Wisconsin Fellowship of Poets (WFOP) is an organization founded for the creation, promotion and enjoyment of poetry throughout the state of Wisconsin. WFOP is a non-profit organization run wholly by volunteers. To fulfill our mission, we are looking for strong active members.

Membership is open to residents and former residents of Wisconsin who are interested in the aims and endeavors of the organization.

Member benefits include:

  • Conferences: Spring and fall conferences are held around the state. Registration is now open for our Spring Conference in Madison, April 29 and 30. Learn more here. Register online or mail-in here.
  • Bramble Lit Mag: The Wisconsin Fellowship of Poets creates a quarterly members-only lit mag called BrambleBramble is guest-edited by a series of guest editors. 
  • Regions: Seven regions provide additional gatherings, readings, and local events. Check here to find your region. 
  • Museletter: Members receive the quarterly Museletter, featuring upcoming WFOP and member events, poetry activities around the state, poetry page and more.
  • Calendar: Our primary fundraiser is the annual Wisconsin Poets' Calendar. Members and non-members can submit poems for consideration.
  • Contests: WFOP sponsors annual contests for members and non-members
  • Member Pages: Members are eligible for a personal page on the WFOP website, which may include contact info, bio, publications, personal website link, sample poetry and chapbooks or collections.
  • Join or renew today.
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If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry.
— Emily Dickinson

 

Roseann St. Aubin
Winner
2016 Triad Awards
(Themed Category)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Crows

Crows crowd her dreams.
They open the screen door
and hop up the steps
catching their talons on the brown carpet.
In the dark hall they strut
arranging pictures
pecking at baseboards.
They tap their beaks on the bed rail. 
They leave their feathers in the sink. 
Crows count her breaths.
They steal her rings and the pennies on the nightstand.
Restless
she slaps the pillow.
In dreams
she thrashes her bony feet.
Her nails are so long now
they tear the sheets.
Her eyes are black and fearful
and permanently open. 
When the sun gilds the curtains
the crows move outside
coursing across the lawn
little black ships with topsails bobbing
messengers of god
soul eaters
keepers of sacred law
omens of change.
She has just enough voice
to ask them to take her.
They chatter. 
They caw.
They clack their judgmental beaks
saying this is to be and
this is so. 
Crows fall from the ceiling. 
They fly out of the wallpaper
flapping.
They lift the corners of the sweat stained sheet
and carry her out. 
She is now
their new little sister
pink and wriggling
and wingless at first.