Children

First Place-2011

Junior High

Lucy Vincent Beach

By Sunday Hull

The remnants of ancient houses,

Slide gently down to the sea

The remains of forgotten lives,

Other things that have ceased to be,

Tumble down the cliff-side,

And sink into the deep.

Forgotten by the land,

Beneath the sea they sleep.

And halfway to nothing,

They lie upon the shore,

Before the rising tide,

Takes them forevermore.

First Place-2011

High School

(Untitled)

By Thorpe Karabees

Reflections on this time, where prying eyes

tear you apart from your inside

out,

and the looming of the hulking shadow…

It’s the tremendous beast, Society,

encircling the Earth with its tentacles trailing,

around everything the tentacles wrap,

While trying to bend they most certainly snap,

while trying to pat, they crush…

…or vice versa.

Its million eyes,

With a million views on all sides of its head,

Exchange places like a roulette game.

And it keeps pursed lips (with a mouthful of fangs).

Society, in its serpentine fashion,

chews its tail in its gaping maw.

Though the eyes and ears of Society, the civilized beast,

(or bestial gent? I always forget)

Are jaded and worn,

Still its hunger is

ever

so

deep.

Legacy stretches out north and south, east and west,

in its shadow we’re mostly quite content to rest

(the sun’s rays aren’t as harsh in the shadows of giants).

And there,

lest we forget,

are reflections

of those compromisingly, ceaselessly, surmounted,

remorselessly, tenaciously, undoubtedly

dead…

but not gone.

Their hatred is rising,

as it microwaves

the graves,

reheating the tensions we’ll all take beneath stones.

And emotions are pooling,

fluidness in full view,

fiery torrent,

drifting on twelve different axis.

All these things I have seen and have known,

with mind (wide open) and eyes (wide, closed).

By most accounts the views amount

to

nothing

(And nothing is nothing anyone could sneeze at).

The unseen cycle of nothing is this:

Nothing is never not something for long!

Nothing, the absentee assassin, neglect, silence,

conformity and the dissenter,

presents itself in a  robe of contrast

and in a royal air of sheer absence.

And what a spectacular nothing it isn’t.

Second Place-2011

Junior High

They Are There

By Rachel Mellicker

When they pass by you

you probably will not know

you may feel a warm light breeze

or the sweet smell of wild flowers

you may also feel a tingling sensation on your nose

but just remember

they are watching you

and if someday you need help

and you have lost hope in everybody

they will be there for you.

Second Place -2011

High School

Winged Poem

By Isabel Feinstein

Hark, I have found your ever-flapping wings.

I am late, but I am here.

Abandon the shards, and watch them decay.

As long as we rise, they fail to sever you.

Let us go swiftly, fringe of the sun,

A flaming gala of aerial beings.

Dance, my love? Invade my soul?

Fly me from this shattered place?

My shoulder aches as I strain for your hand.

Meet it, cherished, and we shall depart.

Liberate me with your ever-flapping wings.

Let us go together.

Chilmark School

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