our inner sight.
By desperation blinded, chose we death,
destruction, all-annihilation of
two cities (other countries held their breath)
for heard we just the cry of nation-love.
Now friends, we fold an origami crane.
Forgiven, after causing so much pain.