6th Grade Winner: “Your Words Are Like Frost”
The frost burns me,
like my hand on a hot stove.
It shouts in my ear.
Sends needles down my back.
Gives me goose bumps,
makes me cry,
my one and only deepest despised.
It’s the monster in my night mare.
It’s the villain in my book.
The frost burns me.
It teases me.
It makes me feel small.
The frost burns me,
I will burn back.
Mills Park Middle School sixth grade
7th-8th Grade Winner: “The Song of a Poet”
I scribble ink onto a blank page
in scrawling cursive.
I stop, in rhythmic invervals,
Sometimes, for a poet,
the words come,
flowing like a stream in the spring.
At others, things
trickle slowly, but surely,
through a rusty faucet,
making high-pitched plunks.
But ideas never
rush through like a churned sea
during a savage storm,
leaving you think too fast to write it all down.
That, my friend, is for novelists.
A good poem must take a while
to sink into your brain,
leaving it eager for more.
But there is none.
Until you write another.
Carnage Middle School seventh-eighth grade
9th-10th Grade Winner: “Eraser Crumbs”
With modern art these days, anyone can be
an artist. Through the excessive use of
metaphors and symbolism, one can
convey his or her feelings as well as be assured a place in the
liberal arts classroom, where
bemused students try to “interpret” meanings that may or may not be
there. At one point or another one comes
upon a “life” metaphor. I might as well go with the trend and
life is a pile of eraser crumbs. It’s annoying, pink, and all over the place.
Raleigh Charter High School ninth-10th grade
11th-12th Grade Winner: “Ars Poetica”
I found poetry in the farmers’ market
When I went to buy a loaf of muscadine bread.
Amid rows of Mexican sodas, baskets of peaches,
And jars of pickled asparagus, a wasp nest
Sat desiccated on a cool green counter.
Poetry is the spaces in between
Jars and aisles and lines. It’s the brief
Interruptions of white counter space
In the chaos of tomatillos and watermelons,
Of menace in the paper-dry nest, so empty
It could have been mistaken
For a wadded-up manuscript
Or a dusty, peeling onion. Poetry is everything
That is left out, the barriers
Between melon and rind
Or market and woods thick with cicada howls,
The absence of life in the dark geometry of the nest.
Poetry is what is not expressed.
Not loss, but absence.
Cary Academy 11th-12th grade
Banner Theme Winner: “Untitled #45”
Time does not change
Days bleed into the next
No sutures here
A false prophet in a closed world
One step at a time
Is heading down
Enloe ninth-10th grade