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ARTELLA'S POETRY GARDENS OF FAME! Click the links below to read the winning poems for the week of October 15, 2004. Poetry Gardens of Fame Index |
Second Place
Third Place
Fourth Place
Jonathon Ambrosino
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And the wind left me Dead, listless This is how i stand, propped against the wall arms hanging limply legs buckled, knees touched fingers curled at grotesque angles the slow steady tread of white wispy smoke rising in this strands off my bald, skinless scalp I am fully clothed, protecting my grey bones from the harsh elements of the fire squelched blightly through my empty eyes I look at myself now, I see tattered clothes hanging as if by string
In this image in my head, I see that this force is naught but my pained emotions that they are so strong; they permeate, apparent even in my abandoned bones lifting, filling the cloth that surrounds them; making them appear full of mass The wind passes by, no longer unseen, but a solid entity barely a stolen glance passes my way as if her intention was to leave me lost and alone the wish of the smoke barely disturbed by her passing blow After she was gone, the fire returned in the corpse's eyes, blue and bright wave after wave of pulsating black consumes my image pulling me farther away, pulling me twords the absence of the bright white light
Still there, slouching against the red brick wall the absence disappears, drawing with it my fire of life my fire finally gone with the sand of the earth poured over Wind returns Kisses the dead and listless and sulks away with the single tear of the silent slight night |
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Carole Trickett
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The Potato Harvest Go, go, out into the garden! Plat your red sneakers right down on the dirt! Put one foot hard on the digging fork, pulling up those funny blue potatoes. Some are one pounders. They will push out the Idahoes. Some are tender and nubile, soup pot nuggets. We planted them as a memory of Gram's childhood, now 80 years past, in Conception Bay, Newfoundland. She found them advertised last spring in Jackson and Perkins catalog. "If I send for them, will you plant them,?" she asks her loyal son. "I remember, we used to grow these Home." After weeks of waiting and the frequent question, "Have they come yet," a small package from Jackson and Perkins arrives in Dick's UPS truck, a wonderful promise of the taste and the feel and sight of a childhood past. Into the earth the go, bearing exquisite potato blossoms by July. Mother and son nurture and hover. The plants grow. It is October now, our red sneakers are hard on the digging fork. A row and 100 pounds later, we have, a washed mound of glistening,, gleaming Purple potatoes. "My potatoes weren't so purple, Gram says, they were blue." She takes home a sack of her potatoes of remembrance. Now at 90, she boils, roasts, mashes, the taste, the feel the smell and sight of candle-lit memories. "Well, Mum, how were the potatoes?" her son cautiously asks. She replies, "Your sister, Constance, can't stand them." And, she cooks them no more. |
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Okwudili Paul Nwankwo
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Our Birds Mourn
On network-like electric wires that spread across the city A various groups or flights of birds mournly perch or sit Dreaming 'bout the dense vegitation that existed in the past Where the fore-birds lived and fed on insects among other pests. On roof-tops,balconies and streets,the poor homeless birds hop Cursing the human civilisation that deforested the told field of hopes Also, there were no trees and bushes for hoping and the flight lessons And they never complained of nesting materials for the bleeding season. On our houses,the birds have revengely come to build their nests Since we have built our cities in once a forest where they rest With our broomsticks the birds have decided in acrimony to build Their nests,since we have destroyed the quiet niche where they breed. Our flying friends mourn,despite our joy that a new city was born For happiness would never be the same since their natural habitat was burn. |
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Kim Gelinas
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The Dance We have a dance, my dreams and I Unscripted, unrehearsed, without choreography Balance is the goal and action its best friend Sorting through the many paths that lie ahead The dance more a game of hide and seek Dreams hide; I seek Dreams call; I try to answer Dreams dare; I hope to rise to the challenge The boldness of their persistence amazes Their screams for release are deafening "Come" they say "Dare, live, be" "Wear bright colors Sing out loud Laugh so hard your sides hurt Rejoice in the wonder of being" "Paint, draw, write, create Put pen to paper to show who you are Color that with all the hues of life Score it as Beethoven would" "Dont give your voice or your power to anyone else Own all that is yours, both good and bad Your character depends on it Your artistry will not exist without it" I listen with all that I am Mind, heart, soul, and spirit I embrace the needs of my dreams For they are me |
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