Poets were given three options for the 2017 Poetry Challenge: write about Pioneers and Prairie (in recognition of Laura Ingalls Wilder's 150th Birthday - though poems did not need to directly touch upon her boooks), the Secret Lives of Insects and Spiders, or write an Epistolary or Letter poem. Poems were selected by our guest judges. Local author Janet Tabin judged all the poems about pioneers and prairie. Colorado poet Jared Smith made the selections for poems about insects and spiders. Texas poet Sylvia Riojas Vaugh chose the epistolary poems. We thank all of the poets who shared their writing with us. The judges had a lot of reading this year as Highland Park Poetry received 313 poems from 271 writers from Highland Park, Illinois, the United States and across the globe - the most in our ten year history of offering the Poetry Challenge.
Due to the large number of selected poems, only the 1st, 2nd and 3rd Place poems are featured in this Muses' Gallery. The honorable mentions are listed at the end of each section. All the poems selected by the judges, including the honorable mentions, are published in our 2017 Poetry Challenge Chapbook, available by contacting jennifer@highlandparkpoetry.org or through Amazon.com.
Thank you to our guest judges for their time, energy and enthusiasm for the project. Thank you to Sue Roupp and Lois Baer Barr for their invaluable typing, editing and formatting skills and many hours of work assisting in the publication of the chapbook.
Enjoy!
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| Gail Denham, Photographer |
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Homestead
By
Maureen Tolman Flannery
1st Place, Adult Non-Resident
| I. Courtship
Set your sights on one solitary crust
of the round world’s surface.
Get to know it. Stand beside that tender stretch
of wild country to make it yours.
Go down on one knee in the dark soil to declare intention,
promise a lifetime of labor from pre-dawn
to the visible flicker of the evening star. Add, for enticement,
the expectation of your progeny’s toil and loyalty.
Agree to see to its needs, tend any unforeseen infirmity
through all future seasons, pitting yourself, resolute,
between farm and Weather. Ask of the ground its vow
to be only yours, to shape itself to your bidding, give
steady rock-firm underpinnings to whatever is to come.
Learn all that might render you worthy of intimate knowledge
and service. Prepare to penetrate the virgin earth with hard work.
This is the betrothal. The test of true love comes in the proving up.
II. Estrangement
What could account for the ground’s infidelity?
Who would infringe upon the bonds of dedication,
sway a place toward betrayal? Alienation of affections,
who stands accused? What tawdry enticements
from some trespasser might persuade
the land to stray from faithful giving over?
And what degree of dust-muddled land-lust drives a man
to name a price, try to buy another man’s homestead?
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The Long Breath
By
Kathleen Gregg
2nd Place, Adult Non-Resident
| She charges her way over furrows and dirt clods,
winter wind flying her scarf. This field, now cleared
of crops, leads to the ruins of a homestead claimed
by this ten‐year‐old girl. She doesn’t stop
until she reaches the ramshackle barn. Its door gone,
the cold runs through at will. Motes of dust intersect
light sieved by rotted siding. She savors
the embedded scent of hay, lets her eyes accept
the dimness. This is her favorite place, a private
playhouse, where her stories can be staged. Here, it is
she who takes care of her family after outlaws kill
her husband. It is she who chops wood, hunts for game,
plants the garden, repairs the wagon. It is
the prairie that makes her strong. Its freedom
is a wellspring inside her:
this big empty barn
farmland spread out to the horizon
solitude
an expanse that is the long breath of her dreams.
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| Gail Denham, Photographer |
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West to Pine Ridge
By
Sadie Benjamin
1st Place, Elementary Student
| The wagon off the horizon
Trailed by a cow, and weariness.
Still they brave on.
A girl dances at their side picking zinnias,
Brings them in.
Ma smiles. Good girl, Jessa.
They stop for dinner.
Jessa puts her flowers
In a bowl with water,
Spreads a blanket on the ground for dinner.
Pa gets out of the wagon
Stretches
Nods
Smiles
And sits.
Bread and venison (meat of a deer) in a sandwich cooked with butter.
Dinner, to them.
West. To Pine Ridge. That’s where we’re headed, our new home is there.
Pa says.
West in Pine Ridge is better for us, Jessa dear. Ma says.
But Jessa only pouts.
Half-happy family,
Half of a dinner.
Bread and venison in a sandwich cooked with butter was enough,
Enough to soothe the languor in their bodies.
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Journey to Oregon
By
Zach Katznelson
2nd Place, Elementary Student
| At Fort Independence we started
On to the trail we went
Off we went to Prairie Wells
About after a couple months we were on Prairie Crossing
By G-d we lived on the Cheyenne River Trail
Along Cheyenne Crossing we went
Past Fort Choice we had gone
Against the sickness and weather we fought
On the Long Trail we thought
“In the desert will it be tough?”
From Devil’s Flat we went
Into Hades Desert we had gone
Toward Oregon we went to Paradise
Up we went on to the mountains
Despite the hot weather in the desert it was freezing up in the mountains
Through Sunrise Pass, High Valley, and Snow Pass we had gone
As we made it through Hacker’s Valley to Oregon my heart filled with joy
Beyond belief I thought we would never make it
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| Gail Denham, Photographer |
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The Sign of Peace
By
Ella Mizrahi
1st Place, Middle School Student
+ Honorable Mention for Epistolary or Letter Poems
| Dear Mom and Dad
I just got off the small ship
The ride here was horrible
There were thousands of people squished on the ship
With little food
Some people were sick
And the guards would not let them on the ship
When we were coming close to New York
I heard a kid yell
“Look, it's the Statue of Liberty!”
When I saw it I suddenly knew
It was a sign of peace
I am very happy that I made it to New York safely
I hope to see you soon
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Suburban Snub
By
Sandra Phillips
1st Place, Highland Park Resident
| Wild flowers grew on my front lawn
Blue Chicory and Queen Anne’s Lace,
they opened with the sunny dawn
all nature to embrace.
‘til there came by in his ‘city car’
the man from City Hall.
“Your wild yard my ordinance does mar;
its growth you must forestall.”
My pleas they did ring out in vain,
his stance he would not budge.
Perhaps a neighbor did complain?
Did someone bear a grudge?
Therefore, my blossoms met their end,
the frontage to conform.
So nature to the rule must bend,
to man’s unnatural storm.
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| Sandra Phillips, Photographer |
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| Gail Denham, Photographer |
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Journey Home
By
Sophie Seligman
3rd Place, Highland Park Resident
High School Student
| Through day and through night
on the prairie all the time
in a covered wagon
colored like snow
led by oxen and mules
Going down the ol’ dirt road
To the West
For brand new land
Let’s go! Let’s go!
And let’s see where we land.
Here comes May 22, 1843
A thousand pioneers
Start on their way west
On this nice evening
Deep in Missouri
Out of Elm Grove
They left on their wagons
Over fields of flower, they strove.
On their search for better land and sea
The pioneers found it was deep within the hefty trees.
The trees were Redwoods.
Beautiful, a delight.
This just might be the home they wanted
And a home it was, that’s right.
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Timeout on the Prairie*
By
Charlotte Digregorio
3rd Place, Adult Non-Resident
*American Gothic, created in 1930 by Grant Wood, is part of the permanentcollection of The Art Institute of Chicago.
| Austere survivors of The Depression,
heartland settlers, pose for a portrait
in front of a farmhouse,
country church-like with steeple.
Balding farmer, sunken eyes,
circular glasses, clad in bib overalls
topped with a suit jacket.
In real life, the artist’s dentist,
morose Dr. McKeeby,
no toothy smile.
Creases in his lower face match the lines
of the home’s arched window.
His dirt-stained denims stitched
with a design of the hayfork’s tines.
Beware: God-fearing, ill-natured man
armed with pitchfork.
At his side, sister of the clever artist
poses as the spinster-daughter.
Wholesome Nan avoids eye contact,
wearing a pained look. Hair tied back,
cameo brooch at her neck,
pressed apron over a black dress.
Oval-faced realists,
emblems of pride, perseverance,
and piety, too–
God bless those sullen souls!
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| Gail Denham, Photographer |
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Churning
By
Eli Rothschild
3rd Place, Middle School Student
| Churning, Churning, up and down
Churning butter all day long
Churning, Churning, up and down,
Churning as I sing a song
Churning, Churning, up and down,
Whipping, whisking, round and round,
Making sure it doesn’t spill on the ground,
Churning, Churning, almost enough,
Churning, Churning I am done!
Churning, Churning, I am free,
From Churning butter’s monotony!
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Life and Loss
By
Spencer Nguyen
2nd Place, Middle School Student
| Men brave and strong
Working hand in hand
To get along
They travel to unknown land
They build trust and friendship
As they gave it all
To go to a place of nothing
And as they may get deterred
They will not turn back
As all of it is on the line
Family, life, money, and more
It can all disappear
They go along these trails as their life
To a land undiscovered
But hope and a future
And with consideration and loss
They go
To a land unknown
They take their lives and loss
To a land of dreams and hope
So let prevail
A life of prosperity
To a land with nothing but life
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| Gail Denham, Photographer |
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Pioneer Struggles
By
Dayla Rosen
3rd Place, Middle School Student
| As we travel west we struggle
And we try our best but stumble.
We face the challenge to go forward
To the goal we head toward.
And the children cry,
As they have to defy,
The hands and grasp of Death,
That shall take us at our final breath.
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Prairie Views
By
Jennifer Dotson
2nd Place, Highland Park Resident
| The view from a prairie schooner was
an endless sea of flowering grasses
without a tree to anchor the eye.
Perhaps pioneers played a game of
name the roots and shoots to tame
the journey and pass the time.
Heath and sky blue aster, alum root,
Blazingstar, bluestem, boneset, brome.
Common cattail, clover and compass,
Cordgrass, coneflower and cinquefoil.
Dropseed, dock, and golden rod.
Phlox and flax and fleabane.
Iris, indigo, mountain mint.
Sedge and spurge and spiderwort.
Rattlesnake master,
wheatgrass and wild onion.
Now commuters recite a new rosary.
The sod is replaced with suburbs,
subdivisions and shopping centers.
Brookfield, Buffalo Grove, Deerfield,
Evergreen Park and Hickory Hills.
Oak Lawn, Oak Forest, Oak Park.
Riverwoods, River Forest, Riverside,
Rolling Meadows and Round Lake Beach.
Streamwood, Shorewood, and Sugar Grove.
Now the only place where there’s a
trace of nature is in the name.
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| Gail Denham, Photographer |
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Honorable Mentions
Elementary School Students
- Ella Elman, Prairies
- Emma C. Glovsky, Prairies and Pioneers
- Maeve M. Garrity, Wild Path
Middle School Students
- Sebastian Lara, Blazing Sun
- Lily Grossmann, Life on the Prairie
- Amelia Head, I'm Experiencing Life Today
Adult Non-Resident
- Bonnie J. Manion, Illinois Prairie
- Gail Denham, Dust Cloud
- Melissa Huff, Woman, Dakota Territory
Highland Park Resident
- Marjorie Rissman, On the Way to Peoria
- Judith Bernstein, If the Pioneers...
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| Secret Lives of Insects & Spiders |
House Mates
By
Carol Spielman Lezak
1st Place, Highland Park Resident
| I do not live in my house all alone.
I am joined by untold numbers
of spiders and cave crickets.
I’ve lived through generations
of these species, who seem
to most enjoy the creature comforts
provided by my cellar or attic.
The spiders are daily squatters—
not shy at all, they build webs
everywhere they please.
But I only get to see the crickets
when I take the stairs down
to the cool, dark floors of the basement
where they leap around, possibly
in a welcoming gesture to my visit.
Not everyone enjoys these
rather large insects doing high jumps
toward their knees. I don't know
how they get into the house,
and I don't know how they get out.
Seems to be a deep, dark secret.
But every so often, I will find one
perched on a step up to the first floor,
and I’ll give it a gentle nudge
to hop back down
where it belongs.
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| Kathy Lohrum Cotton, Photographer |
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Later Evolutions
By
Lennart Lundh
1st Place, Adult Non-Resident
| Were there men or women
still, they might discuss, dissent
Darwin's insight or some gods' intentions
as to modifying miracles and mercies,
and after all the words would wonder
at the Monarchs on high honeysuckle
bowing in the breezes,
for the butterflies sing now
with such strong, sweet voices
in the silences we left.
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Inchworm
By
Eden Smith
1st Place, High School Student
| As I sit down on the grass, and think about my life,
I wonder about my future, my struggles and my strife.
I think about how small I am, like a pebble on the beach,
The sky looks far away and everything is so out of reach,
But then I see this tiny inchworm, as it crawls on the earth.
It has no direction, no true purpose since its birth.
Why does he exist, and is there meaning in his day?
Or is he just an accident… as he crawls along his way?
Why does he disappear, when something comes near?
Blending into the background, dealing with his fear.
But as I keep watching, I see his bigger role.
I see a bug with an actual purpose, as he struggles toward his goal.
No longer just an insect, but the starting of a moth.
I lose my thoughts of struggle, and my own sense of feeling weak,
For in this inchworm, I find all the answers that I seek.
Some may see loneliness, as we watch him inch along,
But now his passion blows me away, I see him big and strong.
He isn’t just an inchworm… he is better than the rest,
Challenged with each inch he takes, as he tries to be his best.
He may start his life slow with struggle, but knows he’s meant for more,
I’m grateful he shared his secret, because he’s touched me to my core.
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Butterflies
By
Maya Abigail Gandelman
1st Place, 5th Grade Student
| Opening up to the world one by one,
adding color to the world for some time.
Yet, they leave eventually, going somewhere else
to add more color there.
You see them and yet you don’t,
but when you do,
they come out gracefully.
Their wings are like stained glass but better.
When they land on you and me,
don’t be afraid---they’re just taking a look around the world
like you and me.
They might be the strongest or the fastest,
but they are just like you and me.
Every winter they journey to Mexico.
Then rush back to tell us about the trip.
There are a few types of people in this world.
The ones that take care of anyone and everything.
There are the grumpy ones
but only they can define themselves,
no one else can.
There are also the ones that just keep living their lives.
No one can even define them,just like we can’t define butterflies
even relying on science.
So, a message here today---
butterflies are just like you and me,
making mistakes and fixing them,
flying around and disappearing…
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| Ed Kaufman, Photographer |
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Black Butterfly
By
Dennis Trujillo
3rd Place, Adult Non-Resident
| At an outdoor restaurant
near a mountain temple in Korea
two friends and I sat cross-legged---
protected from July heat by pines
And a cold running brook.
From the corner of my eye
an enormous black butterfly
winged through the shadows
of rocks then disappeared.
Later it jolted again into sight---
closer, like a bat in daylight
or a small bird pantomiming
to charm the mountain spirits.
Did you see that? But my friends
had not, so engrossed with soybean
pancakes and rice wine. Walking down
the mountain I glimpsed it again---
a black phantom mirrored
on the brook’s glass surface.
That night in a dream, mountain
spirits invited me to the temple.
The head monk served barley tea
and said the temple had been his home
since the Shilla Dynasty.
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Butterfly
By
Eden Frugé
2nd Place, 3rd Grade Student
| Wing
Colorful, small
Flying, bellowing, collecting
Long body, bright wings, caterpillar, herd
Gliding, coming, going
Fun, pretty
Insect
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Misunderstood Beauty
By
Madison Rosen
2nd Place, 4th Grade Student
| The delicate wings
A misunderstood beauty
The beetle takes off
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| Ed Kaufman, Photographer |
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A Bug's Thoughts
By
Raquel/Rocky Bach
1st Place, Middle School Student
| Rumble, Rumble
Rumble, Rumble Here they come!
Rumble, Rumble I better run!
Rumble, Rumble Faster, Faster they come!
Rumble, Rumble I am so much slower than other bugs!
Rumble, Rumble They are coming quick!
Rumble, Rumble I hope I don’t slip!
Rumble, Rumble Quick, Quick, Quick!
Rumble, Rumble My legs are so tiny!
Rumble, Rumble I hope I don’t fall on my heinie!
Rumble, Rumble I hear them getting closer!
Rumble, Rumble Oh, what am I to do?
Rumble, Rumble I better flee the coo!
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Flowerflies
By
Mia Vaughn
1st Place, 4th Grade Student
| Flowerflies
Taking off like a flower in bloom
Using the air as paddles on a rowboat
Soft wings, like petals
Gentle, gliding across the air
Slowly decreasing at nightfall
Like a flower before bloom
Keep these flowerflies
They make the world beautiful
Flowerflies
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| Lorraine Brown, Photographer |
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Insect
By
Izzy Tolpin
2nd Place, 5th Grade Student
| In the night I crawl
No need for me to move.
Scared? You might be.
Ears cannot hear me
Cars cannot see me
To eat, I dig my fangs into my prey.
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Only Safe at Night
By
Adin Cohen
2nd Place, Middle School Student
| So small
Locked away in the dust
All alone
Two eyed beasts killing our family
Making webs as homes
Homes being destroyed
Only safe at night
Then day comes
Kids screaming at us
No reason to run
We are living
We won't bite unless you fight
Eating crumbs to live
So much war we never win
Only safe at night
Then day comes
Running on our eight legs
Finding places to hide
Climbing up the walls
Being killed again and again
We escape to the forest
Only safe at night
Always safe at day
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| Isadora Esson, Photographer |
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The Writing (Argiope) Spider
By
Pattie Palmer Baker
2nd Place, Adult Non-Resident
| Dark body daubed in white,
she weaves alabaster thread
into circles stuck with shine,
strings sectors knife-edge straight –
each segment a stained glass window
glowing gold and greenish blue.
Around her eight-legged form
she crazy-quilts in fine gauge strands
the artwork’s meaning – beauty kills.
Below, she spiral-squiggles
her signature, curves her yellow
black-booted legs into an X,
stills her web-centered body
and waits.
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The Life of Spiders
By
Elizabeth Smith
3rd Place, Middle School Student
| I know what’s coming.
My eight legs flattened to a pulp,
My body squashed to a pancake.
Because I’m ugly, because I’m scary.
I know there is nothing I can do,
For they are faster than me,
And one can only do so much hiding,
In the closet under the stairs.
So instead, I wait for the swift and sudden end that I know is coming,
For the sudden swish of a boot,
For them to throw me away without a second thought.
For them to groan at the slight mark on the wall.
But it doesn’t come.
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| Pam Larson, Photographer |
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The Traveler's Companion
Mahler's First Symphony
By
Edward Kaufman
3rd Place, Highland Park Resident
| Were I a leaf from a tree
I would choose to be pressed into four corners
and be folded many times
and inscripted with words that would travel with you.
They would be my stories told to bring you
delight, excitement, laughter, reveries, thoughts
to join your thoughts and to be thought about.
That would allow me to lie upon your thighs,
be held in your hands, and to be infused indelibly
with the perfume that is you.
I would be caressed by your beautiful eyes,
and on rare occasion, be held close to your warm breast
when you raise your eyes to rest them
or to join with your own thoughts, or join the company of others.
Were I a leaf of four corners,
I would travel with you and do more than tell you tales.
I would shade your eyes should the sun impose its glare on them.
I would lend my back to you, should yours need support
and be a lap for you to sit upon to clear your view.
Of flesh and blood and not a leaf of a tree am I,
so it is the words of others I give to you, to bring you
delight, excitement and wonder to travel with you.
I remain here, open and bookmarked, just for you
until your radiant eyes and tender touch visit me again.
Till then, carry my love with you!
Drink it freely, for its source will never end.
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The Moth
By
Jonathan Raab
3rd Place, High School Student
| The moth is truly robust
Clapping its wings, it sends off speckles of dust.
In solitude I sit at night
I watch the moth struggle for light.
It works so hard to maintain flight
Driving its wings with all of its might.
The moth’s life is like our own
Constantly looking for light that’s shown.
I can relate to the moths search for light
Its drive to find peace at night.
Attracted to the glow due to transverse orientation
Humans and moths both see light as positive persuasion.
The life of a moth is just like mine
Endlessly searching for light, regardless of time.
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| Marilyn Peretti, Collage Artist |
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The Monarch's Journey
By
Nicholas Siegel
2nd Place, High School Student
| Out of breath, hungry, and exhausted,
I stop to eat and rest like a truck at a rest stop.
My journey has only recently begun,
But I am in it for the long haul,
Flying through numerous states and cities.
Up in the air, I am unsure of what I will encounter next,
But I am determined to overcome any obstacle in my path,
Whether it be the harsh winds,
Terrifying storms,
Or aggressive predators.
As the temperature rises, I can flap my wings more effectively,
And I can tell I am closer to my destination.
Traveling to Mexico,
Like a teenager on Spring Break,
The excitement builds,
As I am going to see friends from all over the continent.
I have arrived,
It looks like the whole mountain has been painted a vibrant orange color,
To resemble a traffic cone,
And attract travelers to the spot.
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The Butterfly in the Park
By
Asher Drexler
3rd Place, Middle School Student
| Flap, Flap
The sun sizzling on my wings the sky at its bluest the fresh smell at
its newest
Flap, Flap, Flap
The clovers are of three it seems he’s afraid to come out so he’s
hiding behind a tree
Flap
The other with his hands over his eyes as if he’s terrified but later
opens his eyes and searches
But he will never find me
Flap, Flap, Flap, Flap
a stroll in the park is like a cup of tea oh yes I am correct he will
never find me.
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| Nancy R. Rotering, Photographer |
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Liturgusa Krattorum
By
Constantine Soutsos
3rd Place, 4th Grade Student
| You are like the cheetah of the tree tops,
you are like the spider monkey of the bugs.
You are as camouflaged as a chameleon,
you are as deadly as a lion.
You used to live a secretive life
in the Amazon Rainforest,
but now we know everything about you!!!
Liturgusa Krattorum you are a
bark praying mantis.
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Caterpillar
By
Julie Grandau
1st Place, 3rd Grade Student
| Caterpillar
Fuzzy, squirmy
Eating, crawling, sleeping
Leaf, milkweed, chrysalis, cocoon
Flying, migrating, sucking
Flower, wings
Butterfly
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| James Paradiso, Photographer |
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Firefly
By
Abby Paulsen
3rd Place, 3rd Grade Student
| Firefly,
Small, happy,
Catching, escaping, flying
Leaf, dark, sing, jar
Sliding landing, raining
Color, cute,
Sky
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Magicada Dream, an Etheree*
By
Jennifer Dotson
2nd Place, Highland Park Resident
*The Etheree, a syllabic poem containing ten lines and a total of fifty‐five syllables, is named in honor of Etheree Taylor Armstrong, an Arkansas poet who died in 1994.
| deep
beneath
the earth lie
cicada nymphs
sucking sustenance
from large tree roots below
cycling slowly through instar
five stages of development
they dream of translucent wings and flight
while waiting for their signal to emerge
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| Ed Kaufman, Photographer |
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Honorable Mentions
Elementary School Students
- David Signorile, Trapdoor Spider
- A. J. Caplan, Lethal Spiders
- Reese Stone, Creepy Crawlies
Middle School Students
- Sienna Oplchenski, Bye Bye Firefly
High School Students
- Michael Steczek, The Carpenters
- Xavier Kwang, The Ant's March
Adult Non-Resident
- Cynthia Gallaher, The Spider
Highland Park Resident
- Judith Bernstein, The Spider's Confession
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| Epistolary or Letter Poems |
To Rachel as She Holds Her First Baby
By
Judith Bernstein
1st Place, Highland Park Resident
| You stared at me,
Nestled in my arms
For the first time,
You stared at me,
With big gray eyes.
Barely an hour old,
You intently memorized
My face
Like that was
Your first, your most
Essential job.
As I stared back
The sweat and pain
Of laborious delivery
Faded away.
And I heard sweet music
As I fell in love
So hard
My heart aches
When I think back
On how
You stared at me.
Forever,
Mama
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Dear Mom
By
Meera Swaminathan
1st place, High School Student
| For an hour, I´d have you,
you´d feed me, pieces of fruit,
from your cutting board,
and we´d never think
about what we could, or could not,
afford. For an hour,
You´d hold me, we´d imagine,
what we would do if we were free.
We'd stitch our lacerations
with a needle of gold,
sewing dreams and fantasies
into every fold. For an hour,
you´d smile with me.
Your perfume would dance
its notes away to the sound of laughter.
We´d imagine a house with a large lawn,
and a row of pink flowers. We´d imagine,
a warm sky with scattered
showers. For an hour,
we´d talk, your voice somber,
yet promising. You´d clean the salt
out of my wounds and for an hour,
our lives resumed.
For an hour, you´d love me,
but when the clock
stops, your hand doesn't leave mine
and I think that is a sign.
Love, Meera
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Dear Dennis
By
Wendy Taylor Carlisle
1st Place, Adult Non-Resident
| Rain today on the West Bank at 1:14 when your letter came
with O’Hara’s praise song for Lady Day that always puts me
in mind of saxophones and sweat and one night stands and Ellington
and how the two Miss Billies—Holliday and Strayhorn—
both were born in Nineteen-Fifteen, year of “Birth of a Nation,”
year of Typhoid Mary, year the House put women’s suffrage down,
year of the Klan once more in Georgia. Passed too soon
sweet Billy and Billie, passed before we had enough strange fruit
or A train, before we scratched our jazzy itch enough.
Awake again, in this mosquito-bit bayou with its beignets and gumbo,
your letter reminds me of New York music, how hungry
I am for bagels and Strega, how grateful for city-wet streets
and perfect pitch in downtown bars. Today’s rain taps a backbeat
on the peeling trellis, sings they’re gone, and I can
almost hear the Lady’s “rainy day again” over a stray piano line.
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Long Distance Relationship
By
Ava Werneth
2nd Place, Middle School Student
| Dear Sun,
You fill me up with light.
You make me full.
The Earth can't keep us apart
No matter how much he tries to be a third wheel.
When you're away from me I disappear.
And when you're close I burst with light.
You are super hot.
And I am cool.
You are my star.
Love, Moon
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To the beloved past,
Thank you
For the great times
Of hopes and dreams
And for the times
We wept with doubt
And sorrow
Thank you
For the times of
Success and failure
Thank you for
The times we were
Right
And for the times
We were wrong and
For you turning us around
On the right path
Thank you
For sending us the people
Who first began
And for life
Thank you for believing
That those people
Could tell
What to do in times
Of need
Thank you for
Sending peace and war
To keep balance
Thank you
| Thank You
By
Paige Gordon
1st Place, Middle School Student
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Nathan
By
Lydia Boby
1st Place, Elementary Student
| Nathan Teng, Duluth MN
Nathan,
You know of the bitter end of our snow fort.
The majestic structure, rising against wind and rain.
Hours of labor and cold.
But even aching back, arms, and legs are well worth the pride and satisfaction of completion.
Until a bright December sun scattered hope like ashes from a once blazing fire.
Mangled walls barely a foot high, sorry remains of our white castle.
Only memories.
How impressed everyone was, even Evan.
How they nagged us to go inside and get ready for church.
How we alone could see that no king’s palace would ever be finer.
Not when ours sparkled in the sun, filled with the energy and care that had
nourished it. Then again, ours is no longer standing.
Spring came early here.
Came with its gentle whispering breezes, its patches of sunlight, its petals blood-
red, citrus, delicate pink. . . .
I’ve taken up tree climbing.
Pulling myself up, over. Reaching, stepping. Straining hard and letting out breath.
Climbing for that next branch, grasping it tight.
And experiencing the elation of sensing something more than skin holding tight to a bough.
I wonder. Is that what hockey is like?
Flinging a puck, holding your breath, watching still and silent like a statue as it soars and falls.
I miss the cold whiteness of snow. But not as much as I’ll miss the green cloak of trees when it returns.
Lydia
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| James Paradiso, Photographer |
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Dear Old Oversized Sweater
By
Peri Coskey
2nd Place, High School Student
| Your wrinkled lines and saggy posture
Tell me that it is time for you to go
Your wear and tear is unbearable
Yet I hold on to you preciously
As if I am a three year old
And you are my teddy bear
I’ve tugged at youPulled at you
Worn you to shreds
Patches cover where you once were whole
Where once you screamed vibrant shades of blue
Now you only whisper soft faded grays
Strings of thread descend from you
Like leaves falling from an autumn tree
They’re telling me it’s time for you to go
Time for you to ungrasp from me
I know if I just tug a little more
On the threads unraveling from your spine
You will vanish
Deteriorate into oblivion
And all that will be left
Is a faded gray consuming me
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| Jennifer Dotson, Photographer |
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Love Letter
By
Carol Spielman Lezak
2nd Place, Highland Park Resident
| My dearest, my love...
I am in your embrace
as I sit here alone
watching raindrops pour down
on a gray sodden day
I am wrapped in your comfort
while you are afar
and I need not be lonely
while solitude beckons
my quieted mind and
my calm and true heart
you are never away
you are with me forever
in glorious rhythm and
vibrant despair
oh will you return soon
I do miss your kisses
that hold me together
in daylight and night
I close with my loveliest dreams
of you, sweeting,
until I shall see you
anon and anon.
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My Dear Beloved Midnight
By
Hannah Murphy
3rd Place, Elementary Student
| Born with Lion’s strength,
And Cheetah’s speed,
Born without Man’s greed,
Born with Panther’s stealth,
Born with Bobcat’s grace,
And such a beautiful face,
Yellow eyes never blinking,
Boots of white never clinking,
Snowy chest like the moon,
I am sad to leave you so, so soon.
But I must go with great regret.
For you have been the best, best pet.
With Love,
Hannah
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| David Dotson, Photographer |
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Dear Friday, From Thursday
By
Eli Neiman
2nd Place, Elementary Student
| Dear Friday,
Make sure your day is sunny,
Make sure your day is bright,
Make sure everything turns out just right.
Make sure your day is happy,
Make sure your day is fun,
Make sure everyone enjoys the sun.
Make sure your day is joyful,
Make sure your day is beautiful,
Make sure every kid has a playful day.
From Thursday
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Adieu
By
Jenene Ravesloot
2nd Place, Non-Resident Adult
| Count me out! I’ve hit the road unadorned.
Keep my powder blue faux Chanel suit if
you wish; my favorite pink tutu and amber
eyeshades.
Sell the French language tapes that once
belonged to your mother; those
deadly poisons. You’ll need the money.
Throw away the rancid vinegar-and-oil
bottles and all the hexed medicinal plants.
I’m done with cooking spoiled tomatoes.
My new cantilevered windows do not look
out to the sea. My Mayan neighbor sings
off-key. The ants are vicious biters.
Adieu. I don’t wish you were here.
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| Ada Colorina, Artist from Puerto Vallarta |
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Dear Time
By
Reggi Deutsch
3rd Place, High School Student
| Why must you come and go as you please?
Always taking a slow, casual stroll during Science class,
then cranking up the speed and sprinting through the night,
creeping up on me and
appearing out of nowhere at my 6:30 alarm clock?
Why do you slip through my hands like sand?
Never freezing in the present,
constantly melting away into the future.
Why does your age of 24 start over every day?
Young and bright in the morning,
progressing to a dark and sunless evening.
You are the bandage to a broken heart,
providing patience and clarity to that young teenage girl.
Why can’t everybody see how precious you are?
Always asking for more
when you are already out the door.
Everyone feels your presence in some way, shape or form.
A digital cube sitting on desk,
the period of eagerness waiting for chocolate chip cookies,
or wrapped tightly around a wrist.
Although you never stop
and take a moment for yourself,
you are constantly impacting others
as each second ticks away.
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Dear Amy
By
Lori Levy
3rd Place, Adult Non-Resident
| I’m glad
glad I asked you to come and you agreed,
glad you flew eighteen hours to visit
me. I needed you here,
needed a sister sleeping in the spare
room, the scent of vanilla in your lotion.
Needed you rising early, as you always do,
soaking up warmth in my yard,
book in your lap, winter sun.
Needed you hiking in Fern Dell,
sharing a bench in a sanctuary for birds,
watching surfers from a cliff in Santa Cruz.
Needed your back on a bike ahead of me,
riding on the path from Venice Beach –
ocean and path and wind and sky –
never turning back till we come to the end.
Needed a partner for coffee and cookies,
climbing over fences, hysterical laughter.
Needed your music in the car, “Blue Touches Blue.”
Your head leaning back to rest in the spa,
two white robes at the end of the day.
Needed the comfort of silence beside me,
ease of knowing, not having to talk.
Needed you here to come home to myself,
face in the sun, playing again.
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| James Paradiso, Photographer |
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To Whom It May Concern
By
Sandra K. Strauss
3rd Place, Highland Park Resident
| Live within the capsule that is you,
Separate within the community,
And a part of it,
We each sing our song of all-alone,
To harmonize with the group.
Search for yourself amongst the detritus
Of the cultural goals that you carry,
Prune your dreams,
Discard the ones you’ve outgrown,
Rearrange your shadow,
Mold your hopes to fit your present shape.
Plug up the cracks where your belief leaks out,
Tamp down the fear,
Look directly at your soul,
Peripheral glances can be misleading,
See your joys,
Accept your tragedies,
Package them for storage or display,
Spend no more time on them,
They just are.
Love the soul that basks in the sunshine,
See how shiny it is inside,
Begin your journey,
A clean page
Ready to be written.
Sincerely,
A Friend
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I Miss You
By
Mia Rubenstein
3rd Place, Middle School Student
| Oh mother, how I miss you
I miss your love
I miss that smile
It made my day
I even had your trust
Oh good lord, please get her back
How’d she perish like that
I thought I knew you
Sadly, I don’t
Mother, can you hear my cry
Come to me
Wrap your arms around mine
Make it last forever
I should have said yes to chores
I miss memories
We shared them together
Laughter was never ending
You knew the right words to say
I love you
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Honorable Mentions
Elementary School Students
- Alexandra Posnock, Dear First Car
- Emma Risko-Juarez, Dear Moon
Middle School Students
- Hope Davis, Mistakes are Made: A Letter to Myself
- Rebecca Davis, Dear Y
- Ella Mizrahi, A Sign of Peace
High School Students
- Jack Motzko, Dear Ice
- Zöe Romoff, Dear New York City
- Yulissa Paez, Dear Papi
Adult Non-Resident
- Madeline Artenberg, To a Young Palestinian Man
- Laurel Feigenbaum, Letter to Myself
- Wilda Morris, To My Birth Father, Located on the Social Security Death Register
Highland Park Resident
- Marjorie Rissman, Full Circle
- Edward Kaufman, Shy Night Sky
- Jennifer Dotson, Dear Future Self at Age 99
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2017 Winter Archive - Poet's Choice
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2009 Fall
Muses' Gallery Archive
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