Adrianna Pichardo is the 2013 Grand Prize winner as well as the first place winner for ages 6 - 10. Her poem is entitled The Different Animals.
In the world I can see,
All of them different
Looking at me.
First there’s the sky
Kings and queens,
Which are the birds of course
That glide and lean.
Next there’s my little friends
Down by the pond,
Which are the frogs and fish
That all swim along.
Now let’s take a visit to the woods
So please look up, up in the trees.
There are my friends
The squirrels and bees.
Big and small,
They have so many different names
I love them all!
First place among 11-15 year olds went to Eva Gingerich for her poem Beautiful.
Beautiful is an interesting word.
It means pleasing the mind aesthetically
Or IN A TASTEFUL WAY
But DOES that mean cosmetically?
As I look at the common things
I give beautiful, different meanings:
Beautiful is holding the power of the stars in
Your hands and never letting go;
It's shining brighter than everyone else around you
Even if it’s just a glow.
It’s rebelling against what’s wrong
And taking a stand for what’s right.
It’s singing like birds of song
And dancing with flames.
It’s flying with dragons; it’s daring to dream
It’s making the world your canvas
And building your own bridges supreme.
It’s loving the lost and living your life
It’s friendship and memory making
It’s giving a smile despite all the strife.
© 2013 Eva Marie Gingerich
© 2013 Eva Marie Gingerich
Jessica Betts was our next winner.
Her poem What Is Fear won among 16-20 year olds.
Becky Allen and Steve Bernard tied for first place in the 21+ category of poets. Sorry we have no photo of Steve but his poem, Liquid Gold, appears after Becky's Epic Poem of Ireland.
Shadows of Things Still There
Our land is so green and so fine
It yields to each slane and tine
Where shamrocks can grow
And there are new things to know
It’s not much – but by God it’s mine
To strangers went our souls and our things
We once had the language of kings
Sure they took our religion
Then left us a smidgen
We lived with the hurt that it brings
They saw us as small and weak
We had a world and a new life to seek
But they were loud they were gruff
We didn’t know we were tough
Till we looked at what they did wreak
The Times As They Were
We looked at what had gone before
The vision burned our souls raw and sore
We had no muscle no sinew
Yet we had to continue
Till our spirit could stand no more
1916
The times they were hard in sixteen
Like nails if you know what I mean
For they had taken our land
Sure each woman and man
Fought till they were pale and lean
1918
With our hurt – our sorrow our pain
We looked at the horror and shame
With our own soul to gain –
But no national name
We turned to the call of Sinn Féin*
*say [shin fane]
1921
But by the summer of ‘21
At least there was something we won
A place of our own
Where new dreams could be grown
But still we could not see the sun
A Cause in Ruins
Michael Collins gave it a try
For our twenty six counties did die
Shot by his own kind
No peace could we find
De Valera at fault and no lie
A House Divided
In the depression we died on the vine
The war came in late thirty nine
Some talked of conscription
‘Twas a losing prescription
It tasted like bad sour wine
1948
As we toiled with plow and with slane
A republic our men did proclaim
De Valera was head
At least we made our own bread
But the past dulled our national brain
1972
Bloody Sunday they call it – it’s true
Unarmed youths back in ‘72
But each Ulsterite man
And the Black and tan
Saw it as what their God told them to do
They shot every one of them down
Brought glory to queen and to crown
‘Twas a peaceable march
How it makes the mouth parch
Their blood still stains the hard ground
Then Ulster volunteer force
Had a sacred duty of course
What they did on that day
Formed a new IRA
And Paisley rode an orange-saddled horse
The Past
There is no present and no future time
Just the past – a continuing line
Each torture each pain –
With each victory a stain
It’s the past – over and over again
Some day you’ll come home from the sea
If I’m dead as I well may be
Find the place where I lie
And don’t be one to cry
Just tell me the land is free.
© 2013 Becky Allen
LIQUID GOLD
A wonderful fluid that’s deep in the ground,
It comes once a year, and you boil it down.
With the smell of the fire, and the steam in the air,
And the sounds of spring, the excitement is clear.
In warm wet weather, they hustle all day,
To collect all the buckets, and move on their way.
The cold brisk night, helps keep up the flow,
And the very next day, they start all over you know.
It’s maple syrup, and it’s all done here,
Pancakes or popcorn, are favorite things of mine,
Just add that golden syrup, it’s great every time.
© March 2013 Steve Bernard
A wonderful fluid that’s deep in the ground,
It comes once a year, and you boil it down.
With the smell of the fire, and the steam in the air,
And the sounds of spring, the excitement is clear.
To collect all the buckets, and move on their way.
The cold brisk night, helps keep up the flow,
And the very next day, they start all over you know.
Time and time, they boil it all down,
To that end result, it’s a beautiful brown.
It’s maple syrup, and it’s all done here,
It’s so very good, this time of the year.
It’s our liquid gold, and it may cost a bit,
But the price doesn’t matter, we buy all we can get.
Pancakes or popcorn, are favorite things of mine,
Just add that golden syrup, it’s great every time.
© March 2013 Steve Bernard
