2008 Poetry Contest Winners

Dina Bozsoki’s poem won 1st prize in the faculty division:

Oh, Why Can’t It Be for the Fun of It??

Fourteenth century love…can it be the same today?

Foreign to freshmen — Shakespeare’s archaic way

“Teach it!” the powers-that-be, they say

And the teacher who loves it, sighs, says OK

Then prepares to battle the dreaded disease

Hope against hope her students to please.

“Give me my long sword, Ho!”  she thrusts –

Punning them, leading them, gaining their trust

They struggle, they whine, they get it, they shine

They shut up their books, move to the next “crime.” 

Oh, Why Can’t It Be For The Fun Of It?? 

The Olympians on high play great games with a mortal

Poor Odysseus and Homer cross the mindless portal

Of students grasping to gain yet more strange words

that make little sense in today’s Ipod world.

But onward they battle Poseidon’s great waves,

like Odysseus, all just longing to be saved

From horrible adventures like reading another 10 pages

Oh, Bozsoki certainly earns her meager wages. 

Oh, Why Can’t It Be For The Fun Of It?? 

Oh, yeah, what about all that summer reading?

Long lists of classics, just ripe for the breeding

of student complaints about getting them read

For a test, quiz, or “book” report, oh, how they dread

to capture the nuance, the theme, the sublime

symbols, the “meaning,” the plot, view, and time.

So, the yearly excuses come out in great numbers

“Nobody told me,” “I work,” “Isn’t summer for slumber?” 

Oh, Why Can’t It Be For The Fun Of It??

 We WANT them to read, we want them to learn

We WANT them to listen, we WANT them to earn

The grades they desire, the success they deserve

happy parents, happy teachers, instead of hitting the nerve

of a long painful history of being told what to read

when really all that they ever should need

Is the delicious delight of picking pages that fit

Oh, Why Can’t It Be For The Fun Of It??

This poem by Torishia Lennear won 1st prize in the student division:

To the boy from four years ago. . .

. . .these soft, warm early summer days

Always cause a wave of nostalgia to wash over me.

My mind is permanently dwelling on our meeting place,

The images clicking like the reel of an old fim

As my body drifts through the blurred crowds

That are filled with faceless people.

To one such as I, time has become irrelevant.

No longer do I wake, filled with the joy

Of seeing your face on the pillow beside mine.

Cold, empty space is my only companion through

The stormy nights; air my only confidant.

My shadow my only protection from the evils

Of the world for now you are no longer mine.

I cannot help but feel I have lost my heart; my love.

Four and a half eventful years have come and gone,

But not a day has gone by when the memories weren’t playing.

I cannot bring myself to lie to you, not even now.

The day that you, my heart, said you loved another.

Now, as I once again call the place of our meeting home,

I can almost swear I feel you here with me.

This place, it still breathes the past into existence.

As I walk the road towards the future,

The ghosts of the past trail behind me,

But you’re the one that is walking beside me.

Encouraging me to continue on, silently cheering me

From the side, whispering words of inspiration in my ear

Knowing all along my victory will be bittersweet without you here.

 Corin Rivera’s poem was our 2nd place winner:

Idiomas, (Languages)

     The twisting of the tongues

          and the vibration of our voices

          makes a symphony of

                        words.

          And the sweet parting of our lips

          makes an equal beauty.

          It is music

and it is a song we all share.

          The harmony of humanity

is shared in these rhythms

and the chaos and brutality

          of ignorance is conquered

                    by our songs.

So many melodies

          drift on the wind.

We will finally hear just

                    One.

Rebekah Patton’s poem was the 3rd place winner:

Wanderer

For many years I wandered lost

along the Mississippi.

Over rapids and falls, I was tossed.

I was not in charge you see.

I just let the current carry me. 

 

The years that passed were long and hard.

Still I never questioned why.

I  drifted along the hardest path—

me, the water, and the sky.

Yet, I did nothing but quietly sigh. 

 

Then all at once, it occurred to me.

Why did I not choose my way?

For now my eyes could finally see,

 that I could have a say.

I took control of my destiny that day. 

 

To the stars, to the moon, I pray.

It began with just one stroke.

It was scary to choose my own way.

Upon my bow, the waves broke;

the river rebelled;  the currents spoke. 

 

They feared my power from within.

My character had been shown.

They trepidly terrorized this new woman.

My choices were now my own.

I faced the consequences alone. 

 

What mattered though was they were mine.

Good, bad, right, wrong, or ugly—

It mattered not for now I was not blind.

I was now in charge you see.

I did not let the current carry me.