Congratulations to the SCWC's August Writing Challenge winners
** And read their winning poems below! **
The Southern Christian Writers Conference's August Writing Challenge was to write a poem based on a color.
We received so many wonderful responses to the challenge, and are excited to share our top selections with you. We know that you'll be inspired by them as much as we have been. And thank you to EVERYONE who submitted their poems to this month's contest!
Enjoy reading their wonderful poems...
I see the miller—my great-grandfather—
his face forever etched in memory,
creased with smudges and streaks of black,
the mark of grain, grit,
and a life spent making a way
for those who came after him.
Then, from a less distant time,
another face emerges through the dust—
the miner turned preacher.
Once covered in the black of the mine,
he later rode the circuit roads
on a black workhorse,
wearing black boots,
carrying a black Bible
close to his side.
And with hands that still remembered
the dust of the earth,
he reached for souls—
dusty black hands extended
toward those lost in the darkness,
offering them the Light.
From then until now,
the legacy runs deep—
miners and millers,
men shaped by the hollows
and strengthened by the valleys.
Their lives were laced with hard work,
anchored in faith,
and held together by family.
And now I trace my finger
across words written long ago
in black ink
upon the pages of an old,
black, well-loved Word.
Perhaps black was never simply
the color of coal,
or dust,
or boots,
or ink.
Perhaps it was the color
of endurance—
of hands that labored,
knees that prayed,
hearts that believed.
A legacy written in black,
yet always pointing
toward the Light.
Behind him on a pedestal
Regal roses in tones of sunset
Distract me from his message.
I would not choose the paint
Or pick that eager citrus,
Yet I find paradise in the flush,
Aurora-like, dancing through the sky.
A poet’s goal is to describe the thrill:
Spring passion’s awakening glow,
Intoxicating fragrance of summer,
Winter’s warm invigorating fire,
Glory of the fall upon a tree,
Louder than the spoken Word,
Essence of hope in a rose’s hue.
It is the color of twilight,
when the day slowly fades
and the night quietly takes its place.
It is the color of violets in the garden,
of distant mountains touched by evening,
It is the image of majesty,
a reminder of crowns and kingdoms,
yet it also speaks of sacrifice.
Of the robe placed upon a savior
who did not come to rule by power,
but to love through surrender.
It is the color of a bruised sky after the storm has calmed
The hurt that slowly becomes wisdom.
The heart that discovers God is near even in the broken.
Purple does not shout.
It waits.
It reminds us that God often sits in the quiet places and the fading light,
in moments when we cannot see what He is doing.
Red points to the blood He gave
Blue points to the peace He brings.
There is no dark season beyond His reach.
The Artist who painted the morning sky
Is also the One who colors the evening.
And when the light begins to fade,
purple reminds me:
Darkness does not write the final chapter of the story.
The King still lives.
Purple still points to another morning
waiting in the hands of God.
Ever have a day where the entire world stinks?
When folks act so crazy you can’t even think?
Or ev’ry balloon in your whole bouquet sinks?
Well, that is a day when you just need Hot Pink!
Sometimes the clear blue skies turn dismal and gray,
While dark storm clouds and lightning get in the way
Of the sunshine you thought would light up your day.
Just a Hot Pink umbrella can make you say:
“Rain On! Storm On!” I can skip and I can dance
As my eyes glimpse Hot Pink! I strengthen my stance,
And lift my praise to the God whose ev’ry glance
Floods my world with HIS love — and Hot Pink romance.
God gave us the Hot Pink Star Gazer lily,
Oleanders, azaleas — plus those silly
Wild flowers that my little brother Billy
Always brought Mama on Sundays. So really…
God knows we just need Hot Pink.
That green leaf, dancing in the breeze,
Transforms to gold, descending from the tree,
Drifting quietly,
So tranquilly,
Landing gently.
And so a season comes and goes,
Once green, now colored gold;
Once young, once old,
First dancing until life slows…
Learn, O my soul.
Summer is over,
Now comes the Fall.
A new chapter is coming,
Coming to us all;
Yes, to…us…all.
“So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom.” – Psalm 90:12
Sky-blue, light blue, true-blue, sad-blue—
The color of peace and of cold;
The shade of ocean waves quite bold.
A tint of a hint reveals sight or mood in hue.
I keep orange in a small cup on the counter,
not the loud orange of signs,
but the low one at evening,
when the sun goes soft and lingers.
It doesn't blaze.
It glows.
We received so many wonderful responses to the challenge, and are excited to share our top selections with you. We know that you'll be inspired by them as much as we have been. And thank you to EVERYONE who submitted their poems to this month's contest!
(Want to enter the September challenge? Scroll to the bottom of this post to find out what it is.)
Congratulations to this month's top writers:
1st place: Tracie A. Wallace
2nd place: Olivia Oster
3rd place: Billy Ready
Honorable mentions:
Congratulations to this month's top writers:
1st place: Tracie A. Wallace
2nd place: Olivia Oster
3rd place: Billy Ready
Honorable mentions:
Maryjean Gregory, R. Rising, Dennis O. Shepherd, Shelley Terry
Enjoy reading their wonderful poems...
"Millers and Miners"
by Tracie A. Wallace
From fertile valleys to the narrow hollows,
black was the color that shaped the man—
black coal beneath the earth,
black dust beneath his nails,
blackened faces bearing the evidence
of long days and harder work.
black coal beneath the earth,
black dust beneath his nails,
blackened faces bearing the evidence
of long days and harder work.
I see the miller—my great-grandfather—
his face forever etched in memory,
creased with smudges and streaks of black,
the mark of grain, grit,
and a life spent making a way
for those who came after him.
Then, from a less distant time,
another face emerges through the dust—
the miner turned preacher.
Once covered in the black of the mine,
he later rode the circuit roads
on a black workhorse,
wearing black boots,
carrying a black Bible
close to his side.
And with hands that still remembered
the dust of the earth,
he reached for souls—
dusty black hands extended
toward those lost in the darkness,
offering them the Light.
From then until now,
the legacy runs deep—
miners and millers,
men shaped by the hollows
and strengthened by the valleys.
Their lives were laced with hard work,
anchored in faith,
and held together by family.
And now I trace my finger
across words written long ago
in black ink
upon the pages of an old,
black, well-loved Word.
Perhaps black was never simply
the color of coal,
or dust,
or boots,
or ink.
Perhaps it was the color
of endurance—
of hands that labored,
knees that prayed,
hearts that believed.
A legacy written in black,
yet always pointing
toward the Light.
"Chromatic"
by Olivia Oster
Regal roses in tones of sunset
Distract me from his message.
I would not choose the paint
Or pick that eager citrus,
Yet I find paradise in the flush,
Aurora-like, dancing through the sky.
A poet’s goal is to describe the thrill:
Spring passion’s awakening glow,
Intoxicating fragrance of summer,
Winter’s warm invigorating fire,
Glory of the fall upon a tree,
Louder than the spoken Word,
Essence of hope in a rose’s hue.
"My Purple Poem (The Color of Kings)"
by Billy Ready, Jr.
It is the color of twilight,
when the day slowly fades
and the night quietly takes its place.
It is the color of violets in the garden,
of distant mountains touched by evening,
It is the image of majesty,
a reminder of crowns and kingdoms,
yet it also speaks of sacrifice.
Of the robe placed upon a savior
who did not come to rule by power,
but to love through surrender.
It is the color of a bruised sky after the storm has calmed
The hurt that slowly becomes wisdom.
The heart that discovers God is near even in the broken.
Purple does not shout.
It waits.
It reminds us that God often sits in the quiet places and the fading light,
in moments when we cannot see what He is doing.
Red points to the blood He gave
Blue points to the peace He brings.
When mixed, they render purple,
a color that speaks softly
of mercy meeting sacrifice.
a color that speaks softly
of mercy meeting sacrifice.
That may be the reason purple feels different.
Life is rarely one color.
Life is rarely one color.
Joyful moments can carry sorrow.
Faith can emerge from questions.
Strength can grow from weakness.
And beauty can emerge from places we once called broken.
Faith can emerge from questions.
Strength can grow from weakness.
And beauty can emerge from places we once called broken.
There is no dark season beyond His reach.
The Artist who painted the morning sky
Is also the One who colors the evening.
And when the light begins to fade,
purple reminds me:
Darkness does not write the final chapter of the story.
The King still lives.
Purple still points to another morning
waiting in the hands of God.
"Just Need Hot Pink"
by Maryjean Gregory
When folks act so crazy you can’t even think?
Or ev’ry balloon in your whole bouquet sinks?
Well, that is a day when you just need Hot Pink!
Sometimes the clear blue skies turn dismal and gray,
While dark storm clouds and lightning get in the way
Of the sunshine you thought would light up your day.
Just a Hot Pink umbrella can make you say:
“Rain On! Storm On!” I can skip and I can dance
As my eyes glimpse Hot Pink! I strengthen my stance,
And lift my praise to the God whose ev’ry glance
Floods my world with HIS love — and Hot Pink romance.
God gave us the Hot Pink Star Gazer lily,
Oleanders, azaleas — plus those silly
Wild flowers that my little brother Billy
Always brought Mama on Sundays. So really…
God knows we just need Hot Pink.
"Learn from a Leaf"
by R. Rising
Transforms to gold, descending from the tree,
Drifting quietly,
So tranquilly,
Landing gently.
And so a season comes and goes,
Once green, now colored gold;
Once young, once old,
First dancing until life slows…
Learn, O my soul.
Summer is over,
Now comes the Fall.
A new chapter is coming,
Coming to us all;
Yes, to…us…all.
“So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom.” – Psalm 90:12
"Blue"
by Dennis O. Shepherd
The color of peace and of cold;
The shade of ocean waves quite bold.
A tint of a hint reveals sight or mood in hue.
"Orange"
by Shelley Terry
not the loud orange of signs,
but the low one at evening,
when the sun goes soft and lingers.
It doesn't blaze.
It glows.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
We hope you enjoyed reading this month's writing challenge winners, and we encourage you to keep writing and submitting!
Want to participate in the SCWC's September Writing Challenge? The challenge for this month is to write a "local story." Find a story in your own community, and then write about it. Some possibilities? profile a local person, tell the history of a landmark, explore a tradition, or write about an organization doing interesting work. Use your creativity--and your observational skills and special interests--to write a piece between 1,000 and 2,000 words. Send your entry to scwritersconference@gmail.com with the subject line "September writing challenge." The deadline to submit it September 30.
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Stay connected with the Southern Christian Writers Conference at our Facebook community, and stay tuned to learn about more upcoming events and activities.
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