Aisling Glancy – Mary Louis Academy
“My Last Duke”
“My Last Duke”
There I am, painted on the wall,
Looking alive. I need to recall
What really did go down that night?
A night of jealousy, death, and terrible fright.
Fra Pandolf painted me as I sat still,
As I dreamed of my name in my new duke’s will.
And the money and riches my family receives,
However, prior to that I must pretend to grieve
Over the loss of my newly wed.
Due to a tragic accident, now dead.
He would go out hunting in the dead of night
He wouldn’t have seen the wolves when they took a bite.
As their gleaming white teeth sank into his heart,
My only remembrance of him will be his love for art.
Though there will be a side people don’t know.
He wouldn’t be alone when he went to go.
My brother there, standing at his side.
No one would know he would be the reason my poor husband died.
I was attracted to men with riches and gold,
But my husband discovered this, truth be told.
He saw me looking at the princes and knights,
Their gleaming jewels, sparkling under the lights.
He was jealous, though, so was I,
So he drugged and sent me to a sculptor, waving goodbye.
My vision was now starting to fade,
The last living soul I saw was our house maid.
She saw me as I reached my demise,
And cried out in a loud voice, “The Statue of Neptune has human eyes!”
Draimely Gonzalez – Academy of Mount St. Ursula
“Pig Pen”
Pig Pen
When a piglet is ripped from its mother’s mushy arms, it wails in fear, piercing the ears of the butcher who grips its fat
Squinting at the harsh sun and cool breeze as newborns do
Stripped of its dignity right after birth
I, like the infant pig, was also forced into the world with bare skin, enduring sneers as I learned
to dress myself
Contemptuous eyes are picking at my skin, pondering what to make of me
Pigtail ringlets flowed down my back and bounced when I ran
Away from older kids who’d yanked at them
My tears dripped down into my mouth forcing me to taste my
Hell
Foreign hands wrapped around the piglet’s stomach, throwing it into a new pen
One filled with a stench so horrid
Nothing is like the scent of its mother
I’d too squirm at a new environment, yearning for the only thing I knew, my mother
But Mama wasn’t around to soak up the piglet’s woes
And it’s tears
No matter how much the pig cried
Its trotter was covered in mud and dirt, rushing to wipe away its sorrows
My feet weren’t covered in mud, yet I also cried, burying my head in my thighs,
Hoping my misery would consume me
Eat it, my shame!
Make of me what my mother didn’t
And what every set of eyes and grinding teeth expect
Butchers whisk it away, and the infant pig
Bringing it to a damp room with dying lights
Rub their stomachs with hunger
Make of it what it was born to be
I could stare at the piglet’s picture for hours, wondering if its eyes, nose, and skin resembled
mine
I stifled my troubles
Brittle nails peeled off the skin on my lips
The piglet’s eager eyes exposed me to what I am
It’s squeals ringing in my ears
Reminding me of what I’ve chosen to become
Ellery Schalk – School of the Blessed Sacrament
“Describe the Forest”
Describe the Forest:
Wood cracks,
splinters through my fingers,
trees etched with reminders of spirits.
Other worlds grow like ferns,
redwoods seeped in golden glory.
The time of the forest calls a sweet song of silence,
but notes are broken by snaps of branches,
and traces of the wild.
When the morning dove sings a tune of sorrow, tomorrow will be an
adventure through time.
Thousands of repetitions in the sky,
skipping across a flipped pool.
Bluer than the ocean,
and still, the water has a certain coolness to it.
Unable to be captured through transferred sights,
only able to be peacefully described from one to another.
Words can do it.
They always can,
and they certainly are able to when it comes to the sky.
Outside we can watch the birds follow their invisible paths,
and the leaves dance with the wind.
We can follow the green.
Feel them move and go with them,
while you sway not further away, but closer to me.
It’s quiet, but we are never alone.
We are always accompanied by something.
By the little creatures that scurry across the forest floor,
by the whispering breeze that threads it way through the trees,
by the sunset that drapes its light over your face.
We might get lost,
but there is no better place to be lost in than the sunlit meadow,
where trees are never judgmental,
where I can feel the sound in silence,
and where I could finally have love by my side.
Anthony Moina – All Hallows High School
“Due to the happiness that I have felt”
The moon was glittering as the pup ate
In the cold winter darkness shined a light
For when I am with you my mood is great
When everyone is asleep all is right
The days are becoming dull and cruel
The winter looms as the summer wanes
Your warmth and smile allow me to refuel
However, this will not always remain
As I wander through the glistening snow
Which obscures the lifeless leaves on the ground
I find a rose that continues to grow
Equal to the happiness that I found
The aloofness in my spirit will melt
Due to the happiness that I have felt
Ian Holchak – Xavier HS
“The Cloud Above”
The Cloud Above
I live in the blue sky and blossoming clouds
Up by spires and lightning sparks
I am made up of quivering clouds of smoke, billowing out black
Weaving myself across the skyline
Intertwining myself in peoples’ images of the heavens above
But I am no insidious fog
I am looking for a home among these blue winds
I am looking for a life in peoples’ recalling of my shape
My obstruction and my formation, slowly above
Gazing eyes, and panicked lips, fast-paced boots
And echoes of the larynx
Now, you are watching, recalling me
You are keeping me alive through those adjectives
You use to describe my color and smell
You are holding prized portraits of my blossoming in your mind
And your excited brain is sharing them with those
Who you come across
You present this gallery full of my beauty
Even though I long ago weaved myself in with the dolloped sky
And when night falls like that curtain it is
We recall my story so our bodies can still be illuminated
We light up our minds with those shining sights
Though the black sky attempted to conceal me
The nebula, a nebulous soul
Those rigid emotions spark, those sharp feelings show
An indestructible conviction is nurtured
And I am always alive
Eden Brown – The Mary Louis Academy
“Tree”
The poem that inspired me was If Thou Must Love Me written by Elizabeth Barrett Browning. This is my favorite poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning.
“Tree”
I first met you by the weeping willow
Alone with the bright and circumambient
Daffodils
We lie motionless
But filled with countless thoughts
I watched as a plethora of leaves and petals
Float around you
Almost dancing in the cool breeze
And your flowing hair
As the wind catches it, becomes knitted into a neat
Labyrinth
I ponder if this scenery or my own thoughts
Make you seem ethereal
And I stop
Because I know I will never get the answer I yearn for
I call out to you even though I am scared
Of what I might find
But you don’t hear me
So I will forever stay still under this willow
Weeping
*Shortlist*
Samantha Murray – The Mary Louis Academy
“Her Father’s Lawn”
“Her Father’s Lawn”
There are weeds sprouting in her father’s lawn.
They arrive each year, like clockwork, forcing a scowl upon his weathered face,
As he sees his efforts of upkeep and care be foiled
As they always are.
She spies the pests from her porch, before her father has the chance to spot them, Where she avoids the disappointed view of passersby and the
Glaring judgment of the vibrant sky above her roof.
As she leans to keep the weeds under her caring glance,
She can seem to hear the prideful shout they utter.
“Finally! I have made it!
I have risen from this cruel ground, which shuns me,
And forces me down.
I have snuck into the presence of the grasses, the perfect blades
Which adorn this flawless lawn. I will fit in among these ranks,
And I will feel the sun on my sprouts just as they do.”
As the seeds glow in their achievements, her father’s mower comes near.
The perfect grass blades are cut to ensure their perfection, the man’s ideal limit. His pleased eyes traced the lawn, until they caught upon the
Dreadfully unique patch, muddling the view of his calculated masterpiece.
From her spot on the porch she could feel his gaze turn freezing.
The mower whirred across the perfect plains towards the champion weeds,
And the girl worried her lip as she pictured
The roots which worked so hard to worm their way through the manicured soil.
All for naught.
As the machine got closer, its engine hummed quieter until no war cry arose any longer.
The weeds stretched towards the sun, basking in the feeling of finally having worth,
As the man bent down and ripped them out by hand.
Raniero Fouskas – Columbia Secondary School for Math Science and Engineering
“Your Mind”
Your Mind
i wish i could live inside your Mind
crawl and lie in the trenches of your thoughts
i want to sit by your glowing firelight of passion
trap myself in the sticky nooks filled with ideas
i want to find the hidden scene void of joy
get lost in the cold, damp places of your phobia
i want to hear the echo of euphoria
bounce off the walls of your head
i want to touch the clouds high in your mind
as sleepy zephyrs graze my sides
i will take in the great expanse won’t you take me There?
Roy Goldstein – The Trevor Day School
“The Streets of Europe”
The Streets of Europe
The streets of Barcelona,
Lined with red roofs, and leafy green trees:
Heaven on earth.
Everyone wants to be here,
It’s a club and life’s the bouncer.
The streets of Amsterdam,
Where the canals freshen up everything,
As nasal passages clear and
The sweet smell of tulips lends itself
To the gray asphalt sidewalk.
The streets of London,
With a small-town feel in the big city,
Brimming with life down at the market,
While up the Thames,
Something unfolds.
The streets of Rome,
Lined with onlookers,
Observe the column,
Hoisted into the fountain,
By the victorious football club supporters.
The streets of Paris,
Rife with gossipping café goers,
Analyzing everyone from afar.
When a fight breaks out,
They stay to watch.
The Parisians aren’t phased by violence.
The streets of Istanbul,
Sprawling with bazaars.
Just across the way,
The streets of Europe are no more.
Javier Vasquez – Xavier HS
“Slumbering Sinner’s Song”
“Slumbering Sinner’s Song”
Unfamiliar ceilings- It makes sense. Nothing in this city knows me.
It’s a false resurgence. I pray for my descent further into your subconscious sea.
The ultimate end to progress is self destruction. Death.
They progress along the path, hopefully bereft.
Into Charybdis they will row,
All th’while, speaking of Michalangelo
They know it to happen. Artificial admittances.
And from their children come heartstrung pittances.
Simply one of your developing dreams.
Lucid whispers tear my cloak at its seams.
Transitory consciousness. A tenuous grasp on my own existence.
No adjustments can be made to the course’s end- a predetermined loss of subsistence.
Conscious annihilation of cherubim,
Their lucid screams tear my cloak at the seams.
As the grip on his apple tightens, evening howls cease to frighten.
Tethers made of Man. Architects of anchors unintended by creation.
Unto nothingness, what remnants survive of their nation?
Artifice jettisoning them from the abyss.
Their personal edifice of hubris.
Dreams shall end, but the shimmer remains.
It glistens till dry, the child’s sin and its scarlet stain.
Into Charybdis they will row,
All th’while, speaking of Michalangelo
It’s hatred undeserved
Its punishment misplaced yet reserved
They will meet It soon;
Lately considerations of awakening fill the room.
What will be divided? Left to the slumbering.
Superficial concerns residing in an organ who’s rhythm becomes sundering.
They rise to the surface at a foolish speed.
Yet their hands cleave from the wheel as though it were a need.
Cleav’d to the tension,
What is it, if not a futile search for attention?
They gaze into the eyes of a sound unforgiving.
I wonder if this requiem leaves them unfazed, after all of this “living”?
Into Charybdis they will row,
All th’while, speaking of Michalangelo.
I made a request, as they were laid to rest:
“When you truly feel, promise me.
When you are forced to kneel, promise me.
When your fate is sealed, promise me.”
Bite the flesh. How does it taste?
An apple you’ve grown, sin-laced?
You knew. This was intentional.
Your attempted sedation has left us with dreams rather unconventional.
Adam, abandoned.
Will my rising eyes see truth, after plummeting forevermore?
I’ve stained the frame of the door.
Passed over only to drift ashore.
I am unfazed by the maw.
I was unprepared for the feeling of flesh torn raw.
His cult was but a veil, made from mirrors and smoke.
Minds and hearts prepared
Your removal of my bastion, my cloak?
I become unsealed, known to rays and open air.
I am lucid, I must confer. I will not run.
Tainted by a bite, perhaps. Framed as “Lucifer”. But what’s done is done.
Good mourning, to all.
I hope they awaken in time to witness the fall.
The New York Browning Society 