. Third Place Winners . Catch Release Return by Gabrielle Marshall, 10th grade, The Steward School, Richmond, Virginia Undoubtedly, we’ll beg to stay Outside, knee-deep in river clay Soft hands that swat to choke the trout Each breeze reveals adventure’s route Loving the waterbug ballet Dawn rang out and began the day Life smirks and dishes fate’s buffet We’ll grieve the creek where mem’ries sprout Undoubtedly As time thieves chance to disobey We long for youth and disarray When dirt-packed fingers cupped a shout The swish of grass would soothe a pout We’ll teach our children of the bay Undoubtedly . . People Love Sad Songs by Allison Xu, 12th grade, Walter Johnson High School If grief is a pain, why do we grasp it as our own? A blend of blinking sunlight and whispered sighs, Folklore inscribed in a stone or a bone, A loose, jagged rhythm where true beauty lies. If grief is a pain, why do we let it hover in the air? A sickly bird carries tear-painted melodies, A sudden warmth to our bleached-out desire As if the balm of someone’s secret remedies. If grief is a pain, why do we savor its bitter taste? The dampness of stories and voices entwined Caresses our lips like the softness of sunsets traced Along the horizon and depths of the mind. People love sad songs, those distant smiles and hums, A string of fireflies where solace gently thrums. . . Fourth Place Winners . Hevel by Nasya Kenzia Syaira Alifa, 12th grade National High School Number Five of Bengkulu City, Indonesia In shadows cast by God’s clandestine play, Cain, with envy, stumbles on sin’s array. Whispers weave through the night’s jealous air, A tale of longing, of sin and despair. Sin, with haunted eyes, kissed by fateful lips, A mouth that tastes of blood, a desire that grips. The electric crackle of a stoplight’s hum, Marks the dance where temptation has begun. Cain, drawn by God’s whispers in the gloom, Leaves bare-footed, hoodie-clad, silent as doom. Avoiding creaking stairs, the last to betray, He ventures into the night, led astray. Through fields, he wanders, in the world’s lonely space, A realm where only one field holds its grace. Grass shifts as he crosses, a border unseen, A realm where foreshadowing is ever keen. The tree of knowledge, with roots running deep, Speaks of choices, secrets it does keep. God, a master puppeteer in the cosmic show, Bids Cain to choose, to let a brother go. “I want what’s stolen, what you gave to him, Kindness and complacence, make my soul brim. Divided unevenly, in the womb’s sacred fold, Longing and ambition, a tale of old.” God contemplates, a creator perplexed, Brothers, a puzzle, by design complex. Cain, with a pocket knife, ambition in sight, A plan unfolds in the cold, moonlit night. Abel, at home, stirs from his restless sleep, A premonition, a secret he keeps. Close, he senses, the danger unseen, A brother’s turmoil, a soul in between. In the field, the ground warms with a sinister heat, As Cain, with purpose, makes his heartbeat retreat. Blood seeps into the earth, a darkened decree, A choice made in shadows, a brother set free. . . The Ashen Furies, or Burned Golems by Ms. Welch, 7th grade, homeschool I saw them rise, I saw them fall the history, I saw it all A power meant but to destroy Fools! You who thought yourselves so coy! Angry figures, made of cold stone You sent them out to stand alone. The clay, it bent to your decree you created the misery. Never did it occur to you that you gave what was never due. You made the golems, cruel and quick. You built the hatred, hard and thick. They went beyond the human race; you could not keep up with their pace. And soon they started haunting you Their made-up beings left nought to do. You burned them in the fiery flame that started all the angry blame, and as you watched their ashes fall you thought they were gone, once and for all. But no! Just as you turn your back the ashes rise, rise and attack. The hot anger, once created Once ‘tis made and not deflated The ashes of the golems burned, churned and writhed, they writhed and then churned. And up there rose Ashen Furies, lifeless, only vengeance is seen. The remnants of the hated clay that you did burn—but not away. Now forever humankind is hunted All our civilization stunted We are destroyed by your Golems their vengeance tears our very limbs. You for your service monsters made You for it ever dearly paid. And now all humankind is wrung with vengeance that the Furies stung This is what you have done to us You are the cause of all the fuss And now we never shall be saved Until six heroes, strong and brave Until six heroes, strong and true fix the mistakes once made by you. . City of Embers by Asa Miller, 11th grade, Edgemont Jr./Sr. High School The Big Apple has a rotten core. Cars honk. ____Cabbies yell. ____________Crude commuters ____________________Fan this flaming hell. The Empire State Building, ____Does it ascend, or are we descending? ____________Does its top reach for the stars ____________________Or is its poke more condescending? Still-burning cigarettes, ____So carelessly tossed aside, ____________Fill this ashtray of a city, ____________________In which we all reside. Still I am convinced that ____A bruised apple tastes sweet, ____________And the cacophony of cabbies ____________________Plays a symphony on the street. This endless descent won’t last forever. These nearly burnt-out cigarettes ____Haven’t lost ____________Their embers. . . Honorable Mentions . The Effects of Weed Killer by Salvanera Grace, 10th grade, Trinity Christian School The dark scary tower loomed and hovered Potent, and proud, a promising power They began the climb, somehow empowered Up and up they climbed, helping each other What once was honest camaraderie, Became hungry greed, one never smothered Deemed unworthy, weak, unnecessary Lucky, those who jumped out windows early Those too late, laid only one thing in wait Down they fell in search of sanctuary Below was only the locked door of fate They landed in briars, dreaming of towers Just more weeds in a garden of flowers. . . Daydream by David Ellcey, 10th grade, Sager Classical Academy My thoughts all spin and dart without a pace, Where focus fades, lost in untamed array. Each moment drifts in distant, far-off haze, In loop, a mind seeks its own world to make. A storm within, a restless wild parade, With scattered dreams that my mind leaps to graze, Each fleeting thought in a fragmented space, A racing mind where time and thoughts give way. Amidst this chaos, life beckons its call, It longs to focus but has little peace, Amidst the chaos, where minds are let free, In reverie’s hold, a vast, untamed embrace. Within this labyrinth where thoughts find their space, My soul longs for silence but must resonate. . . Decompression by Azure A. Forrester, 10th grade, Lucy Beckham High School, South Carolina High Tide Outside Right by The ocean As I gaze, The moon’s phase Moves dark waves Into motion This late at night The stars are bright Small points of light Bits of His Heaven Lying on the land I hear waves hit sand Cymbals in God’s band Time for decompression Out here by the ocean Constant busy motion Silenced by His Heaven My only decompression. The glimpses I sneak The whisper I speak The secrets I keep Things I’ll never tell them My busy life Long-lasting strife Seems like a knife Still, can I let Him? Hectic times Yet I climb To make mine Blessings He’ll give Jesus Enough No bluff Now I live Now I want to tell them That I only see Him And that we too can give The world His love to live. . . Sally’s Special Seashell by Nakyung (Serena) Yeo, 11th grade, Seoul Scholars International Sally sells seashells by the seashore, I buy one, press it to my ear once more. Suddenly the sea’s song starts to roar, Chaos comes, calmness is no more. In the shell, memories start to flow, Tales of the sea fill its glow. With each wave, my mind begins to explore, Through the shell, I hear its lore. Firstly, I’ve learned, loud and clear, That this seashell cried this year A lifetime spent in sea’s embrace, Now a footprint of disgrace. It shares the secrets of the sea: The sea – too sensitive a soul – After a long day of wrestling with wild winds And tackling turbulent tsunamis, Its sorrows it signs and tears it swallows As it stares at the setting sun, So subtly that nobody would notice. That’s why the sea tastes of tears. The shell has seen the sea’s highs and lows But kept company in all its ebb and flow. The spirit of the sea sings in its motion; It can never be severed from the ocean. That’s why when you take it from the sea, And hold it close to your ear, It’s the songs of the sea you hear. It strives to struggle with all its strength, To signal that it yearns to return, To reunite with the rhythm it learned. The only way to silence its wail Is by returning it to the sea’s trail, Where it will find peace again. So, slowly and sensationally, I remove the seashell from my ear And return it to the water’s welcoming shelter. Once engaged, waves clap at my feet As if thanking me of my grace, For bringing a piece of their soul home. The shell has finally returned to its place, And the sound of the sea plays ever louder. Everything has its place where it belongs – So why did you take the seashells to sell, Sally? . . . NOTE TO READERS: If you enjoyed this poem or other content, please consider making a donation to the Society of Classical Poets. The Society of Classical Poets does not endorse any views expressed in individual poems or commentary.
