POETRY CONTEST WINNERS, High School

First Place 

Memoirs

By Kyla O. Somerville

Grade 10, St. Mary’s Hall-Doane Academy 

My head is against a concrete wall

As long bony fingers crawl

Toward my neck, to grasp it tightly

But fog is thickening and choking slightly

Still the night becomes a prison cell

Spiraling into the gates of hell

Mourning the life that was left behind

Yet searching for such a love it has yet to find

The memories of its shackles, chains, and locks

Overbears the memory of my stillborn’s box

And how it was heaven’s undying will

For the world to love as I love him still

I owe this world an ingenious verse

For the lack of one body in a hearse

And I write this, not to pay my due

But to identify the evil that this pen can do

Second Place 

I  Can’t Remember What the Title of This Poem Was

By Eliza Vincz

Villa Victoria Academy 

I came up with the most wonderful poem!

It was exciting! Epic! Poetry Gold!

It was all in my head—and it needed out.

So I sat down to write my poem.

Wait—what was I writing?

What was the first line?

Why am I sitting down?

Was I gonna write something?

The more I try to recall, the more I forget.

Wait—what am I writing? I’m forgetting!

I sat there for hours—trying to remember what I forgot.

Several hours later I remembered what I was writing!

I remember it was a poem—

I remember what it was about –

I even remember the plot –

It was about forgetfulness. 

Third Place

SadnessBy Robert Finch

Grade 11, St. Mary’s Hall-Doane Academy 

So Sad,

told too bad,

when so glad,

ignored.          

 The world is self-reliant,         

alone and all defiant,         

isolationist minds         

all seem to have.     

POETRY CONTEST WINNERS

If I Could Only Soar

By Terria Wright

8^th Grade, St. Paul School 

Since I was a kid, I wanted to soar.

I wanted to swim on the ocean floor.

I didn’t like to stand, Nor walk on land. I wanted to fly with the birds and swim undersea.That’s how I knew that flying and diving was for me.Now all I can do is wish and wish

For a chance that I shall not miss

To see if it is true,

That man can fly just as birds do.

I knew it was time to ride in a cab

And travel far, very far to my old friend’s lab.

All I could do was mix and stir

And finally came up with a brand new mixture.

Now I can fly, just wait, and you’ll see

What this genius potion will do for me.

Tomorrow’s the day, I’ll try it out

Just to see what flying is all about. 

The day has come for me to try

And see if man could only fly

I drank the potion; it all went down

And my feet no longer touched the ground! “Ha!” I laughedan evil laugh

as all my neighbors stared.

Some came out of houses with chairs.

Then I shouted, “I knew it! I knew this could be!

Man can fly, just look at me!

”The news arrived and they watched me fly,

Some reporters asking, “How and why?”

I answered happily, a smile on my face,

“I like to fly, that’s the case.”

Soon a strong wind busted through,

I was clueless what to do.

I held on to my lawnmower, the closest thing,

But it flew right along with me.

There was nothing I could do, nothing at all.

Now all I could wish for was for me to fall.

I thought I was gone, gone for good,

I have to fall or I should.

Boom! I just fell onto the ground

with a big thump, a mighty sound.

For once I was happy to be on my feet,

But that was quite a moment no other could beat. 

***

Untitled

By Haley Gannon

8^th Grade, St. Paul School 

Comfort comes on the wind

Oh so warm and sweet

I look into the sea Sand beneath my feetIn and out the waves washPatternless, unchanging

Floor beneath it never same

Granules rearranging

And as I lay here thinking

Beneath the open sky

I know my life is like the sand

And always wonder why 

***

Fantasy

By Shannon Tucker

8^th Grade, St. Mary’s Hall-Doane Academy 

In my head a different world

I escape time itself, fighting

And proving that I’m useful. I am a queen, a warrior, myOwn person. I am proud, strong,And smart. I do not fear and

I do not love. The way things are

I can change if I wish. I think

Logically, no emotion shown when

Blood is shed. This is who I am. 

COFFEESHOP WRITING

“Let’s write on napkins. That’s so beatnik.” — T

From Stefan:

“Um walla um jumba?”

“Listen, buddy, I just want some coffee.”

“Jala?”

“Coffee.”

“Jala?”

“Coffee!”

I feigned a sipping motion.

“O, Jala,” said the Jamcan cashier.  He bustled off into the kitchen. 
I was waiting for my fresh Jamacin coffee when a man in an African
lion-hunter getup burst through the double doors John Wayne style.  He had
a bell-barrelled shotgun designed for killing elephants.

“Wanna buy croc’ skin shoes?”  he yelled in my directon.

“No, dude, I’m all right.”

“Perfect for your gal…”

“My gal only wears glass slippers.”

“Very cheap they are, fresh from the ocean.”

“Crocs don’t live in the ocean.”

“It’s alligator skin, then.”

“I don’t want them, then.”

“Yes you do,” he continued in long and pointless counteractions. 
“They’re sapphire encrusted.”

“I don’t want ‘em.”

He leveled his gun towards me.

“Yes you do.”

I stalled mentally.

“Jala ke uma.”  said the cashier with the coffee.  He waltzed in,
placed the steaming mug on my table, and strolled back into the kitchen. 
Without a better idea, I grabbed the mug, and hurled its contents at the
lion hunter.  He melted.

I paid and left. **

From Sara:

I sat in the 3^rd Street Café, watching the steam rise off my Chai tea. I wondered what actual Chai tea tasted like. It was now three days to Christmas, and there was still no sight or sign (or child’s hope) of snow. I sat there sulking, glaring at the yellowish liquid in my Styrofoam cup. I loved snow, yet the weathermen hadn’t said anything, hadn’t even mentioned, the white fluff. One of the “beatniks”, as they were called, who worked in the 3^rd Street Café walked by, giving throwing me a quick, careless “Is everything alright.” It wasn’t even in the form of a question, and he walked away before I could tell him that I would, in fact, like a cookie with a side order of manners. I blinked – my contact was bothering me again – and I pushed a strand of hair from my face. I had a sudden urge to blow into my tea steam to create smoke rings. I knew it would never work, but it would have given me some warped sort of satisfaction to try. I looked out the 3^rd Street Café window through the backward letters and the cartoon coffee mug. The skies were grey and cloud-filled, and they looked ready to give birth to snow. I sighed, my sigh making my tea steam waft over the empty black table. The waiter walked by again, but I pointedly ignored him this time. I chipped at my nail polish, bored, and looked out the window again. As the radio weatherman announced one more time that there would be no snow, I watched the first snow flurries of winter flutter to the ground. **

Hello world!

Some years ago I met a bunch of great kids. We met at the library to write and talk over pizza. Back then the girls talked a lot about Harry Potter and anime. But now, they are growing up into young women and things are changing fast. We still get together to write, talk and eat pizza but the cute anime boys have turned into real guys and the pretend angst is now sometimes so real. Oh and yes, we have the occasional token boy in the group too. 

Our meetings are never restricted to the library as we have met at an ice cream parlor, my house and lately, the neighborhood coffee shop.To tell you the truth, I think we are much bigger than being just the teen advisors of the library. We are young writers. We are friends.

And on this blog, we will showcase some of our work.