Poetry Contest

Rosita Power
Child Category Honorable Mention

Flowers in Broken Vases

In my world, sympathy rules <br/ >You scatter your feelings around me <br/ >I pick them up <br/ >Each one slicing my fingers <br/ >But my pain is just a papercut <br/ >Compared to the stabs in your back <br/ >My pain is far away <br/ >Yours is chasing you <br/ >Getting closer, closer, closer<br/ > That I why I feel pity for you <br/ >That is why sympathy rules <br/ >And bathes in darkness <br/ >In my world, if empathy ruled under the stars <br/ >Castles would be made by the tears of billions <br/ >No one could help us out of the hole we dug together <br/ >Sometimes sympathy feels like empathy <br/ >Feelings so strong being dumped upon me <br/ >Like rain <br/ >Rushing, soaking, drowning <br/ >Then the storm stops <br/ >Silence <br/ >Then sun <br/ >You say I cleared the clouds <br/ >But that is not true <br/ >Every night has its day <br/ >It is unavoidable <br/ >The shards from your perfect vase <br/ >Transform, disappear <br/ >And what is left <br/ >Are the flowers that your vase once held <br/ >Now blooming <br/ >I can no longer only sympathize <br/ >I can now empathize <br/ >I feel your feelings <br/ >Like I earned them <br/ >I am as happy for you as you are for yourself <br/ >There is no excuse not to look for happiness beyond broken vases <br/ >Happy is simple, familiar, kind <br/ >Like empathy <br/ >So together let our flowers bloom

Vida Lev Wolstencroft
Child Category Honorable Mention

My Streets

My street <br/ >Is at the very edge <br/ >Of town <br/ >In the midst of <br/ >All the trees <br/ >The gravel beneath my feet <br/ >Goes c r u n c h c r u n c h <br/ >When I’m walking the dog <br/ >My mom teaching in the background <br/ >When I’m reading <br/ >My cats meowing, <br/ >Wanting us to let them in. <br/ >The s w i s h of the trees <br/ >Blowing in the wind <br/ >My dog barking like crazy <br/ >At nothing at all <br/ >Every once in a while <br/ >I hear a car <br/ >I go out every day <br/ >To play with my chickens <br/ >They used to be scared <br/ >But now they’ll eat out of my hand <br/ >Every Tuesday I hear the r o l l i n g <br/ >Of people taking their trash bins to the curb <br/ >To be emptied. <br/ >In the evening <br/ >We give our tortoises grapes <br/ >And laugh as they go hyper <br/ >Running around and around the table <br/ >As if they have somewhere important to be. <br/ >Every week <br/ >I hear a car pull up in the driveway <br/ >And the c r u n c h c r u n c h of feet on the gravel <br/ >And I go with my dad <br/ >Who’s taking me to my other street

My other street <br/ >Is right in the middle <br/ >Of town <br/ >And I can walk to the grocery store <br/ >If we have time. <br/ >My favorite place in town <br/ >Is right around the corner <br/ >Although my dad doesn’t like the coffee there. <br/ >We live on a side street <br/ >So we hear cars on the main road <br/ >Going v r o o m v r o o m <br/ >And sometimes we go out <br/ >Onto the street <br/ >And play ball <br/ >S q u e a k s q u e a k <br/ >B o u n c e b o u n c e <br/ >But usually it’s too hot. <br/ >In the morning <br/ >I can hear my dad <br/ >Playing piano <br/ >He’s really good <br/ >And I can hear my stepmom <br/ >In the office <br/ >Type type typing <br/ >And sometimes <br/ >I hear my dad talking <br/ >If he’s on a conference call <br/ >With some people <br/ >Talking about work <br/ >In the afternoons I play roblox <br/ >B e e p b e e p b l o o p <br/ >And I shout and laugh <br/ >With my friends <br/ >And sometimes my dad comes in and tells me to quiet down. <br/ >We go for walks in the evening <br/ >And then watch Horrible Histories <br/ >It’s my favorite show. <br/ >At my other street <br/ >I sometimes miss the meowing of my cats <br/ >Or the barking of my dog <br/ >But I love it just the same <br/ >At my other street

Caroline Batchelder
Teen Category Honorable Mention

Karl the Fog

Overnight he creeps in, <br/ >loud horns announcing his arrival. <br/ >Blocking the sky, <br/ > hugging the bay, <br/ >and sheltering the city. <br/ >From the tip-top of Mount Tam, <br/ >all the way to Sutro Tower he resides. <br/ >Mysterious and gloomy some might say. <br/ >But others rejoice, <br/ >as, he makes for the perfect day. <br/ >A grey-white blanket, <br/ >over the bustling city, <br/ >settling everything down. <br/ >He covers it as a whole. <br/ >So thick you can’t see your hand extend, <br/ >and landmarks are engulfed. <br/ >Just as stealthily as he crept in, however, <br/ >he retreats. <br/ >The lack of horns let the city’s residents know of his departure. <br/ >They’re all aware he won’t be gone for long though, <br/ >for this city, <br/ >is his home forever. </p >

Karl the Fog; resident of San Francisco

Olivia de Ponce
Teen Category Honorable Mention

My Heart

If you leap into my heart <br/ >You will see me and my Grandpa fishing <br/ >You will hear us singing our favorite camping songs <br/ >Each note way off pitch <br/ >Each song our smiles getting bigger

You will smell the woods of Bridgeport <br/ >You will feel the warmth of the fire cracking like a witch and her evil laugh. <br/ >You will taste freshly caught supper <br/ >And you would miss him too.</p >

Madeline Holl
Adult Category Honorable Mention

Working in a thrift store during the pandemic

The ant climbs <br/ >the mountain range <br/ >of bumpy concrete <br/ >Alone

Does she move in fear <br/ >Or in company <br/ >As I watch

Where do unpaired shoes die <br/ >And lone people fill <br/ >Their time with chat <br/ >And arms with stacks <br/ >Of pants and plates <br/ >And still <br/ >Come back the next

Synced work of an anthill

Not my heart for you <br/ >But my arms <br/ >Ache <br/ >Feel suddenly loose <br/ >And more awake

Running breath, Lonely stretch <br/ >Tonight, a slice of moon <br/ >rests in her pocket <br/ >like butter in its dish

The planes sail <br/ >Like boats in water <br/ >Machines through air <br/ >A man throws fire <br/ >for an audience in the sand

If the marble of blue and green <br/ >which I’ve never seen <br/ >heats to orange and red, <br/ >Watch death and regret <br/ >rushed silhouettes <br/ >I will wait for the moon

Carry with me <br/ >Needle and thread <br/ >A button untouched by dread <br/ >Sew it to the sky

See the ant is safe in the grass <br/ >And the shoppers have amassed <br/ >More than hats and glass

See that I make it <br/ >After all has been sold <br/ >To the one I wish to hold

Bryan Mootz
Adult Category Honorable Mention

Mornings of 2020

7:04, sometimes it was 7:12, and once it was 7:46 <br/ >But that was before, now it’s 7:04. <br/ >There’s not much to make the train late anymore. <br/ >The porters open the doors for <br/ >ghosts. <br/ >No one is out to get stuck on the tracks. <br/ >Whistles agitate the air in short bursts, good for miles, <br/ >This is my rolling thunderous rooster. <br/ >Before, the train making its 7:04 was just that, <br/ >a train with a destination, <br/ >with passengers looking out the window, or <br/ >At their computer screens, or <br/ >Sleeping. <br/ >It’s 2020 now, no need for <br/ >details. <br/ >This beast has become my unrequited love, <br/ >Steel cast and forged, hundreds of tons of fabrication floating <br/ >on seamless rail. <br/ >The 7:04 is the strong hand on my shoulder <br/ >telling me it will be alright. <br/ > “I’m still here,” it says. “How bad can it be?” <br/ >I don’t know how bad it can be. <br/ >I don’t want to think about how bad it can be. <br/ >I just let the steadfastness of polished metal and air brakes <br/ >do their job. <br/ >A reminder of a time, not that long ago, <br/ >but almost out of memory’s reach, <br/ >when my breath wasn’t a suspicious carrier of death, <br/ >when your mouth was one to laugh with, cry with, <br/ >but not one to be feared.