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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.

Awards:

 

Body of Work: Micah Brill for Trains/Honestly

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?
Silence?
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
Home
Self
Me

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?
Just one?
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

Thoughts.
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

Thoughts.
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
And offended

Actually, you really should read my poems
I think I have some good things to say after all
Unique and thought provoking
Original
Did I mention I’m good at this poetry thing?

I mean I do like reading
Books and newspapers and articles and even blogs
But poetry?
Honestly, no one does.

Micah Brill
Micah Brill


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

Lust, definitely

Not love

 

Love is a seed or a child

It grows

 

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

 

River eyes

Flaxen strands

Shadow lines

Wicked humor

Secret tenderness

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

 

Memories though

Vague memories…

…metallic taste…

…panicked gaze…

 

…..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
Library Director Nina Warren and Klarisa Loft


The Train by Heidi Grolemund

 

Thundering roar

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

I wait

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
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

Clandestine dreams

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
Library Director Nina Warren and Laura Neri


The Joys of Motherhood by Leanne Serrato

 

I am:

a cook,

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
Library Director Nina Warren and Leanne Serrato