Antelope Hill Publishing’s creative writing contest for 2022 has officially concluded, and the winning submissions are now available in the form of their latest original work. Titled Little Victories, this impressive softcover tome clocks in at 279 pages and offers stories and poetry for the discerning nationalist which focus on the little things that bring us joy in these increasingly corrupt and atomized times.
Sponsored by Will2Rise, Media2Rise, as well as the White Art Collective, prizes have been issued for best in category for both poetry and short stories, with special attention given to the runners up. This is the second time Antelope Hill has sponsored the competition, and the result of last year’s contest culminated in 2021’s Why We Fight.
Times of uncertainty and confusion weigh on the spirit. In these times it is the simplest and smallest of experiences that give us hope and courage to work for a brighter tomorrow.
The authors contained in this book have shared a little bit of themselves in each response to the “Small Victories” prompt for this year’s contest. The writings in this book contain powerful images of simple beauty and humble courage. A handful of these works of prose and poetry have been selected for special honors as winners in respective categories. Many exceptional authors submitted excellent work, and it was a difficult task to restrict the book to only what is contained here.
Contributers to this vibrant piece of fiction—which rests on a bookshelf with alluring black-and-yellow cover art—come from a vast pool of nationalist talent, and includes familiar names such as Dark Enlightenment, Mrs. Saxon of Dissident Homeschool, and regular contributors to the Occidental Poetry website, Atop the Cliffs. To my pleasant surprise, my submission was also secleted to be published in Little Victories. I stepped out of my wheelhouse for this one and penned The Thaw, a poem which I will share with you in it’s entierity below.
A big thank you to the proud sponsors of this fine event, the myriad of talent who submitted original work, and for Antelope Hill Publishing, who strive to promote excellence in the literary field and challenge authors on a consistent basis. Here’s to 2023!
by Jack McKraken
These days it’s not that difficult to fall to misery
when every day is crime and graft and it’s so plain to see
But me? I laugh it off and keep my head held to the sky
Am I special? No sirree, I just count my blessings high
I couldn’t tell you the amount of times I wished to leave my job
Just up and vanish without a trace and leave behind these slobs
the boss is dumb, he’s barely there, he’s as rude as he is crass
but it’s okay, because I know, this spectacle can’t last
I barely got any sleep last night, the dreams? They’re naught but bad
There’s vagrants walking down the streets attacking old granddads
There’s perverts in the bathrooms, at work and school and church
Yet through the fog of anguish I see a glory lurks
Our politicians are bought and sold by men from foreign lands
they count their treasure eagerly and wring their bejeweled hands
But in my house, and many like it, I can’t save a dime
So we share a drink and plot the course until judgment time
Because in these days of oppressive yoke that we all survive in
we’re cradled softly back to slumber through every flavor of sin
And for those of us who refuse the call of meaningless escape,
We grow smarter, stronger, better off with every blow and scrape
For now the world is but a thrall of disgraceful men up high
who prepare a moonlit sacrifice of my brothers, even I
Life is hard, it makes no sense, danger always lies in wait
But we don’t let it get to us, we know their timeless fate
Our courts are all a mockery, violent criminals are deemed saints
while men like me are strung up high as they toss out all our plaints
Democracy chooses Barabbas and gives you four hundred years
But still I smile, because I know, it’s us he truly fears!
And when they can’t use their laws to bully and convince
they’ll unleash their many rogues and killers to beat you into complacence
They’ll march and burn and tear things down in a sickening ballet,
but none of it can get to me. My kid? He’s due in May
And finally when we get the courage to leave our warm abodes
we cannot tire or slacken yet, our eyes our on the roads
dark drivers with a bone to pick want to hit our children as they flee
but lo, a sound! What is that call? It beckons N.J.P!
Though the tally of my blessings might seem like quite a lot
Even I can’t help but succumb to the gloom and moral rot
The years they go, the seasons change, and I’m still standing here
I’m older, slower, not as a sharp as I though I may appear
A cold wind blows now from the north, it’s like this winter never ends
I’m weary from this slush and snow, please nature make amends
But when you let the sun climb up and warm these somber bones
let it fill me with the strength of knights, lords, and golden thrones
I may be dead and buried before I ever get my say
But knowing that gives me the strength to fight on anyway
The winter, yeah she always comes, but it always leaves us too
And her storms always rage the hardest before the thaw’s debut