POETRY WITHOUT PAPER POETRY CONTEST, 2009
Sponsored by the Gloucester Lyceum
John Ronan, Coordinator
WINNERS
Elementary School
First Place
Jordan Gentile
Veteran’s Memorial School
Grade 4
Earth Day
The tree is tall,
But its home is still cut down for a mall.
The bird can fly higher than oil
But its escape is foiled
Because oil makes it unable to fly.
Bug spray keeps the bugs away
But makes frogs die
A whale can flip a boat with its tail
But if a boat hits it, its will to live fails.
The worst thing for animals is pollution
Which makes me come to this conclusion.
Always help on Earth Day
To help the Earth is the best way!
Second Place
Tyler Figueiredo
Veteran’s Memorial School
Grade 5
When I grow up I want to be a police officer.
When I grow up I want to be a lawyer.
When I grow up I want to be a stylist.
When I grow up I want to be a game host.
When I grow up I want to be a millionaire.
When I grow up I can be whatever I want to be.
When I grow up I can be a mom or dad or a loner but I can choose what I want to do in my life.
I am free to choose my own path.
Third Place
Matilda Grow
East Gloucester Elementary School
Grade 5
New Shoes
Why did you
throw away those old
shoes?
Worn and loved and soft,
you replaced them with
shiny new and stiff shoes.
Why did you
throw away the memories
of the home runs on the field or
when you
walked those 5 miles
to raise money for your
school?
Won't you miss those shoes
your lucky shoes
you threw away
in
the
trash?
Those shoes were loyal,
they carried you to many
places
and were at your side
for many fights.
Why did you throw away
your old friends?
Middle School
First Place
Meghaen Favazza
St. Ann’s School
Grade 7
Love
What is love?
A mother’s care for her baby,
A couple holding hands.
From which comes life,
Comes the ability to love.
It’s not a must,
Nor a need.
Love is a privilege, an opportunity.
What is love?
It is intense and eternal,
A difficult reality.
How can you love?
Listen to a person needy of a friend,
Talk to a person needy of advice.
What is a world without love?
Nothing but a lonely shelter,
A place of endless torture.
What is love?
Peace during a war,
Forgiving a conflicted friend.
That is love.
Love is the strength,
The intensity and courage of a relationship.
And compared to love,
Everything else is second best.
Second Place
Grace Papp
St. Ann’s School
Grade 6
Writing:
Blank page
filled with ideas
Inkless pen
writing thoughts
Silent room
with ghosts whispers
Mind still
racing thoughts
Eyes shut
“mind open”
Time flies
minutes tick
Great ideas
Stuck inside
Heart stops
ideas fill the air
A poem has just begun
with nothing but stillness
The eerie feeling
of the room
All is overcome
The poem is done
Third Place
Morey Ronan
Ralph B. O’Maley Middle School
Grade 6
Luck
I smell Latin American pure coffee,
See the heat slowly spooking up.
Looking side to side as if crossing the street.
Should it have been Sumatra?
The opposite of the usual,
There's no plans at all,
On this mild day.
Nothing.
The rhythm of my tapping fingers
On the coffee cup,
Wondering what will be my luck.
High School
First Place
Lucina Fox
Gloucester High School
Grade 12
5 Ways How He’s Not Like the Water and 10 More How He Is
got more than three forms:
I’ve felt his ice, his rushing rivers, seen him
evaporate, and then some.
water’s not flammable
but he lights me up burns right alongside me.
so damn sweet my teeth ache.
and pure? that boy’s a sinner: though I can’t say I don’t crave it.
space between? a damn barrier.
he couldn’t find a way from point a to point b.
couldn’t move the dust and dirt to make a grand canyon
yet I still managed to fall in
or did I jump?
oh, but his lips are cool like the river
and his caress is omniscient like the lake
he babbles like the brook
but whispers like the waves.
reminds me of summer,
a force, to be reckoned with: could hold me under, could lift me up.
thirst quencher (heart wrencher)
the stuff of tears
he filled my ears
he slipped between my fingers.
Second Place
Ellie Comavaca
Gloucester High School
Grade 10
Transformation
The birds return from far away
And the snow banks trickle down the streets.
The crocuses emerge from earth.
And so comes rain, to satisfy the need
Of the memories that have melted.
Only charcoal changes
And outside, just the air,
The same vacant plot of dirt within!
The seeds don't grow beneath the ground, just layer after layer.
The buds all grow heavy
Weighing down the limbs causing strife.
The anticipated foliage gives them pleasure
From the ample amounts of deciduous life
But the chrysalis has not yet opened,
Sealed tight from the past,
An ominous shroud succumbed by fear
Backstepping from the present
When opportunity's head is reared.
As the world worries what will happen.
Will a balance of the forces dwell?
A butterfly blooms within the season.
'Twas hiding to find one's self!
Third Place
Leah Breen
Waring School
Grade 10
The Christmas Man
Outside, white frost clings to the windowpanes.
Inside, icicles hang like ornaments from his beard.
He sits in the creaking chair staring
At the red and green ribbons stuck to the wall
Pinned up with tacks from the jar
Next to the metallic cash register that was bought at a yard sale
In 1965.
Plastic reindeer, the blinking ones from Wal-Mart, flash their noses:
Red; green; blue; white.
The colors reflected in his slanting eyes become
Invisible as his red hat collapses
Giving into gravity.
He lifts his hand wrapped in a white glove and pushes the hat back up.
It is done slowly—there is no need to rush here,
Winter comes each year.
He looks blankly at the outline of dead trees.
Outside the frosted window
A log falls in the fireplace and sparks jump.
He flinches but doesn’t turn.
Next to his arm a candle drips hot wax.
The substance slowly suffocates the broken table.
Then, from the distance he hears them.
Their cries are familiar.
Some shake bells.
Many sip hot chocolate, fresh from Swiss Miss packets.
Inside each of their fists is a folded piece of paper.
Each page is worn, but not old.
Red goo from candy canes adds texture to the red or green or blue or white papers.
He remembers them from last year, when he stared down at the lines and wrinkles.
They must have been re-folded many times.
He puts his hand to his face; he can feel the creases.
They are closer now.
He can hear them clomping their boots up the stones.
The latch is pushed up and the wooden door is opened.
He begins to breath again
Not ready to begin another year.
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