Neahkahnie Mountain Poetry Prize

Submissions are closed for this year’s Neahkahnie Mountain Poetry Prize and the winners are shown below.

The first place winner received $100 cash and has their poem published on the website and in the ninth edition of the North Coast Squid in 2023. Second and third place winners also get their poems published on the website (see below). Honorable mentions are also listed below.

In addition, the winning poets will read their work at a special Hoffman Center event on April 23 which will celebrate the launch of a new poetry collection by part-time Manzanita resident Connie Soper. The reading begins at 3 pm. For details and registration, click here.

The contest judge this year was Lauren Mallett, the second place winner of 2022’s Neahkahnie Mountain Poetry Prize. She earned her MFA and was the Assistant Director of Creative Writing at Purdue University. Her recent writing appears in Poetry Northwest, Puerto del Sol, The Seventh Wave, The Night Heron Barks, Sprung Formal, and other journals. She serves on the Oregon Poetry Association’s Board of Directors. Lauren is the Student Contest Chair of Cascadia, an online anthology and contest for Oregon’s young poets. She is the recipient of a 2021-2022 Cannon Beach Arts Artist Grant. Lauren teaches at Warrenton High School.

Submissions for the next Neahkahnie Mountain Poetry Prize will be accepted in January 2024.

Logan Garner is the author of Here, in the Floodplain (Plan B Press, 2023). He won this year’s Poetry Prize held by Manzanita Writers’ Series and the Hoffman Center for the Arts. His poetry has appeared in The Purpled Nail (Underwood Press) and the Kneeland Center for Poetry’s Elevation Review and his fiction has been featured in speculative magazines and anthologies. He holds a bachelor’s degree in science communication and philosophy from Butler University. Logan moved from Indianapolis to Warrenton, Oregon in 2015 where the roots he’s put down continue to grow.

“The sense of place I have found on Oregon’s north coast is something I never quite grasped in the Midwest. There is something about our capricious weather conditions, which never seem to make up their minds about who they are, that sets me right at home. I’m sure that’s telling. While I’ll always consider part of myself a Hoosier poet, it is here where I find myself growing, exploring, creating, staying. This is in no small part due to organizations like the Hoffman Center for the Arts and the creative communities they serve. I am so grateful for both.”

The contest judge, Lauren Mallett, commented “I feel at home in the particular grief of “5 NOVEMBER.” The coast is a character here, and–in the absence of Sam, a beloved dog–an obtrusive one at that. The natural world speaks when the speaker and partner have nothing to say.”


You called me.
Sam—the dog
—our sweet boy
was gone.

Come home, he’s a pile
under the kitchen table.
His late final den.

The food we ordered
some days later,
after another hours-long cry,
was deep fried, crusted thick,
figurative ash caking
the soft palates of our mouths.

Today we drive to
take a walk, just us,
mosquitoes nitpicking
and reeling close.
Your arms crossed.
My head down.

The surf pines all lean
together over us rude and
low up over the dunes.
We can see the tide
rolling in dark
beneath the gray
and climbing anvils.

We’re coming into some weather.

Logan Garner

A Chance Meeting with My Mother
on the Anniversary of Her Death

Last night I found her sitting behind the wheel
in a sunny parking lot. She looked carefree:
short brown hair, blue t-shirt, bare arms.
I was thrilled to see her in the driver’s seat again
after those last months behind the red Rollator walker
or perched on the brown recliner, elevated
on blocks so she could rise. Now it seems
she was just resting, getting ready for this younger life.
Her arms so firm and supple—were they real?
“Could I touch you?” I asked.
“People even reach right through me,” she answered. 
Mother, were you smiling when you said that?

Phyllis Mannan

Phyllis Mannan has a memoir, Torn Fish: A Mother, Her Autistic Son, and Their Shared Humanity, and a poetry chapbook, Bitterbrush. Her work has appeared in Cloudbank, the North Coast Squid, The Oregonian, Rain Magazine, and elsewhere. She has lived in Manzanita full-time since 2007.



it’s important to be prepared
for emergencies
Grandpa said
opening the trunk
plastic bag by the tire iron
are those your emergency gummy bears Grandpa?

oh those


Katz Bryan


Katz Bryan is a proud resident of Rockaway Beach, where he can often be found combing the beach for shells and rocks. In poetry, he seeks to honor the people he has known, and to share the humor or wisdom he has discovered along the way.

Ursula McCabe, Portland, OR  “Calling Doctor Bushtit”
L Swartz, Wheeler, OR   “OCEAN (mocking)”
Matt Wigdahl, Castle Rock, CO and Cannon Beach, OR  “Is language still the bed you seek?”