Highland Park Poetry, founded in 2007, is dedicated to sharing poetry with audiences through our website as well as community events, writing workshops and poetry displays. Each year, Highland Park Poetry issues a Poetry Challenge to spark the imaginations of poets of all ages and levels – from experienced, published authors to beginning writers; from adults to students. For the 2026 Poetry Challenge, participants were given three options: write about Carnivals & Carousels, Musical Instruments, or write a poem on any subject in the form of a Sijo, a Korean poetic form of three lines averaging 14 – 16 syllables per line. A situation or theme is introduced in the first line and developed in the second. The third line presents an unexpected “twist” and conclusion. Sijo are meant to be songs and can be profound, humorous, metaphysical or personal. Lucy Park, Executive Director of the Sejong Cultural Society, and Tennessee high school English teacher Chuck Newell judged all the poems written in the form of a Sijo. Southern Illinois poet and college instructor jacob erin-cilberto made the selections for Musical Instruments. Split-time Illinois/Florida author Janet Hale Tabin chose the poems about Carnivals and Carousels.
We thank all of the poets who shared their writing with us. We thank the many teachers and parents who encouraged their students to participate. We thank our guest judges for their time, energy and enthusiasm for the project.
Highland Park Poetry also wishes to thank the following individuals and organizations for their support of the 2026 Poetry Challenge: • Photographers Christopher Woods, Terry Loncaric, and Emma Alexandra for their images used on the anthology cover• Secret World Books for hosting our Poetry Challenge recognition event for adult and high school student poets• The 112 Education Foundation for sponsoring our Poetry Challenge recognition event for elementary student poets at Northwood Middle School
Enjoy!Jennifer Dotson Highland Park Poetry Founder & Editor-in-Chief

Carnivals & Carousels

Music for a While, Sculpture by Richard Hunt displayed at Ravinia Music Festival. Jennifer Dotson, Photographer

Rubaiyat of the Midnight Carousel by Sara Etgen-Baker

“Ride, ride the carousel; reach for the brass ring—life is a circular thing." ~ Julie Andrews
The calliope sings through twilight’s hush, a drunken waltz of pipes gone slightly lush. The carousel spins ghosts in gilded light~ each rider swears they’re flying, in their rush.
Clowns have shed their greasepaint grins by dawn, their hollow eyes still laughing, though withdrawn. The carnival packs up its aching bones, but the carousel? It's never quite gone.
A ribbon lost, a child’s shoe in the hay, the scent of sugar clinging to the fray. Ticket vendors count their silver lies, while horses dream of galloping away.
Tents collapse like sighs into the dust, yet something lingers—rusted chains, a trust that when the moon hangs fat and low once more, the music will return. And so it must.

---1st Place, Adult Non-ResidentFirst published in Poetry Soup (January 2026)

The Phoenix & the Carousel by Mary Beth Bretzlauf

Ekphrastic poem inspired by Music for a While, a sculpture by Richard Hunt displayed at Ravinia Music Festival
Grasp the ring! sings the notes I hear.Our chase has begun - the treble clef in sightswirling its tail of notes as it flies in the airdodging lush trees, swooping up,diving low to brush the cooling grassto at last find a home in the conductor’s baton
from the phoenix’s fiery breathcomes the music of the carousel calliopemy proud tail flying behind methe dizzy music keeps us going up and downthe ring is within my grasp -alas the calliope has stopped - carousel horses can only chasewe cannot catch the ring ---1st Place, Illinois Resident

Rusty Carousels by Ethan Parker

Rusty carousels speak only when asked,its gilded faced, slowly chipped away,your voice became foreign; alas, mine, too.
The tents had picked up: ‘twas only temporary,Dents left upon the grass – circuses were utterly unnecessary.Rusty carousels speak only when asked.
What’s gone was gone, though confetti was astray,the encircling horses had run away.Your voice became foreign; alas, mine, too.
The glittering lights had dulled and faded,yet, then my love had become jaded.Rusty carousels speak only when asked.
I’d begged and pleaded for just one more token,but forevermore, I couldn’t change the notion – your voice became foreign; alas, mine, too.
The clowns set off stupidly;their faces were ivory.Rusty carousels speak only when asked,your voice became foreign; alas, mine, too. ---1st Place, High School Student

Carnival Lights by Eleanor Acinapura

The smell of popcorn in the airand the wind blowing back my hair,makes me feel like I don’t have a carewith lights so bright in the dark nightmakes dreams come aliveand everything seems just right! ---1st Place, Elementary Student - 5th Grade

Carousel in Paris by Lucy Hansen

Once,on a snowy winter day,I went to a carnival in Paris and I rode on a carousel.My animal was a leopard and it was amazing.
My friend was also on the same carousel.She rode a cheetah.Our animals bobbed up and down in the carousel together.We had lots of fun. ---2nd Place, Elementary Student - 2nd Grade
Christopher Woods, Photographer

Carnivals and Carousels by Gemma Busby

Carousel lights flickerA steady hum in the night,Painted horses glide by,Frozen in silver light.Laughter ricochets down the laneLike a held breathAs drums keep timeWith the pulse of a neon sunset.
Cotton candy airBraids through musicLike a vine of grapesRunning down the fence,Raindrops dripping down the tentsThe Ferris wheel slowly turnsNight turns into dusk.I can hear the excitement as loud as a screamBut now we all have to leave.
---1st Place, Elementary Student - 4th Grade

Carnival by Eloise Davidson

When you walk through the carnival you will hear rollercoaster sounds,children screaming on the merry-go-rounds.Ahh get me off, this is so fun,don’t walk to the concessions, instead, run.Oh no, who got the cotton candy?It was the hounds. ---2nd Place, Elementary Student - 5th Grade

An Endless Memory of You by Kyleigh Parker

Yellow bulbs flicker on as the carousel wakes.Old paint cracks along the horse's ribs.Up And Down the ride begins again.
Poles gleam where your hand once rested.Round and round, grief learns its path.Organ music wheezes like tired lungs.Memory pulls me back into the saddle.I was small; you were endless.Spinning felt like flying then.Every laugh you gave me still echoes.Downward dips feel heavier now.
You stood by the fence, waving.Once was never enough time.Until the music stopped without warning.
 Wooden horses froze mid-stride.On the day you didn’t come back.Under hospital lights, the world slowed.Loss circled me like the ride.Dizzy, I kept looking for you.No one told the carousel to stop.The center stayed while everything else fell away.
Lights dim, but the ride remembersEven still, I wait one extra turn.A hand phantom-warm on my back.Voices fade, yours doesn’t.Every circle ends where it began. ---2nd Place, High School Student

A Menagerie Carousel - The Magic of Glen Echo Park

by Kathryn Schmeiser

I heard the herd of fortyhorses, hooves stomping wooden ground. Legs bent as they walked, trotted, galloped. Up Down Up Down in sync with mirroredimages spinning round, round. Slow fast chased by four plump feathered ostriches, one gangly giraffe, a rearingdeer, antlers spread in flight. Slow slow stopped. I jump up, squeeze sneaker in metalstirrup, swing my right leg over dappled horse’s back, straddle a brown saddle. Bridle and bit wedged in mouth, blackmane clings to neck and head, tailtucked between back legs. Slow slow fast faster faster Jumping horses race past the hungry tiger, white teeth shimmering. My arm stretches, fingers grasp air as the brass ring flies by like a bird with flapping wings. Ising with the organ music – You are my sunshine, my only sunshine,You make me happy when skies are gray. Next time, I will hop on the rabbit.
---2nd Place, Adult Non-Resident
Christopher Woods, Photographer

Travels by Kathy Mason

I ride a horse across the northern plains, Relaxing with the easy roll of a slow walk, savoring the uninterrupted savannah of waving grasses.
Another time I visit Ayers Rock atop an ostrich, A very different pace that throws me abruptly back and forth. But what a view!
Today I run across Masai Mara National Park on a zebra. It’s smaller than the horse and jolts me around as we race beside giraffes and pass lions basking in the sun.
Tomorrow I think I’ll ride to the North Pole in a sleigh. I must remember to bundle up for that ride with sleigh bells ringing and me singing.
---2nd Place, Illinois Resident

Carnivals by Sienna Merar

End of the dayI can’t wait to play
Headed to the carnivalIt’s such a marvel.
Can’t wait to watch a good show,The lights are all a glow.
The ride there was steadyBut the slides were unready.
The photobooth was looking edgyI was sitting next to my friend Reggie.
I saw some balloons flying high.They looked like they could touch the sky.
--- 3rd Place, Elementary Student - 4th Grade

Cinquain Carnival by Olivia Smith

CarnivalLoud PlaceEating food, Going on rides, Good vibesFun, Loud PlaceSuccess
---3rd Place, Elementary Student - 5th Grade

Serendipity Blue

by Marjorie Rissman

I had a horse when I was growing upHe had the kindest eyes and almost a smile on his face.I loved to stroke his mane and whisper sweet words intohis attentive ears as if he could understand my heartmy mind, my thoughts. We rode around becoming oneinseparable, attached souls until the music ebbedthen stopped, needing another ticket to continue our journeyof ten thousand miles or more for sure. I let him go if hepromised to return to me, only to me, before summerended and he headed south for the winter. ---3rd Place, Illinois Resident
Just One More Ride by Beverly Seiffert, Photographer
Carnival Ride by Gail Denham, Photographer

Galloping in Place by Haley Montes

An icy metal pole numbs my fingersWhite and black horses prance in circlesWarm lights and a light daze fall upon meSpots, stripes, and swirlsEmbellishments surround, and laughter eruptsOnly I am stuck in a loop for the time being Away in my thoughts,I wait and waitMy hair flows with a phantom windI rest my eyes and lay my head on the silver barMy stomach starts to turn as I sway up and downThe sun is setting, and the golden glow fills my beingAs I look down,I see emptiness where I used to play So leave me behindbecause I dwell in this nostalgic loop
---3rd Place, High School Student

Carousel Horse Music by Gail Denham

Ekphrastic poem inspired by Music for a While, a sculpture by Richard Hunt displayed at Ravinia Music Festival
Above the carousel horse, a specter,its soul, seemed to hover mysticallythat night as Joe and I stood beneathan elm and swayed to calliope tunesthat floated on the evening air
A music lover, Joe sang along with somemelodies – old-time songs. His voice mademe a bit giddy, especially when he sang into my ear.
Perhaps it was the half glass of wineI’d sipped at dinner; maybe a shooting starlit on my hair, but I could swear that oldwooden horse winked at me when Joeput both arms around my waist.I leaned against him, so close I felthis Adam’s Apple against my cheekwhen he gulped air and began to singthe next tune. My whole being gallopedwith the horse and the music.
---3rd Place, Adult Non-Resident

Zoo By Peggy Trojan

We live in a cageof our makingwhile round and round us go the menagerie of nativesat their leisurely pace.We look out, followingfrom window to window.Common deer, crow or eagle,coyote, bear, rabbit, rare blue heron or fisher.We watch them strollon their quiet carousel.Now and then they freeze,return our stare,ears twitching, eyes unblinking, assessing the danger if we got loose.
---Honorable Mention, Adult Non-Resident1st published in All That Matters, 2023

Maybe in My Dreams By Lori Wall-Holloway

A carousel decorated with whimsical animals painted in brilliantshiny colors to spark one’s imaginationturns round and roundHydraulics make eachcreature bounce to a joyous tunedelighting childrenas the merry-go-roundcircles
What if in another worldriders could break freeto race across a countrysideand pogo up and downon a make-believe road atop the jumping horsesleaping tigers and prancing giraffes?
As the animals become freeof their restraintswould even a green and yellow dragon be able to take wing and fly?I guess it is only in my dreamsthe characters can roamoff of the giant turntable ---Honorable Mention, Adult Non-Resident
Christopher Woods, Photographer

Newcastle-Upon-Tyne: The Hoppings 2025 by Adrian McRobb

Late June the Toon* Moor comes aliveGarish folded machines tow onto grassUnfolding the behemoths take shapeSome for children and maiden auntsOthers for adults looking for thrillsStill more for adrenaline junkies, loving speedSoon the smells of Toffee Apples and Candy Floss pervadeThe smell of ozone spills from Gardner generatorsThick yellow/red cables snake through grass hissing static50's Run Run Runaway pounds from WaltzersDead Man’s Curve chances its arm on a Ski DropDaytona 500 overtakes Neptune’s KingdomExtra holes show where the mermaids are poisedNow Hondas and Harleys race on an undulating trackAnd once you’re full of sticky treats and fake meat mustardWhy not try The Death Drop, a hair raising stomach churnerMeet the 8 foot Scotsman outside the freak showA man in a gorilla suit frightens the kiddies, the adults run too!While peaceful Gypsy Rose Lees tell fortunes in engraved glass caravansAll forgotten by next year, when St. John's Ambulance will treat more heart attacks"The most terrifying place on Tyne" no idle boast!
---Honorable Mention, Adult Non-ResidentAuthor’s note: *Toon is how The Geordies pronounce Town. Geordies live in North East England especially in sight of the Tyne, their holy river

Flirtation

by Lynn West

A carousel of color swirls around the soul as she wandersHer spicy past rings as the violin singsMemories, a string of pearls as she twirlsThe breeze whispers and whinesHer soul pines for redemption
A pause as dark eyes pierce the nightCatch the hem of her skirt and follow the breeze as it blows rainbows
She stands and tastes a drop of sweat as man’s imagination is moistened by music. ---Honorable Mention, Illinois Resident

Bent Reeds by Monty Mittleman

Outside the tarot reader’s door, I find myself standing in the spinning glow of a carousel. Traveling a blue road to when, not if. Rosy cheek by heartfelt laugh, each spoonful of her, less colorful than the year before.An answer to the questionof what to do with hands that once held hands, now bent reeds, frozen stiff in the icy shallows.
---Honorable Mention, Illinois Resident

Small Town Carnival by Marilyn Huntman Giese

Tufts of grass spread open as tent pegs are set In the weed field at the edge of town. Boys watch from the fences near the trucks that unload A Merry-Go-Round and a Ferris Wheel. Girls run to the delicatessen near the pounding noise Of sweating men putting together a small town carnival. Once a year young and old enjoy the lights and music and The aroma of hot dogs and cotton candy. Bingo games keep adults eager for prizes displayed On tables inside a big tent. After three days the lights dim and happy families return home as The carnival is dismantled and loaded on trucks headed for the next small town.

--- Honorable Mention, Illinois Resident
"Carousel Horse Painter" by Dan Fitzgerald, Photographer

Crown of Stars by Dominic Haddad

I was lost amidst the light of the fair,I wandered into the open court,And there I saw the spinning lights.Mixed horses, sculptures held by poles,All of them were under its control.
I stared reverently at the iron dragon,Its scales shone like a Basilisk’s,And its wings stretched like metal obelisks.Behind its silhouette the sun sank unto the horizon, A heaven sent gift for the wyrm.
The light of the spinning ride overrode the darkness of night,And all that’s left was that Dragon’s light.Two crimson eyes glowing dreadfully,But I wasn’t scared. Until the fire flew from its pores,And the light ceased forevermore.The carnival fell into distorted dark,An outage left by rampaging sparks.
I suffered myself to hear the wails,Screams of children begun to assail,And in annoyance I plugged my ears.Instead I imagined the array of lights.And the illumination of dreams became like the stars above.
The Dragon mended my mind,And with a crown of stars I may come to find…A realm of dreams fit for a king,And in the absence grow ephemeral wings.And when the power returned at darkest hour,I saw the fun was never far.The Dragon atop the carousel had crowned me with the stars. ---Honorable Mention, High School Student

Spin in the Carousel by Alice Vu

Carousel in my eyes is in the wonderlandComing to the wheel of time,Bring them to the ridewith all the memories I had.
On the white horse,slowly moving up and downin the field of the magical world,I am a princess.
And the carnival remembers how to spin.Spin, spin, spininto a gentle spiral.Where are you leading, carousel?
A kingdom of horses,on the wooden steeds. Round and roundfor the merry-go-round,through the painted clouds,pass the candy-pink castle,to the childhood dreams.
Spinning higher,lifting me on invisible wings,and every turn whispers a secretonly the carousel knows.
Round and round no more,in the quiet of the ride,like waking from a dream,like cotton candy in the sun, fading slowly. Spin, spin, spin,up and down.Now stop. ---Honorable Mention, High School Student

Back on that Carousel by Bailey Ritter

When I was younger, I was terrified of riding carousels.I hated when my mom would let me go by myself on them.But as she watched me spin around and around on that carousel,with the biggest smile I have ever seen planted on her lips,I felt like I had faced my biggest fear andI finally learned how to let go.
After the last time that the carousel spun, my mom grabbed meand pulled me into a warm hug. And I was so happythat I had finally won her attention.
As I have grown up, I am no longer afraid to ride the carousel alonebut I am terrified to get off because I know that she is no longerhere to hold me, no longer here to smile, no longer wantingto give me attention.
Oh what I would do to be on that carousel for the first time again.To go back to that moment where she truly loved me. ---Honorable Mention, High School Student

Carnival Fun! by Maisy Wagdy

Carnival, as busy as a hive of bees, you can see kids up tall in the sky, as if they could actually fly
Clowns down low juggling with ease, you could see the kids in the crowd staring as if this was all a dream
Cotton candy scents filled the air, it even reached the kids in the face painter’s chair
When the kids finally reached the game section, the only option was fishing for rubber ducksThey fished till their hands hurt, only catching the worst of their luck
Only the kids knew, after all that hard work, they only got a few expired cans? “This should be banned!”
Before the kids leave for home, the kids forgot to do one thing!“Mom, dad, before we go, I have to decide, the last stop is the big, red slide! ---Honorable Mention, Elementary Student - 5th Grade
Christopher Woods, Photographer

Carnival Clowns by Izzy Calicdan

The wind of the roller coasters wheeling past us giving a whoosh of air, kids screaming with joyholding their laughter with their hands straight up in the air.
Carnival clowns dance to make you laugh with a big red nose on its face, at the same time it juggles colorful plastic balls with a big wide smile on their face
Shoot, the basket is a fun game to play. The game includes technique within its play but the only thing the kids say is “That’s rigged”!
Music fills the air as a carousel spins around, kids riding on horses going up and down.
The carnival tent gleams with lights as the kids watch in fright as acrobats do some flipping back and forth, dangerous acts might cause some gasps.
Walking on a tight rope above the ground, don't think too much or your fright might cause a big frown from the crowd. ---Honorable Mention, Elementary Student - 5th Grade

The Carnival by Willow Parks

The carousel it goes up and down. The carousel it spins round and round. It's exiting, it’s fun, it’s joyful. All I want to do is play at the carousel in the carnival. ---Honorable Mention, Elementary Student - 5th Grade

Carnivals and Carousels by Samson Buss

I am at the carnival todayI feel happy.I am at the carouselI feel dizzy.I am at the Ferris WheelI feel the wind blowing.I am at the endI feel joyful. ---Honorable Mention, Elementary Student - 4th Grade

If You Bring a Trumpet to a Fair by Vivek Shah

I brought my trumpet to a fair,I played it loud without a care,I honked too hard, the ducks all fled,A clown fell down, I turned bright red.
My trumpet went BLAA! And hurt my earBut I’d bring it back again next year,I think l got banned from that fair,Because they said I sounded like a bear. ---Honorable Mention, Elementary Student - 4th Grade

The Haunted Carousel by Daphne Cohen

Through the gatesLights are goneDark and drearyEmpty booths Faded signs Wind slows downA wheel that once spunNo screams, no laughter Just aware and standing thereJust echoes of what once felt like fun.
---Honorable Mention, Elementary Student - 4th Grade
Christopher Woods, Photographer

Judge for Carnivals & Carousels

Janet Hale Tabin has been a lover of poetry for as long as she can remember. From earliest childhood, she listened to her mother, a small town personality, prepare poetry readings for the entertainment of local clubs and organizations.
Despite that early and enduring attachment to the poetry and literature in general, Janet’s formal education focused elsewhere: she holds a BA with a concentration in economics and a Masters in Business Administration from the Booth School at the University of Chicago.
Raised in southwest Missouri, Janet has spent her adult life in the Chicago area, many years in Highland Park. More recently, she and her husband moved to a maintenance-free retirement community in nearby Lake Forest. They now divide their time between Chicagoland and Miami Beach.

My Mother's Last Lullaby by Janet Hale Tabin

With a hat tip to lyricist Irving Kahal and “I’ll Be Seeing You” My life is like a carousel With ups and downs, around and round;My dreams could fill a wishing well.
Like ringing of a distance bellMy mother’s memory was profoundOf life so like a carousel.
Like fortunes that the gypsies tellThese memories do my heart confoundLike dreams that fill a wishing well. And something feels ethereal About the moonlight at sundownIn life that’s like a carousel.
She called me up, from cell to cellTo share a memory she had found Of dreams about a wishing well.
Recalling chestnut trees so wellShe sang a sweet and peaceful sound:A memory of a wishing wellAnd life that’s like a carousel.

Musical Instruments

Gail Denham, Photographer

November 21, 1963 - I'll Always Remember That Night by Carl "Papa" Palmer

He takes the harmonica from the bib pocket of his overalls,blows left to right, low to high, back and forth a few times, then claps it upon his open palm like tamping his cigarette,one of those unfiltered Camels, on his dented Zippo lighter. He pushes a quick riff up the scale, inhales it back down,spins his mouth harp around, taps it a couple more times,pauses as if pondering which rendition he’ll be rendering,then smiles that smile Dad smiles while looking at Momand starts in on The Tennessee Waltz. Nodding her head,closing her eyes, Mom sways in time to her favorite tune. Moving to her side as he plays, he wraps his arm aroundher waist, her draping both arms across Dad’s shoulders.Gliding around the living room in an orbit all their own,observed by us kids on the couch, giggling and smirking,making kissy face noises as we watch our parents dance.Mom sang melodious, melding the music as she motionedus to get up and join in on that night I’ll always remember,that night before President Kennedy was killed.
---1st Place, Adult Non-Resident

Old Piano by Donna Pucciani

I rarely play anymore,but like an old friendwho needs contact, touch,the whispered nostalgiaof intimacy, I feel each keybubble up with desire.
The piano is ten timesmy weight, sits like Buddhain the corner, meditatinguntil interrupted by mysearching fingers, a chaosof rhythmic highs and lows.
The tuner says he’s done his bestwith the aging beast. Now I mustattempt the old Broadway tunes,no longer able to navigate Bach.Music is a glorious irrelevancein this age of political violence
and autocratic cruelty. One forgetsthe virulent hatred of oligarchswhile searching for the rightsharps or flats, foiling melancholiawith the inexplicably sunnymajor keys. And nobody’s listeningbut me. ---1st Place, Illinois Resident

Soul by AJ Johnson

Instrumental golden mile,stories told in varied style.History is put on trial,music made to bring a smile.
Brassy sounds make music bright,cutting through the starry night.Melody and golden light,deeper sounds put up a fight.
Longer tubes and valves go low,lower, deeper, softer, slow,and they love to put on a show.They just love it down below.
Woody, reedy, shrieking sounds,high and mighty, swirling rounds.Ears and hearts the sound surrounds;the shimmer of the noise expounds.
Drums and bells excite the crowd,always making songs sound loud.Fun and playful, deep and proud,always testing what’s allowed.
Hands draw music close and near,telling all what they can hear.Sweeping movements, lack of fear,leadership, and merry cheer.
All of these make music wholeand speak so deeply to the soul.And just as life can take its toll,music is there to console. ---1st Place, High School Student

My Guitar by Brody Harf

I took my guitar into the car and had a concert,I was the star of the stage.I knew I was on the right page,then put back my guitar in the cage, getting ready for my next performance on stage.The next day with my performance on stage, I brought a special guest who helped and helped all day.Celebrities for life on the right page.I needed to go home and I had nothing to do. How about I play my guitar for you?Then the next day, Thanksgiving day, turkey and all the wonderful food all day.I love playing guitar here and there. I love playing my guitar everywhere, even in the air wherethe wind blows through my hair. ---1st Place, Elementary Student - 5th Grade

A Beautiful Sound by Miri Reich

I hear something,a beautiful sound,my heart brightens asI slowly drift away,following the path of notes.
I see it,I feel it.
I feel my fingers start totightly curl around the strings,my hand clenches the bow,I don’t listen with my ears, but with my heart ---1st Place, Elementary Student - 4th Grade
Jeremy Playing Guitar, from the Yeo Family Archive

Music by Naiya Bhatt

Music is so amazing.Music can be all sorts of genres.Music brings joy to my ears.
A piano sound is low on one side and high on the other.Piano is jazz.
A trumpet sound whispers or it roars.Trumpets are the blues.
An electric guitar shreds.An acoustic guitar sings.Guitars are rock.
Music never ends. ---1st Place, Elementary Student - 2nd Grade

The Peaceful Music by Berekiah Solana

I can play the piano.I see black keys and white keys.Da-daa-daaa-daaaa-daaaaah!
The keys are wooden but they sound magical.Sometimes, they sound angry, too.Ba-baa-baaa-baaaa-baaaaaah!
My songbook guides me on how to play the piano.It helps me learn beautiful songs.
The sound of the piano brings me peace. ---2nd Place, Elementary Student - 1st Grade

The Way It Plays by Noah Olson

The way it executes the emblem of sound,the way it wickety-wackety-woos down your earsBut you were just wisecracked,the wonderful Bass. ---2nd Place, Elementary Student - 4th Grade

Instruments by Olivia Amodeo

Guitars strumDrums bamPianos humSymbols ramFlutes dingViolin pingsXylophone zingsAll music sings ---2nd Place, Elementary Student - 5th Grade

Chorus of Unnoticed Songs by Kendall McCleary

In the silence of the classroom, I hear a song.Repeating itself over and over for me, the same few notes.Where normal people hear everyday sounds, I hear the heart of our natural symphony.And when there is nothing left to hear, my thoughts fill the void with beautiful weirdness.
In the quiet of the night, I hear a song.The owl, the crickets, a baby, approaching footsteps.A melody so easy to miss, yet I hum to music.In the chaos of my house, I hear everything.
In the middle of a crowd, I hear a song.Voices that harmonize in tune and letters,Calm and overwhelming. I listen to all at once,A symphony of vocals that preoccupies my senses.
In my mind, I hear many songs.I’m a mixtape of sanity with a rhythm, and half-remembered lyrics.Louder and stronger than the other sounds,A horrid, jumbled cacophony that makes me want to scream. ---2nd Place, High School Student - 12th Grade

True Blue Rhapsody by Julie Isaacson

Her fingers in flightgnarled with thousands of hoursof practice
I envision her as a childFeet dangling at the benchAs she learned notes touch pianissimos fortes count
Now,Her sparkling tone matching her sequined gownAll senses engagedtasting the musichearing the ivorytouching her audienceas her wrists bend and weaveFloating
Passion producing tearsloveall the feelsmaster upon masterlayer upon layerwatching a wand
texture of truth in black and white ---2nd Place, Illinois Resident

Glissando by Jayne Jaudon Ferrer

The world's a discordant symphony,and I play the piccolo.Like Ives, our themes collide and grate,rarely does harmony flow.Copelandesque, brief interludes of laissez-faire refrainsrestore our souls,refresh our hearts,rekindle hope again. ---2nd Place, Adult Non-Resident

Sizzling Fiddlers Sling by Joseph Kuhn Carey

Sizzling fiddlers slingout notes in Zakopanefrom each rustic restaurantalong the main streetbasses plunking boldlyto keep the big beatwhile the fleet-fingeredaccordionists add crisp, cracklinglogs to the soaring gypsy bonfirebefore the musicians break out into sudden songwith stout backs and full hearts,as if pulling a cart loadedwith large musical notes from the mountains to each shepherd,each girl in a colorful peasant dress,each wandering tourist sittingover wine and beer and peeringfor a while into Poland’sfestive, foot-stomping soul. ---3rd Place, Illinois Resident Published in the author's collection, Postcards from Poland (Chicago Poetry Press, 2014)

Piano Echoes by Amy Barone

We stream music and view YouTube. Outgrew our stereos and CDs. They had tune-smiths at their pianos playing rollicking sounds. Music filled the alleys of New York’s West 28th Street. Father of the Blues J. C. Handy and Scott Joplin wrotecatchy songs there in the early 1900s. Ragtime and jazz poured from saloons and halls. Where “In the Good Old Summertime” and “Give My Regards to Broadway” were born. A universal language took root. Walls to show biz success fell.America’s sheet music trade thrived. When in a good mood, my late father used to sing around the house. He’d belt out, “Hello! Ma Baby,” an old song to a young girlwho loved rock music, who knew little of Tin Pan Alley’s past splendor. ---3rd Place, Adult Non-ResidentPublished in the author's collection, Defying Extinction (Broadstone Books, 2022)

I Like the Piano by Ona Sodaitis

A room full of pianos“Pick a partner and pick a piano”I find a girl and we sit togetherA little too close for strangers, but it’s just piano
We turn and listen to the teacherTaking turns plunking out our best attempts at the notesIt’s awkward, but we tryI like piano
The teacher comes around to our pianoHe hears us play and smilesUnbeknownst to us, we are quite goodWe smile and keep goingI like piano
Next lesson my girl is goneI play piano with a boy and it is strangeHe is much better than I am, and I am displeasedI don’t like piano
It soon comes time to prepare for the concertMy teacher tells me these simple songs are my only choicesI choose the simplest one and perfect itWhy were they so simple?I don’t like piano.
The night of the concert, I am ready for it to end.But then my time comesI step up to the piano and feel everyone watchingAll those eyes, only on me and the pianoMaybe piano is okay
The concert ends, and I don’t go back to the pianoSometimes I wish I didSometimes I wish I had taken that timeI wish I still liked piano ---3rd Place, High School Student - 12th Grade
Terry Loncaric, Photographer

Trombone by Nate Weiden

TremendousRhythmOutstandingMelodyBandOompahNoisyEcho ---3rd Place, Elementary Student - 5th Grade

Me and My Cello by Syd Kramer

I sit up straight and do not slouchI take a deep breath in
All the stress moves out of my bodyfrom the tip of my fingers to my toes
I start to play my celloMusic comes out like a volcano
I hear the sweet sound of musicI’m not playing for them
I’m playing for me. ---3rd Place, Elementary Student - 4th Grade

A Hero Rhythm by Vivienne Oberbroeckling

Champion I’ll be, if audience believes.Pluck the strings, feel the beat, tap your feet.Now bring the luck right to me.Contending to be the finest,defending people that can be the shyest.Finding my way on Bass.While making the world a better place. ---Honorable Mention, Elementary Student - 4th Grade

The Saxophone by John Mugler

The saxophone like wavy lines it playsas the music keeps going and never stopsyou have a feeling of all of them in one spoteach note is like a heart beat like life does in its wayeach note has a meaning that we don’t knowSo what does it mean? ---Honorable Mention, Elementary Student - 4th Grade

The Way of Music by Ella Levin

The way Jimi Hendrix sets the fret board a blaze, raging with fire up on the stage
The way Meg White bashes on the drums, thumping and booming and having fun
The way Taylor Swift lightly hits the keys, she brightens up the room with soft melodies
This is the way of music, something we can all understand, and this is what it truly means to be a band.
This is the way of music, the thing that makes us all unite, and no matter what, this is what feelings sound like. ---Honorable Mention, Elementary Student - 4th Grade
Gail Denham, Photographer

Bow and Arrow by Molly Goldberg

The delicate strings, music to my earsWooden curves, shiny strings, the music may flowYou'll find it in an orchestra with a beautiful rhythm.Up to your chin, you’ll move the strings.A magical noise that will be beating in your head.What could it be?A mystery rises above.
---Honorable Mention, Elementary Student - 5th Grade

Spanish Music by Laura Atanacio Edington

I dream I am in Barcelona again.Lush carpets of bougainvilleacreep over the brick wall as ifescaping some ancient Spanish invasion.The sangria is sweet.My toes curl on the cool tile floor.
In Oklahoma, it’s blackberry picking time.I weep as I make my way through the thornsand blame it on the guitar playing quietly inside my mind.Spanish music always makes me cry. ---Honorable Mention, Adult Non-Resident

Geezer Band by Gail Denham

after William Steidel’s painting, “Nimbly Jig”
Without a compass, I bounce through thisworld on a pogo stick at times. Other times,I’m anchored to a slow freight.
My face sags as if muscles have collapsed.I have trouble staying on track, scaredlest I’ve taken the wrong path – again.
So? What can I do with the depressing handsI’m dealt? Hang it up? – write off this life?–complain in loud howls? – strike out at someone?
There’s another way. A picture on my wall showsa geezer band. At one side sits a short man, twohairs on his head, playing a large Eskimo drum.
A lithe elfin in green tights sweetens the air with liltingtunes from her piccolo. Next to her, a cello player,with bib overalls and black mustache, saws a cello.
In the center an old fellow dressed in green frockcoat dances. His long white beard bounceswith every leap and twirl. His arms fly in joy.
In fascination, I gaze at this happy group. Theybelong right here above my computer – to curlmy lips in a smile, set twinkles in my eyes,…and giggles in my heart. They guarantee,to me, a happy face. ---Honorable Mention, Adult Non-Resident1st published in Dancing Poetry, 2016

Strung Out by William T. Carey

In a 50-year-old photo I saw my strung-up twin,a Guild D-25 acoustic guitar—my doppelgänger,inseparable in taut type-A vibrations.Both the rosewood and I looked placid and warm, though I could only fake that through song.We were one, though, in those days, uneasy but effective partners.Our riffs satisfied, our rifts never irreparable.
I opened the sturdy battered case today—elder heavy.The occupant and I have been somewhat estranged in later years,reuniting for caroling or flitting random sessions. I remember, rote, the songs from youth, but not the ones I learned last year.As I cradled my wooden compatriot, I realized the dull strings had long sat sagging, so I began the painstaking process.Turn the tuning posts on the headstock, and the anchoring pinsin the bottom bridge, to loosen and pull out the six bronze and steel strings.They’re dangerous as high wires: arthritic fingers slip sometimes and crash the chord and act, but not this tame administrative time.After rubbing cleaner, then polish into the dry fibers,I let the wood rest overnight and sensed its relief in disengagement,in back-stretching like its creaky owner.
Next day, my silent partner was prepared to be strung up again,grimly resigned to pressure and dependency.In real time, this was pretty soft duty: I don’t play much.And who doesn’t like spanking new stuff—shiny brightmetallic strings unrolled the night before for unkinked comfort.
My frayed strings need replacement at this age of precarious stability.I still carry a tune but so much baggage. I pick at the strings and emotional sores.
Just conjure my college bandboys, strap it up, and let it soar.Silence to sound, profane to sacred, wooden soul to holy heart.Strum a few bars, and again make a joyful noise. --- Honorable Mention, Illinois Resident

Indiana by Marne Glaser

In the midst of music schoolIntensely studying voice, yet disillusioned,I was given a choice — “any class at all” I’d like to take.“Jazz theory,” I replied. “Oh, that would be a mistake.Too hard for you (or any girl?)— try something else.”Cello? “Yes! I’ve just the guide for you! Starker’s assistant, Kristof!”What on earth did I get myself into?
Still, it would sing another part of me—The soul, the earth, the canto hondo—And Kristof was not too bad to look at either!Lessons each week—I worked hard for him.Come jury time, he proudly predicted,“String quartets within a year!”Starker came—Primrose came,To hear this stellar student.
A tight small room, fluorescents overhead—Two world masters poised for the show.Two hands, a bow, flailed upon the strings, Unable to tune, much less to find their way.One bald pate dropped into open hands—Starker’s time, wasted. Primrose, polite.Kristof’s prized student, shipwrecked.But now...I sing jazz. ---Honorable Mention, Illinois Resident
Photo from the Glaser Family Archive
The Fiddler (1912) by Marc Chagall

The Beggar's Fiddle by Lois Baer Barr

The Beggar's Fiddleithasnostringsno bowjust a well wornspot to tuck his chinso wearyweatheredso unaccustomedto chewing meatat weddingfeasts
---Honorable Mention, Illinois Resident

Street Musicians by Terry Loncaric

The Dixieland musiciansmoved their tromboneswith a dancey grace, up-and-down,back-and-forth,as their bodies became onewith their instruments.Elegance met rhythm,magic took hold,on a New Orleans streetin the French Quarter.
--- Honorable Mention, Illinois Resident
Street Musicians in New Orleans by Terry Loncaric, Photographer

Judge for Musical Instruments

Ken “fog” Gilbert aka jacob erin-cilberto, originally from Bronx, NY, now resides in Carbondale, Illinois. erin-cilberto has been writing and publishing poetry since 1970. He has taught English for 32 years at John A. Logan College. His work has appeared in numerous small magazines and journals including Café Review, Skyline Magazine, Torrid Literature, Quill and Parchment, Hudson View, Wind Journal, Pegasus, Parnassus and others. erin-cilberto also writes reviews of poetry books for, and others. He has reviewed books by B.Z. Niditch, musician Tom Maclear and others. His 26th and newest book of poetry A Jersey Shore in Ryegate is now available, published by Praying Mantis Press. erin-cilberto has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize in Poetry in 2006-2008 and again in 2010. He also has taught poetry workshops for Heartland Writers Guild, Southern Illinois Writers Guild and Union County Writers Guild.

A Harlem Night in a Forgetful Town by jacob erin cilberto

a clarinet soundsfrom the misty channelsof a swollen night club
bluesy notesinhale the cigarette smokeof the patrons who speak softly
wanting to absorb the clary's voicethe player in his own worldfeels the incessant vibrations
his fingers and lipsin synchronized eloquencebleed from the cuts of his artistry
2 a.m. finds a few seats still filledsleepy-eyed individualsdoing last call
as the musiciandoes a final encorethen sips the last of his
complimentary Manhattanwishing he were playingthere instead of
this place he won't rememberthe name oftomorrow.

Sijo

Jennifer Dotson, Photographer

My Daughter Rides a Chicago Carousel by Heather Corbally Bryant

My daughter—her arm loose, swinging from a striped pink horse—A moment caught on camera, her hair flying behind,From this instant, may she always remember how wholeness can feel. ---1st Place, Adult Non-Resident

Dreams by Elizabeth Stanley King

A zephyr stroking my cheek, curve of my ear, length of my neck.A silken touch caressing, soothing my fears in the moonlight.Alone in dawn’s liminal light, waves crest upon empty dreams. ---1st Place, Illinois Resident

Ford Ranger by William Waggoner

My Ford Ranger is an old pile of junk I love to work onIt's an amazing way to create something I’m proud ofnext thing you know, a bolt snaps off and it is listed for sale ---1st Place, High School Student

Winter by Harper Haas

Winter snow falling down, soft, fluffy blanket all aroundHot chocolate, sipping cider, turkey dinner by the firePillow forts to keep us warm, protecting us from winter storms ---1st Place, Elementary Student - 5th grade

Growth by Mila DeAngelo

a seedling, smaller than a bead, sprouts from the depths of the dirtsomething so small, so worthless, an insignificant speckhas grown to tower us. Not small, not worthless, seedling no more.
---1st Place, Elementary Student - 4th grade

A Lonely Rose by Ilanit Zahava Held

A lonely rose straight and tall in a majestic deep green forestShe is shy and sweet and smells amazing, she is beautiful redShe meets a lily, they become friends, they play in the fields and dance --- 1st Place, Elementary Student - 3rd Grade
Emma Alexandra, Photographer

Beneath the Waves by Ella Levin

The sea glimmers and glistens as sunlight beams upon itImmense Crystal clear waves are what we all see and what we knowOnly it’s true beauty lies sea sponges to great white sharks below ---2nd Place, Elementary Student - 5th Grade

No Longer a Perennial by Karsyn Lyons

Every year my grandmother blooms with her bleeding heart flowersThriving in the shade of comfort, held by the stem of stabilityThey bloomed last year, thriving beautifully. Though, this year differed greatly. ---2nd Place, High School Student

A Well-Deserved Nap by Maggie Kennedy

The maple lets go, revealing how much she has held upwith her rail-thin limbs, she has kept together a canopy. Watching her gold leaves float and fall, I begin to float, too.
---2nd Place, Illinois Resident

Midnight Concert by Candace Kubinec

a gentle breeze blowing through dry reeds sang a mournful songand the nightingale answered with a hopeful melodyyoung lovers heard neither making, instead, their own sweet music --- 2nd Place, Non-Resident Adult

January by Margaret King

Pine trees line the rocky outcrop on the far side of the lakeSilver in the weak winter light, they appear from the mist like ghosts It's just quiet enough for the afterlife to briefly emerge.
---3rd Place, Adult Non-Resident

Springing by René Parks

The pines pause, lengthening themselves in the shrinking shadows while the wild world turns green beneath the frost, chickadees chirpand crocus quiver, the wren sings her earnest song to the sun. --- 3rd Place, Illinois Resident
René Parks , Photographer

Happy Birthday, Dad by Myleigh Jones

Sunlight finds my room; it’s his birthday, so I reach to send my love.Red “not delivered” signs glow beside years of unsent wishes.The day moves on without him, but my heart and my mind do not.
---3rd Place, High School Student

My Cat Filled World by Dakota Forehand

Cricket and Tilly are my world, forever in my heartWill always be mine forever, love you, will be with me alwaysLiney you’re up in the sky, but will always remain in my heart --- 3rd Place, Elementary Student - 5th Grade

Math Class by Levi Altman

I am so happy that I am going to math class in 5 minutes.I am walking to class happily in my clothes with book in hand.But I just realized that I am still in my pajamas.
---3rd Place, Elementary Student - 4th Grade

Money by Taylor Newman

Money money the one and only oh so nice you pay for meAs I rhyme, pays for my food, my dance, my life, money moneySome people have none, thankfully I have some money money --- Honorable Mention, Elementary Student - 5th Grade

Crush by Jordan Cheng

Struck by love, obsession starts; with all my being, I am yours.Adonis – I fall for you; inventing futures, we are one.Not to be: another friendship is born; I retreat now; until then.
---Honorable Mention, High School Student
Gail Denham, Photographer

Judges for Sijo

Lucy Park is a co-founder and Executive Director of the Sejong Cultural Society, a nonprofit organization established in 2004. She leads major programs including the Sejong Music Competition, the Sejong Writing Competition, and a wide range of sijo education initiatives. For over fifteen years, she has taught sijo to teachers, students, and adult learners across the United States, and has developed extensive instructional materials available through the Society’s website and YouTube channel. She also launched the Society’s Sijo and Music program and the Sijo and Art initiative. Dr. Park is the author of SIJO: Korea’s Poetry Form (2022), which received the Franklin Buchanan Prize from the Association for Asian Studies.
Chuck Newell is a lifelong resident of Chattanooga, Tennessee, and holds both bachelor’s and master’s degrees in English from the University of Tennessee at Chattanooga. He has taught English for over twenty years, currently at The Baylor School and previously at Notre Dame High School. For the past thirteen years, he has incorporated sijo writing into his curriculum and contributed a chapter to Sijo: Korea’s Poetic Form. His work has appeared in Education About Asia and Independent School, and he has presented for the National Consortium for Teaching About Asia.

Moon by Lucy Park

I sat under a pale crescent moon when I learned of mom's passing.Halfmoon, smudged by the night cloud, gazed at me when dad departed.Dear moon, with your caressing smile, who are you comforting tonight?
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