2013 Poetry Contest
12th Annual (2013) GCC Student Poetry Contest Winners
Left to right: Heidi Grolemund, Klarisa Loft, Laura Neri, Leanne Serrato, and Micah Brill
The authors were honored at an awards ceremony in the library on Thursday, April 25. For more information, click here.
First Prize: Klarisa Loft for Angel
Second Prize: Heidi Grolemund for The Train
Third Prize: Laura Neri for The Dao of Dali
Honorable Mention: Leanne Serrato for The Joys of Motherhood
Trains by Micah Brill
Why do we call them "trains" of thought anyways?
Sure they follow one after another like freight cars on a track
They're heading one place or another
East or west, north or south, city-bound or to the country side
They have a destination, contents and a driver
But I feel like sometimes my thoughts have none of those things
There always seem to be unplanned stops along the way
They simply are and simply do
They pop in when you want them to stay
And in when you wish they wouldn’t
Is there a station for the perpetual motion?
Is this one big cycle or a straight shot?
A circle that has no definite beginning or end
Yet we break in and out of our loops somehow
Circular tracks with dead ends
And road signs that lead to nowhere
Simply feed them like throwing coal into an engine
and they'll steam off and end up in physics,
15th century France and pineapples all at once
To where shall we go?
Thoughts that lead us into Infinity and Beyond
The insanity of the reality of sanity
Art, pure freedom and expression
A mind, untainted progression
A stream ever flowing to the conscious and unconscious alike
What distinguishes the good ones from the bad ones,
The crazy from the sane
Is it plainly visible or do we only hear whispers through the walls?
Get real close and it might be harder than you thought to tell
Are they lenses with which to see,
Or a secondary grasping after what we have already perceived?
Simply the narration and commentary of what truth has already stated
A silent scream that the owner cannot ignore
What does a thought sound like?
A deafening cry?
Or just an echo?
Or just an echo?
If we think someone else's thought have we in-part become them?
Is this body only a shell?
A house or a home?
A land unexplored yet known
Shining bright and glowing soft
We follow them as the North Star
A guide, an outline, the divide
Between what is ours and what is not
Like little black lines on a map
Are the thoughts of an evil man good or evil?
Do thoughts simply carry truth without passing judgment?
Are lies simply misinformed truths, misrepresented against their will?
Which is more important, freedom or truth?
We think but also believe
Are they held in the same hand?
Is truth self-evident?
Or only an opinion from the layered onion we call
And who pulls the reigns?
Who is in control of the train?
Like soldiers in an army with no commander
Who gives them their orders?
Logic, the soul, God Himself?
Or merely collisions of particles and impulses that leave you with no choice?
A result of stimuli and a mechanical cold-hearted number cruncher upstairs
Do we choose or simply live with the inevitable consequences of an action?
Slaves of the perpetual action-reaction cycle
Like grievances of snow falling to the ground, soon to be rain or some other
At the mercy of Mother Nature
Just merely things
Carbon and cosmic dust
Bouncy balls and rubber bands
Matter that doesn’t matter
Do others exist and try to squirm through,
Yet somehow they don't manage to draw our attention?
What is the rite of passage, the password?
Do we actually have thoughts?
Are they contained and held onto?
Or simply like greased up pigs
Impossible to grasp
How many thoughts does one moment allow for?
Or maybe a flashback of every thought you've ever had
And if every one of them got together, what would they say?
Would it be a rainbow or a bloodbath?
Out with the old, in with the new
And which was the first?
Is there such a thing?
Or only mutations of a common ancestor
The Origin of Thoughts
Not the place but the One
Shall we ever know?
Not just know this one thing but shall we ever know at all?
Or even know what it is to know?
Can we hold truth or simply tip a hat and acknowledge it
We ponder, dwell, daydream, postulate, theorize, wonder, question, doubt and think
But mostly and only, think
Because there's nothing to do but
Like ducks in a row
When every one is both beautiful and the ugly duckling,
The elegant black swan that never tried to be anything but what it was
Like smoke clouds from trains on the tracks of the imagination of a little boy
Honestly by Micah Brill
I love writing poetry
I just don’t like reading it
Well I like reading my poetry
But otherwise I don’t like it.
And I wouldn’t blame you
If you didn’t like reading mine
Although I’d be pretty disappointed
Actually, you really should read my poems
I think I have some good things to say after all
Unique and thought provoking
Did I mention I’m good at this poetry thing?
I mean I do like reading
Books and newspapers and articles and even blogs
Honestly, no one does.
Angel by Klarisa Loft
Love is for storybooks
Not for chain smoking men
Who never asked for it
Never wanted it
There was no first sight
That theory’s bizarre
Love is a seed or a child
Love is glass
It’s fragile, and often breaks
Love is medication
It can save your life, or completely destroy it
An Angel taught me that
This is Angel
Angel is here
Even as I sit on this couch
She is here
She makes a joke
More of a sarcastic remark
It’s crude, yet it draws me to her
They just don’t see her the way I do
…..a needle on the floor……
But Angel is here
Clear as the day
They won’t tell me different
I’ve had enough of this couch, this talk
I have to take her home
My Angel needs to go home…
Library Director Nina Warren and Klarisa Loft
The Train by Heidi Grolemund
You know it’s coming
A pounding on the ground
I hear its call
Letting you know it’s near
Loud and booming
It’s calling me
It wants me
The wind blows as it passes
Air forced by
Dirt and leaves fly
I didn’t let it have me
Even though I wanted to
To step on the tracks
Right in front of its path
To have it all end
But not this time
We will meet again
The next time I hear its call
Will we share a dance?
Will I take the fall?
Library Director Nina Warren and Heidi Grolemund
The Dao of Dali by Laura Neri
Evoked with strokes
Of brilliance and brush,
Eloquently you illustrate
The passage of
And pristine things
That colored my frivolous youth.
Though the memory persists
And blooms spring inside my heart
A winter settles upon my bones.
And Time sends his vultures
To pick the meaty matter of my mind,
His cold skeletal hands
Ushering each day past.
Such a clever little thief,
Swift and fleet on padded feet,
Cloaked and covert,
His shadow creeps across the dial.
Nearly as lithe and slick
As timepieces melting in the sand.
Library Director Nina Warren and Laura Neri
The Joys of Motherhood by Leanne Serrato
a taxi driver,
an alarm clock,
a coverer upper,
an endless wallet,
a 24 hour laundry mat,
a rinse out the disgusting glass girl,
a step on the controller in the dark ninja,
a "drop my (blank) off at school" task person,
a multitude of sports equipment rememberer,
the up by 6am no matter what against my will master,
a "pretend like you don't know me" invisible caregiver,
a folder, a sorter, an organizer (over and over again),
a nurse, a motivator, a human cattle prod, a cheerleader,
a turn nasty socks right side out while not breathing expert,
the bill payer, the shopper, the laugher at non-funny jokes,
the "can you get me a drink" waitress (without a tip or thank you),
the turn off every light in the house 8 million times a day reminder,
the I love you no matter what heinous thing comes out of your mouth mama,
the "can Johnnie come over and eat every last thing in the whole kitchen" mum,
the hurry up in the bathroom please God don't let me know what you are doing shouter,
and finally..........the "can I have five dollars and I promise I'll clean my room later" caver
inner. And... I would do it over again because one “I love you Mom” makes it all worthwhile.
Library Director Nina Warren and Leanne Serrato