Search All Winners

Name Sort descending Genre Year
Chris Offutt Nonfiction 1996
Dael Orlandersmith Drama 2008
Daniel Orozco Fiction 2011
Ladan Osman Poetry 2021
Nadia Owusu Nonfiction 2019
ZZ Packer Fiction 1999
Ann Pancake Fiction 2003
Suzan-Lori Parks Drama 1992
Elena Passarello Nonfiction 2015
Lydia Peelle Fiction 2010
Janet Peery Fiction 1993
Kathleen Peirce Poetry 1993
Benjamin Percy Fiction 2008
Andrew X. Pham Nonfiction 2000
Rowan Ricardo Phillips Poetry 2013
Xan Forest Phillips Poetry 2021
Tommy Pico Poetry 2018
Claudia Roth Pierpont Nonfiction 1994
Darryl Pinckney Fiction 1986
Darryl Pinckney Nonfiction 1986
Katha Pollitt Nonfiction 1992
Katha Pollitt Poetry 1992
Reinaldo Povod Drama 1987
Padgett Powell Fiction 1986
Stephanie Powell Watts Fiction 2013
Karisma Price Poetry 2025
Brontez Purnell Fiction 2018
Hanna Pylväinen Fiction 2012
Hugh Raffles Nonfiction 2009
Keith Reddin Drama 1992
Spencer Reece Poetry 2005
Roger Reeves Poetry 2015
Sharifa Rhodes-Pitts Nonfiction 2012
Mark Richard Fiction 1990
Atsuro Riley Poetry 2012

Selected winners

Kevin Kling
1993
On Stage with Kevin Kling

CHAIRMAN FRANCIS: Our church is the street, our faith is the people, and our laws are constantly changing. If a law offends us, we pluck it out. If a minister offends us, we pluck him out and elect a new minister who is young and strong and can recognize evil’s ever-changing face. We don’t believe in miracles, we believe in action. But action takes money. Mr. Chairman, the church of Democratic Progression needs your financial support. Now, Mr. Chairman, how much would you pay to nip evil in the bud? Now I’m not talking about wiping out evil entirely, just your own little personal dark speck. Would you pay forty dollars, Mr. Chairman? Thirty dollars? Twenty dollars, the price of four filthy movies? NO. Mr. Chairman, for just fifteen dollars a month you can keep a chairman, like myself, on the streets fighting evil on your behalf.

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Michael R. Jackson
2019
A Strange Loop

THOUGHT #3

Tyler Perry knows how to bring everything together wit all the stories? And all the singing? And all the different people talking?

 

THOUGHT #1

And Tyler Perry don’t never forget to bring in the spirit’ch’alities.

 

THOUGHT #2

‘Cause Tyler Perry loves his Mama—

 

THOUGHT #6

And the Lord—

 

THOUGHT #1

So write a nice, clean Tyler Perry-like gospel play for your parents please?

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Gordon Grice
1999
The Red Hourglass
Lives of the Predators

I decided the caterpillar was too stupid to live. I put it into the carabid beetle’s container. The caterpillar was much larger, but it had no means of defense. The carabid sliced into it and lapped at its leaking blood. Because the caterpillar was so big, the carabid had to repeat his attack eight or ten times. The caterpillar crawled away frantically for the first few wounds, but it was so slow that its movements hardly inconvenienced the beetle drinking from its bleeding flank. After ten minutes or so the caterpillar lay still. Its jade flesh turned black as the beetle chewed and drained it.

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Carribean Fragoza
2023
Eat the Mouth That Feeds You

He had that look on his face again. She remembered it now. It was that troubled look he had six months ago when his snakes got sick. “Angelica,” she remembered him saying softly, almost in tears, “they’re dying, they won’t eat, they’re as limp as noodles, all of them.” What was he going to do? He was supposed to deliver their venom to the lab days ago. They had been calling, reminding him, demanding, threatening to go with another venom vendor. They’d tell the other labs about him, ruin his hard-earned reputation.

 

He was screwed without his snakes. And what’s more, he really loved them.

 

Angelica always wanted him to look at her that way, with that much attention and intensity that would show he loved her that much too. That he needed her around. And finally here it was.

 

“No more pills, Angelica. You’re going to end up killing yourself.”

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Mitchell S. Jackson
2016
The Residue Years
A Novel

My ex answers your call like shit is sweet, says, Good to hear from you, so fake you want to reach through the receiver. Next thing, she drops the phone minus nary a pardon and leaves you on an indefinite hold soundtracked by the blare of some rap video cranked beyond good sense. Meanwhile, you carry the noisy cordless into another room, crack the blinds, and watch a pair of baseheads, both thin as antennas, push a half-wrecked sedan down the street. The baseheads, they’ve got the sedan’s doors flung open, and seethe at each other across a scrappy ragtop roof. Farther, they jog their hooptie to a slow cruise, jump in on the run, and sputter off. It’s still plenty of lightweight action on the set. The old lady dressed in a who-gives-a-what-about-the-heat getup (down coat, snow boots, thick wool scarf) tugging a shopping cart full of thrashed cans. Down a ways, boys riding wheelies for distance on dirt bikes with mismatched rims.

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Ladan Osman
2021
Exiles of Eden

A friend asks, “What are you waiting for?

The straw that breaks the camel’s back?”

Maybe I am the straw.

Maybe I am hay. I made a list of rhyming words:

Bray, flay, array.

They all seemed to relate to farms, decaying things,

gray days, dismay.

I am recently reckless about making a display

of my unhappiness. Perhaps you may survey it.

Perhaps I may stray from it, go to the wrong home

by accident and say, “Oh! Here already?”

You know I’m fraying and just watch it.

You don’t even try to braid me together.

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