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9th Annual Rip Van Winkle Poetry Competition Winners


Young Poets’ Category

3rd Prize

I Am
by Taylor Douglas

I am the weirdest girl who likes pigs.
I wonder what the world will be like in the year 3000.
I hear my dog snoring at night
I see my dog playing.
I want to hug a monkey.
I am the weirdest girl who likes pigs.

I pretend that I am a super hero who can fly across the earth.
I feel my dog sleep with me at night.
I touch a pencil for school.
I worry about dieing.
I cry when one of my family members die.
I am the weirdest girl who likes pigs.

I understand when I don’t get my way.
I say “fo show” a lot.
I dream of big huge cookies that I can eat.
I try to do good in school.
I hope I will be a millionaire.
I am the weirdest girl who likes pigs.

2nd Prize   

I Am 
by Kerri Edwards

I wonder about how 6th grade is going to be.
I hear music blaring loud
I see fish swimming in a pond
I want world peace.
I am a crazy, fun girl.

I pretend to be a soccer star when I play.
I feel great, thanks for asking.
I touch my dogs soft fur.
I worry about my grandma’s cancer.
I cry when I hear about animal abuse.
I am a crazy, fun girl.

I understand that some people are slower than others.
I say that all people are equal.
I dream that my friends are always by my side.
I try to be the best I can be.
I hope one day I will be a doctor.
I am a crazy, fun girl.

1st Prize

I Am
by Karlee Deaver

-I am a crazy girl that loves soccer.
-I wonder if I’m going to be a famous soccer player
-I hear my heart beating fast
-I see my team cheering to win my soccer game
-I want my career to be about soccer and about my kids and husband
 -I am a crazy girl that loves soccer.

-I pretend I’m stupid and an idiot sometimes
-I feel like I can be crazy whenever I want
-I touch my grandma’s hand in heaven
-I worry about having any body in my family get hurt
-I cry about my grandma’s death
-I am a crazy girl that loves soccer

-I understand that people aren’t perfect
-I say that every one should get the same share as anybody else
-I dream about being a famous soccer player
-I try to be the best soccer player or person I can be
-I hope nobody would die in the world
-I am a crazy girl that loves soccer



Adult Category

3nd Prize    

After He’s Gone
by Rebecca Lang


There was so much that I wanted to say
But I couldn’t find the words.
All the thoughts were stuck in my head
Like a whirl wind, a tornado, spinning out of control.
Not one clear coherent thought would ever escape my mind
And make it to the paper-let alone my lips.
It was the time pressure
That is partially the problem.
He died on Wednesday
You must speak on Sunday or forever hold your peace
I’ve live with him most of my life.
That is too many years to turn into thoughts in five days for a five minute speech.

No thanks. I’ll pass
My sister will talk instead.

Because I have all these memories spinning out of control
Stories of the Holocaust
His escape
His trickery
His survival
His strength

To the very last minute-never losing his strength.

Memories of growing up;
Bedtime stories at night.
Reprimands in Hungarian that I’ve yet to figure out.
Stories of my father-my grandmother-his love for us all.
       
Not a day went by where there wasn’t a smile on his face.
Always laughing.
Would I have the strength to laugh if I had live the pain he had been through?
Would I have that strength if I too relived a thousand deaths each day?
Would I be a survivor?

He is the reason I am her.
Part of the reason I am who I am today.
He was
Is
Always will be.
The most amazing person I’ve ever met.
           
They asked me if I wanted to speak
Of course, but what could I say?
They told me I was welcome to talk
But I knew it wouldn’t matter either way.
What could I possibly say that could ever truly capture the man that he was?
There was nothing.
Nothing.

Nothing I could say would ever bring him back       
Nor would it change the truth.
The fact of the matter still remains
That he is gone-only a memory now
A picture on my brain.
Left to stare at when I close my eyes and pray
That it never fades away.           
   

2nd Prize    

I Am Her Fool
by Nicholas Schoonbeck

       
Can’t you please stay out?
I understand that you had to go,
But couldn’t you have taken all of you?
Everybody disappears one day.
I thought for a moment you might stay.
A little longer.

Hot chocolate apologies,
Late night betrayals.
Crossing the street without looking,
Stuck searching the phone for signs.
I scold myself, rewind myself
Berate myself for think you could be so different.

I’ve been around long enough,
Flirted and fucked, twisted and
Teased.
I know there’s no answer that
Would satisfy,
Nothing you could say that would
Return me.

These last six years have been
Killing me,
And yet, despite my best efforts,
I remain immortal.
Eternal.

My desperation grows that much
Deeper.
My hatred grows crimson,
I continue to keep a log,
I will bring to Heaven,
And we will match grievance to sin,
Deciding who owes whom forgiveness.

And yet,
I am calmer now.
It’s almost better, or at least
More interesting to
Grind myself down against you
And all the others that came before.
I like to try and rise up through the ashes.
I am a great fool,
Simple Coyote playing at being a Phoenix
I still remember her eyes were blue,
But I can’t remember what shade.
It’s for the best, I think.
Because I’ve lost some attraction for pain.

I still  send gifts,
Late at night, when I should be sleeping,
Sometimes I send a Raven,
To help her with the dead.
Sometimes I send a Wolf,
To keep her warm and safe.
Sometimes I just send his Howl,
To reminder her of loneliness.
And sometimes I send her nothing,
Because nothing is what she left with me.    

I have an artist’s vision,
But a poet’s mind.
Her beauty first caught my eye,
But her tragedy trapped
My heart.
           
I thought our signs were the same.
Now I know that the sun has shifted his belt,
And nothing will ever be the same.
I am filled with sorrow and pain,
Anger and rage, and for all my self sacrifice
And slow suicide,
I am still immortal and cannot be slain.

I have been a fool.
I have fallen in love for the last time.
I will disappear without a sound,
Remembering that a small group of children miss me,
And the world is different because of it.
She was born behind another
Unexpected, she is the song of stars
Hidden from others.
Only I can see her clearly.
She is my myth,
My unicorn
And I am her fool.   
           
1st Prize

Visitation
by Dennis Sullivan

           
tonight the coldest night of winter,
i see the bearded ghost of my old teacher,
lonely old courage seer, and weep for joy.

how wonderful I think, me worthy of a visit
from the other side, did charon pole him here?
will he get back? he looks so young still.

i see some friends heading over there, ambushed
by day, without the courtesy of a fighter’s count,
black-jacked on the brain as if by a robber,   

the course of nature’s clock shattered, yes, friends
passing without a strand of white, unwrinkled frame,
targeted like the wanted at the post office.

shall i repeat my ancient days’ mantra?
all is suffering, each pain a tiny death to ease our way,
become transparent lay down your life per diem.

small consolation i know, i’m not sailing away
safe on the shore, waving goodbye like it’s a holiday.
how do we remember anybody anyway? in details?

did they give their feet to a shoeless man?
cook spaghetti for the corps no rest in sight? sit
in jail with a stranger: what can i do for you?

memory does not carry well abstractions, more so
the wet kisses my wife threw me days ago or
the cold January wind worked up in front of the house,

friends passing by in beat-up tubs honking for peace.
the heart is a basket in which we carry all our selves
in holy images, beset with neon electric emotions sighs.

my holy guru’s come tonight with a learned tongue,
transmissions of compassion, sutras of long-suffering,
re-charged visions of utopia, commonweal beliefs.

i shall start a new life, you my friends will be its chairs,
you who prepare to leave us grayless, i shall be your
candle in the night, a flicker the wind will not shear.

the tribe is life, all memory resides in the tribe, the font
of commonweal, the guarantee of who remembers.
after you’re gone my heart will carry you beyond forever







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