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Congratulations to all our Student Winners. This picture was taken at the Awards Ceremony in Richmond in April 2007. Following the picture are the winning student poems.  First Place S-l Grades 1-2 Sophia McCrimmon Cool Spring Elementary School Mechanicsville, VA My Favorite Seasons The Definition of Snow Little ballerinas falling from the sky They come down to the stage of snow When God calls them They bring joy to everybody, Just like a show. They are snow. The Summer Sky The sun comes out longer. The sky has more color. It is so much fun to see the blue shine in summer. The sun is at top speed Doing its job Filling people with summer joy. ________________________________________________ First Place S-2 Grades 3-4 Virginia Hinchman Center for Teaching and Learning Edgecomb, Maine Colorado's Plains I pushed my heels into my horse's back, egging her up the mountain. When we reached the top, I sighed. I gazed at the endless plains that I used to play in, our little ranch, and the fields of wild flowers. Then I knew, even when we moved to New England, part of me would always be here, gazing at the endless plains of Colorado. Then I rode down the mountain and left part of me behind. ________________________________________________ First Place S-3 Grades 5-6 Annika Brynn Jenkins Norfolk Academy, Norfolk, VA Gypsy Heart A block of wood A slice of ebony Four furiously glimmering strings And a heart - My violin is alive! Bowhairs flying frantically Strings snapping dangerously Fingers streak by Like the dancing Scurrying Always-moving Feet of a gypsy. It has a voice, It is something that will Never die, Something that will Never give up, A soul Full of music Full of color Full of passion Flaring like fire A true, wild gypsy heart. ________________________________________________ First Place S-4 Grades 7-8 Aislin L. Kavaldjian Harmony Intermediate, Lovettsville. VA However Temporary I was gonna do something (however temporary) What was it? I was going somewhere, Meeting someone I was gonna do something (however temporary) What was it? I was... I was... doing something. It was important. Wasn't it? Instead I'm lying on the sidewalk By the door to your apartment Where above you dwell (however temporarily) And I desire you. Oh, yes, I desire... I was gonna do something (however temporary) What was it? It was... It was... What was it? I lie here now, studying the fluorescent pink Of your artificial fingernail against the dull scrape of concrete That I lie upon And the black fabric of my office suit bakes, heats My body like a pretzel; though I don't care I will never care less. I am focused on your presence However temporary. ________________________________________________ First Place S-5 Grades 9-10 Sarah Hoffman Norfolk Academy, Norfolk, VA In A Word My moment, in a word, is a glimpse. A flicker of something that never was and never will be; A spark that could have caught flame And burst into the fire of well earned success. A taste to taunt my inner inhibitions. A moment envied by the lifetime. My day, in a word, is a memory. A painting on the wind echoing through secrets kept hidden, And if labeled as unforgettable, a mural carved into my mind. If it is like a vision in a remarkable dream, I keep it locked away in a place kept as a sanctuary, A memory never to be forgotten. My year, in a word, is complete. The loose ends tied, and the broken ones merely a path once taken; I bring to a close the endless stream of the three-hundred and sixty five opportunities to make memories. An occasional sudden escape from the monotony A completed term in an insignificant life. My life, in a word, is the effort. To do good, bad, or somewhere in between, One is equally blinded by the dark as by the light. What is really important? Where you go, or how you get there? It is the irreversible paths taken by someone soon to be forgotten forever. ________________________________________________ First Place S-6 Grades 11-12 Patty Fang Saratoga High School, Saratoga, CA TSUNAMI -a trio of cinquains- White foam Laps vast seashores With clusters of blue rocks Beneath pale skies; charcoal clouds loom, Darken. Rolling Back from stretches Of sand, gray with seagulls, The ocean draws in a long breath, Pauses. Tall tides Crash like thunder Upon birds, beach, boulders. Erupting, wicked waves churn, spread, Drown all. ________________________________________________ First Place S-7 Undergraduate College Amro Ramzi Naddy University of Virginia, Class of 2008 A Domestic Archeology When I held his knife for the first time since he'd died, I felt my grandfather's ghost run like current through the brass handle, heard his bones creaking when the blade snapped out. But the blade feels empty today. I toss it back in the broken drawer with the old lighters, the old coins, the old camera, the old negatives. History isn't exactly impotent, but some days are better than others, I wanted to feel its current again under the dusty skins of brass of steel. As I felt last week. The bundle of canes from Paris; the one with the secret handle that I pulled to release the sword ~ Sacré bleu! I became a Musketeer, pulling out the blade again and again, thrusting at the coffeemaker as if it were a ghost — Cusinart, my old foe, back from the dead with blood on your hands! I thrust; he parried; I shattered a vase, but the fight was done and Good had won again. I replaced the blade in its ivory sheathe, the blood-wet steel pressed tight against the tusk. Looking 'round my room today, it seems old brass is just brass, old steel is just steel. But if time resurrects dust, it also resurrects the blood that keeps the current. ________________________________________________ Poetry Society Prize Phoebe Arnold Center for Teaching and Learning Edgecomb, ME Through My Eyes / skip out the back door, to the swing set my daddy built me. As I climb into the attached playhouse, something in a back corner catches my eye. My sight is blurry- I don't have glasses yet. Carefully, I inch closer. It's pink— that much I can tell— and small. I squint. Now I'm only a few feet away. Suddenly I cry, spring back, and run. Today I scamper up the ladder, into the box. Now my contacts allow no detail to escape. Warily my eyes wander to that corner —back left— as they have for the past six years. I breath a sigh of relief. No, of course—nothing there. But as hard as I try I cannot lose that feeling: that feeling that someday, when I least expect it, my play set will turn into a morgue, and four more baby mice will never move again. ________________________________________________ The Steven Lee Barza Collegiate Prize Christie Stratos Lebanon Valley College Annville, PA Words can form Their own chosen life Far beyond The simplicity of A word count. The lines are what matter. Three lines Of few syllables To express What a lifetime Can conjure. Choose carefully And perhaps a chain Can be formed. Basho's haikai Can hardly be matched, But to travel forever, To find the perfect view Of sad, damp trees And moss conquering rock And water unscathed By today's destructive instincts Is far from unreachable. Record it by standards Set by those before you; The ancient expression Of poetry. |
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