The Sonnet Competition: Salt
Eleven sonnets on the theme of 'Salt'
Over winter, I ran a sonnet competition on the theme of ‘Salt’.
I was impressed — but not surprised — by the quality of the best entries. It’s quite a magical thing, to choose a theme and poetic form, and watch strangers leap into action and produce compelling poetry. I’m immensely grateful to everyone who submitted a sonnet: I loved reading them.
Now that I’ve concluded the multi-stage twitter voting, I wanted to share the entries (and my judgements!) on Substack. See below all eleven entries, with my favourite sonnets first.
I’ll most likely run another competition over the summer — keep an eye out!
Despite my repeated pleas, very few of the authors have identified themselves after a scrupulously anonymous judging/voting period. Please message me if you wrote one of these sonnets. I’ll credit you in this post or keep your identity secret; whichever you prefer.
John William Waterhouse, A Mermaid, 1900
Winner, and most relatable
i.
A London park. I sit upon the grass, look at a bench that's ringed with tidal marks. The tourists see it too and sit or pass like any other here in London's parks. You and they do not like me remember that seat of love, set out from all the rest, where one distant day in mid November, it was that I to her my heart confessed. This place to me is littered, street and square, with grief's bright crystals, sharp and stinging, a secret pain I cannot grasp, nor share, marks where she was dancing, laughing, singing. My love is silent now inside her vault; bequeaths me this city, the taste of salt.
By Joseph Dudley, @JDudley1123. This sonnet was my favourite of those submitted; it hit me hard.
Runner-up, and most beautiful
ii. The Mermaid
Is that not Venus bright above the land? A second Venus twinkling in the sea? Across those silvered waters drifts to me, To where I fret and brood upon the sand, A velvet voice expressing sweet demands: O come to me, husband, O come to me. So often wived, so often widowed, she Is true and faithful 'til the gasping end. And she will keep my wrecked and beggared bones And hold my hollow ribs and skull in trust Within a secret, dark, inviolate vault. Her voice like breaking waves cast down on stones, And her embrace as cold as winter frost, And eyes of black, and lips that taste of salt.
By @Dust_Foot. I consider this to be deeply beautiful, and have enjoyed reading it aloud.
Winner: People’s Choice
iii.
Seagull on sandwich, spray on shoe Picnic retreating enclosing foam A time to wander, ponder, a Turneresque view January chill turns gleam to gloam My hand is angry purple. Swollen veins Lack of circulation, the doctor said Encased in your own, a warmth remains Like pillow in case or yeast in bread Seasonal depression, a load of rot Only natural in this kind of weather My reply in my lungs, a pebble, a clot, A pleasantry, now lost in the aether We finish our soup. There's too much salt I don't blame you. No one is at fault
By @praisemajus. This sonnet won my twitter poll. I’m very fond of the final couplet.
Runner-up: People’s choice
iv.
Under Cheshire, other random lands That bottomed seas, unfathomably old, The inorganic, vital crystal stands In glacial, off-white strata, deep and cold. Tenacious, skilled, unlucky, largely, men Farmed this underworld to sell a tang To daily bread, to pay Rome’s regimen Its salary: its economics stang. Our forbears’ climate shaped us with this trick: We take too much, we cannot have enough. Industry assists us to be sick. It will survive us: deathless is such stuff. Us gone, still washed by patient rain downhill To make the bitter sea more bitter still.
By @dowithoutacting. This sonnet came second in my twitter poll, after a very close race indeed.
Remaining sonnets
v.
Atropos was once a slave in death's domain but now stands mistress of decline. She's far from kin to we who shelter from the rain: wherever water flows there grows a scar. (This is my blood) Her sisters too desire an ever-turning tide that sweeps our sands away, that kills and calls it change, that fire- brands open all our wounds, that bares our hands... All in the cause of revolution's name so that our present can't help but be forgot, as history too corrodes from all the same deficiencies that leave us yet to rot. Our prayers must echo nevermore astray: O salts preserve us. Stave off foul decay.
vi.
Forgive me love, I got the season wrong; Cuffing was all you wanted anyhow. I do regret I came on far too strong, A bitter taste is all that waits for now. I’m of the earth, but you come from the sea; A flashing light wailing beyond the spray. And though your song pulls at the heart of me I know I yearn for sweeter repartee Perhaps a chance to reassess will aid Another taste, a course to be fine-tuned. As one we can be more than what I’ve made, Too quick to judge rubs more into the wound A pinch, a punch, whether it’s true or false: You’re worth more than the sum of all your faults.
By @eartha_kitsch.
vii. How to Correctly Cook Pasta
She softly says “it should taste like the sea” Each time she sips from her undraining spoon, “Or else you’re cooking inauthentically. Add olive oil if not inopportune.” She adds a generous dose, and continues, “The pasta goes in just after the boil Which leaves us to work on the sauce. I choose To fry some onions first, in rapeseed oil.” And all at once she turns into a blur, Fast-chopping food into uneven hunks. “The sweetness comes from the pineapple,” her Words echo as the beetroot turns to chunks. “Then after twenty minutes take the pans And mash it all together ‘à la Vannes’”
viii. Ode by Salt to Salt’s True Love
We’ve heard it said (and who are we to doubt Such ancient wisdom given from on high) That if we lose our saltiness then out! Begone! Enough! It’s time to say goodbye! But would you really treat us that way, dear? Not you, who love us as no other lad, Not you, who one day did full-grown appear All gloriously pony-tailed, black-clad. No, surely there is no way you’ll forget That precious rock that’s us. You understand! You see us darkly through your glasses yet You hold us in your World Cup-wielding hand. So what is it to be for us today? Please may we trickle down your forearm, Bae?
By @FurtherOr. I had a very stupid moment reading this, and had to be told that this was about Salt Bae.
ix.
Maldon salt, so pure and fine and white, A treasure of the Essex coast, a prize For chefs and foodies, who with appetite Embrace its crunch, its tang, its savory spice. In every grain a burst of flavor lies, A subtle seasoning that enhances taste, An ingredient that makes every dish rise To heights of culinary art, in haste. For centuries, the salt beds by the shore Have yielded crystals pure as morning dew, A precious resource, rich in flavor and more, A condiment that cooks and chefs renew. So let us raise a toast to Maldon salt, A seasoning that adds a touch of malt.
Personally, I suspect this sonnet was written by ChatGPT. My sincere apologies to the poet, if I am wrong.
x.
My craving has no saltiness to spare, Its flavorings, nor dullness that it bears; Where some may think of it a wondrous fare, Its place on tables ranges far and wide. Though not the sweetest tempting delicacy, It brings to meals more tastes than what is seen; What cooks need's but a pinch of its variety To tantalize any palate's palate's screening. Though not essential, salt brings out the best, Including flavors once unthought of taste; When sprinkled, none can deny its zest, A seasoning type that never goes to waste. It's plain yet too divine, incomparable; Salt's the condiment that's well worth enjoyable.
Another poem that doesn’t quite pass the Turing test.
xi.
Salt salt salt salt salt salt salt salt salt salt, Salt salt salt salt salt salt salt salt salt salt, Salt salt salt salt salt salt salt salt salt salt, Salt salt salt salt salt salt salt salt salt salt, Salt salt salt salt salt salt salt salt salt salt, Salt salt salt salt salt salt salt salt salt salt, Salt salt salt salt salt salt salt salt salt salt, Salt salt salt salt salt salt salt salt salt salt, Salt salt salt salt salt salt salt salt salt salt, Salt salt salt salt salt salt salt salt salt salt, Salt salt salt salt salt salt salt salt salt salt, Salt salt salt salt salt salt salt salt salt salt, Salt salt salt salt salt salt salt salt salt salt, Salt salt salt salt salt salt salt salt salt salt.
Now you’re just being silly.