Grades 1-3

First Place: Sarah Bates

Rain

Rain, Rain
Pitter patter
Pitter patter
On the ground.
Pitter patter
Pitter patter
On the windows.
Rain, rain
Down
Down
On to the flowers.
Down
Down
On to the trees.
Relief spreads up
From the roots of the flowers
Into the petals.
Relief spreads up
From the roots of the trees
Into the leaves.
It is summer
And a warm rain is falling.

(Sarah Bates is a second-grade student at
James Russell Lowell School in Watertown, MA.)

Second Place: Joshua Richardson

Sleep

Upon my sleep it feels
like a soft pillow in the sky
and on that pillow are dreams.

(Joshua Richardson is a first-grade student at
Dewey School in Concord, NH.)

Grades 4-6 First Place: Stephany Ota

Green

Green is calm and quiet,
Humbly, peacefully resting in a deep, but warm forest.

Bright green frogs hopping from lilypad to lilypad,
Sweet-smelling grass,
Mother Nature and her mysterious ways,
Turtles with their callused skin and mossy shells as hard as rocks,
The intelligent son of soothing blue and energetic yellow,
The rolling hills and meadows of a vast plain, enveloped by wilderness.
Shadowy seaweed at the bottom of the murky ocean,
A cactus with an abundant supply of water,
Only loud when screaming, “GO” at waiting cars,
An ancient Chinese dragon,
Or a caterpillar,
A grasshopper,
Or a sour apple.
A peacemaker in the midst of war.

Green is a sleeping alligator, ferocious, yet tranquil,

Warmth and happiness,
Spring and summer blended together to make ice cream colored light green,
A watermelon rind picked clean of any last fragment of red.

In a song, green is the chorus, important but not appreciated enough;
In a play, green is the prop maker and the costume designer.
New and alive, representing rebirth,
Green fixes and makes things anew.
The comforting warmth that covers a cold, worried body,
Fresh leaves as they spring from branches.

Resting all,
Reviving all,

Green.

(Stephany Ota is a sixth-grade student at Rolling Hills Country Day School in Rancho Palos Verdes, CA.)

Grades 4-6 Second Place: Chelcee Agraz

Meow

You come softly, your paws a silver mist.

Your meow, the gentle breeze on the summer night.

You chase the wind, you paw at the clouds.

Your food is happiness, with a little loyalty on the side.

Your drink is friendship and if you’re lucky love.

Your enemies are hate and betrayal, they are tricky
customers.

Your eyes are always watching the details of the world.

You lay down, the winter snow.

You sun yourself in the proudness of difficult accomplishments,
And the overcomings of a goal.

When you are sad the world rains, happy, the world shines.

(Chelcee Agraz is a fifth-grade studentat the Day School in Westford, MA.)

Grades 7-9

First Place: Ronnie Schumann

The Road

Oh this dirt that bears no name,
though rough and rugged, stony, plain,
‘tis old, alert, sapient, wise—
hath seen all with thine own eyes.

Trippity, troppity
through the trees
along the trail to town,
comes the clinging clamor
of a soldier wearing armor
gone to fight and take the dragon down
upon his dashing steed.

Oh this dirt that bears no name,
though torn and tattered, worn and plain,
‘tis aged, mindful, sagacious, wise—
hath seen all with thine own eyes.

Plid, plod, clid, clod
comes a wa-gon that is drag-gin’
four and twen-ty pigs to mar-ket.

Oh this dirt that bears no name,
though homely, quaint, and rather plain,
‘tis seasoned, astute, vigilant, wise—
hath seen all with thine own eyes.

Comes a carriage, round the bend,
ornamented end to end;
fancy grace and pompous glamor:
royalty headed for the manor.
Sipping tea and gaily chatting,
always gossiping and ratting.
Royalty t’which I’m not related
conversing with the Queen of Spain,
throughout the dreary midday rain.

Oh this dirt that bears no name,
though rough and rugged, stony, plain,
‘tis old, alert, sapient, wise—
hath seen all with thine own eyes.

(Ronnie Schumann is a ninth-grade student
at Destrehan High School in Destrehan, LA.)

Second Place: Graeham Dodd

Monkey Dreams

I slide over the carpet on feet I will silent.
Christmas lights stain my skin in bright flickers
colors drip
forming blinking puddles at my toes.
Rainbows wash over my silhouette that eases forward
in an irregular waltzing gait
avoiding the creaky floor boards.

I pause.

He lies sunken into the cushions and broken-in pillows
as a sparkling diamond ring folds into night-sky.
Velvet.

Not an eyelash flutters.

One arm is flopped comfortably behind his head piled high
with honey colored locks
each spiraling its separate way.

I see my brother’s younger years tucked snugly into every one of his features
the curl of his browned fingers
his lips, puffy pink clouds
the way he laughs.

His cheeks are flushed the color of fever.

His breaths are light
and sleep embraces him warmly
nursing the sickness.

I sidestep him and the floor croaks softly.
I inch away
and as I do, I wonder
if he’s dreaming of monkeys.

(Graeham Dodd is an eighth-grade student at the
Oyster River Middle School in Durham, NH.)

Grades 10-12

MadHappy

on the ground    screaming    ravenjet    black
         sprawling,   crawling     dirt        flying like a dove.
   eyes closed     lids crinkled         tight shutup.
         she’s gone mad they said                go happy
                              pale pink gums plaque-ridden teeth.
never enough chains, spikes like spike lee, never enough.
running      run faster     run like a hurricane       mad go happy.
twisted      writhing    faceless   like an ugly mannequin.      Ugly is all I am.
               blood (crimson-like-christmas) streaks on hands.
               shards of joy like glass       brokenbrokenbroken open.
glitter and dirt mix-combined, inseparable. speak this language, ugly girl.
          happy go home              asleep on leathercouch
                                                     tv blaring-blaring-cheap-perfume.
air stale      inside of jack-in-the-box         box me in, ugly mannequin.
pretty girls skinny           death scrawled         on porcelain faces.
           plastic hands cracked
           smack-crack-cocaine-rainbow.      get your fix never get enough
                go happy, junkie
junkyard:                 old bodies (mannequins). angels with devil wings.
                                       go happy to your grave.

(Bayley Lawrence is a tenth-grade student at Champlain Valley Union High School in Hinesburg, VT.)

Grades 10-12

Hubble’s Law Overturned

1

I am one,
One alone,
But responsible to all.

2

I hurry to taste each of this world’s choice nectars.
For my Rest is sweeter when it lasts only one moment.
This Time is fragile and dear.
Time falls away as the frigid water slips out of a cupped palm,
leaving the drinker thirsty.

What is Time?
Is it anything more than a symptom of motion in space?

Every day is traded for a jewel to be guarded by the soul.
I will buy today a peridot, tomorrow a sapphire, and the day after
a diamond.
I pray that I will die having judiciously sold my days for treasures
that cannot rust or rot away.

3

I wonder at the glory of the Earth and Heavens!
For I believe in the miracles I can see as well as the miracles I
must take on
Faith:

The endless solar systems, clusters and galaxies spiraling out into
eternity with perfect lyrical rhythm (endlessly larger than my feeble
mind comprehends);

The absolutely perfect tiny shell smaller than my pinky fingernail
engraved with concentric circles;
An atom’s particles, the neutrons, electrons,
Quarks and empty space that mirror the dances of Celestial
Bodies;
The infant’s unguarded trust of his mother;
The virgin birth, a child born the King of Heaven;
Mountains magnificent as they plunge into a frozen ocean;
Transcend rude Earth.

The Human soul-
Woman or Man is more than flesh.
The singing swallow understands Truth; she is more than
animal.

4

I remain: a searcher,
No closer than before.

I will quit the earth closer but not quite there.
Truth revealed by history and the memories of the breathing
Will be the balmy sweet smoke of incense rising from the soil.

Death is forever defeated.
Be but still a moment and you will hear me,

For I am well.

(Leslie M. Rozeboom is a tenth-grade studentat Colorado Academy in Denver, CO.)

Teacher Contest

First Place: Karla Huston

Centipede

My mouth full of toothpaste,
I notice you wandering the cold bowl
of my sink. My heart explodes in my chest,
my skin becomes its own creature crawling.
First, I consider that there is a purpose
for all things and I should let you go,
even you, with your hundred clawed legs.
I shudder, get close enough only to see
that your back legs are striped,
your body undulating like a wave of grain,
like my breath, the soapy mumble of my lips.
It’s a good thing I can’t see your eyes
or I might know your fear and confusion,
forgive your arthropod innocence.
I consider grabbing you with tissue-covered
fingers, but you are too big for my
poor paper and I already know the soft
crunch of your thin body.
Maybe I should spit on you,
coat you in Crest, watch you
succumb to the minty freshness.
Finally, I run hot water, hope it will
wash you, boil you up white and lifeless.
You swim furiously,
try to hang on to some remnant
of my morning mouth, stray lash, sink debris.
You flush toward the hole, not quite fitting,
legs reaching for anything familiar.
I shiver once, pull the drain tight on your body,
watch your legs cringe like a winking eye.

(Karla Huston teaches English at the
Neenah High School in Neenah, WI.)

Second Place: Mary Burchenal

I Know Some Words that Come Like Prayer

I know some words that come like prayer
to challenge grayness thick as rock.
Slight tools they are against despair.

When there’s no hold, no spark, no air
just sponge and broom and dust and clock
I know some words that come like prayer.

The words go with me everywhere.
No guarantees, they’re light as Bach.
But they seem tools against despair.

I say them loudly. I don’t care
if others choose to point or mock.
I know some words that come like prayer.

The rhythm calms me, layer by layer,
the sounds are more and less than talk.
There are some tools against despair.

There are other ways to move out there.
Some say keep Love or Faith in stock,
but I know words that come like prayer—
what tools there are against despair.

(Mary Burchenal teaches English and Creative Writing
at Brookline High School in Brookline, MA.)