THIS PAGE CONTAINED OUR TOP 11 POETRY FINALISTS
FOR CRITIQUE AND THE JUDGES FINAL VOTING
And the Winners Are!
1st Place Gold — SARAH LAO for “Seascape”
2nd Place Silver — MAXIMILIAN LLOYD for “Night itch”
3rd Place Pearl — GRACE TRAN for “the moon and me”
CONGRATULATIONS EVERYONE!
EXCELLENT — CLEVER — THOUGHT-PROVOKING WORK
JULIA TEFFT
Circle of Life
Hearing people’s regrets,
Is all I’ve ever known,
But they all had their chances,
They all could’ve shone.
You see, everyone has regrets,
Things they wish they’d done,
Whether they wish they’d been more serious,
Or they wish they’d had more fun.
The circle of life,
Is more than a cliche,
It’s made up of people’s stories,
And we choose what ours will say.
Unfortunately, not everyone takes advantage.
As they curve around the bend,
Some people never realize,
Life comes to an end.
Others eventually mature,
But in the time they were young and dumb,
They made poor decisions,
And tainted their books with scum.
This philosophical dilemma,
Has been around a long time,
But now we must realize:
We get to choose whether our book is shiny,
Or filled to the brim with grime.
We need to teach this to our children,
Just like my parents did to me,
Or we’ll continue in this circle,
And it’s all we’ll ever be.
CAMILLE DIAS
Carousel of Love
I asked my mother
How do you describe
These anxious twirls
Of fluttering butterflies?
She told me, Dear
That’s anticipation
Flittery and flowy
Waiting for more
I asked my father
How do you describe
These perky somersaults
Of a hidden gymnast?
He told me, Sugar
That’s exhilaration
Racing and exciting
Captivating the world
I asked my brother
How do you describe
These dizzying twirls
Of an erratic top?
He told me, Sis
That’s confusion
Loopy and weakening
Entrapping your mind
I asked my sister
How do you describe
These uneasy pirouettes
Of my internal dance?
She told me, Kitten
That’s growing up
Bewildering and fleet
Meeting someone new
My confusion was apparent
Still seeing through a haze
Their pity was palpable
They explained it once more
They told me, Child
These spinning feelings?
Twisting your reality
Rolling your tongue?
That, my baby
Is the carousel of love
MAXIMILIAN LLOYD
Night itch
The tiny bed of someone
who has given up on being loved
is full. Here we are,
together. I uncoil
hairs on your belly, watch them retreat
into rings upon rings, the way a lover would,
while you sleep. You are dreaming of lovers
now. You are preparing to wake up alone
with the fan on but, my love, it is too cold for me.
MADDISON HATANAKA
Your Circle
My heart speaks
It speaks the language of life
It’s a circle, forever round, but also changing
In the end, it’s one whole
Life is constantly changing and moving around
A roller coaster, ups and downs
Not stopping for anyone
No openings for anyone
It’s a cycle
Filled with experiences of a lifetime
Learning experiences
That could change us, change the world
We’ve got one life, one circle
Make it the best
Nothing’s for granted, especially not people
Make YOUR life YOURS
GRACE TRAN
the moon and me
the moon curves inward and inward and inward;
…..trapping stars and meteors
in her swooping arches, pale
face bleeding through the wispy clouds
rough skin, round as a peach
she spirals endlessly.
far beneath, waves toss and turn,
sweeping across the empty beaches and
…..old rocking fishing boats
like cradles.
night screams silently
while grandmother places child in bed, blankets up to her
…..tiny chin.
and then she is child and child is grandmother and
they are one and the same and
…..different, all rolled into a
translucent skin that catches the light and drinks it up.
the moon is the moon is the moon is
cut like a wheel, slices
…..of silver steel surveying the stars.
a ladder inches its way up to the moon
…..encircling the earth,
fat droplets of water dripping from its
rungs like tears that
hold the world in their glassy spheres.
we are the moon and the moon
lives in us, our eyes bearing the black soul
…..of its mysterious face.
CHRIS LIM
Auburn Leaves and Danpung Trees
The last time we walked together was
last autumn,
just me and halmeoni.
Our bodies coated
by a skin of fallen leaves.
I brushed them off
her graying hair.
Scents of cider and decay
blanketed the husky air.
A horde of tall danpung trees
surrounded us,
slowly shedding auburn leaves.
I hear her voice
half eaten by the wind,
struggling to shape her lips into words
“My sonju, you’ve gotten so big.”
The blue skies turn to gold
and I hear a whisper:
“It’s getting late my dear.
we should head home.”
I took her hand, hers with the roughness
of leather, and headed back home.
That autumn
was the last time
I felt small again.
JORDAN COTTRILL
Photo: Diane Labombarbe for Getty Images
Where Are All the Moons
It makes me wonder, how many have I met
these men with the moon
hung so low I’m afraid it pulls their blood
in and back,
down and around,
until they’re dizzy from their toes
up to their eyes
and toss their moon back up to the treetops.
Does it follow them
and weigh heavy on their shoulders?
I see these men, reflected in the water,
bringing with them moths
and smiles brighter than any ocean their gravity could move.
Their mothers made them this way
so they would be spacious
not intruding, but enough to be.
They sometimes pass by us so quickly
we can see the light of their tails
from the corner of our eyes.
It must be hard to sleep
with such a brilliance
always.
I’m worried if they know what the Moon has to say
about everyone they pass.
Does it whisper into their ears,
the way a lover might,
how the woman passing by
smells like the leaves on a dogwood?
Is it loud and abrasive
or does it speak with a mouse’s voice,
so you and only you can hear it?
There’s men with these moons
revolving around them
bigger than themselves,
and inside is another.
They have many moons
BRIANA GONZALEZ
EYES OF ONE
Her mind braved nothing
but medallion absurdity.
Shades and affection,
which for her was a world to unearth.
Her eyes saw it all,
They absorbed the thick crystalized beauty
in the everything of everything.
They saw all the good,
And sometimes too much good.
That was the weakness that brought her to her knees.
That sunk her smile, demolished it
And came back when it needed to.
Jogasaki coast
SARAH LAO
Seascape
LILY BARMOHA
So Much Better
Engraved in my back are the vulgar words,
that pierced my skin with javelin spears,
a part of me they’ll always be-
stinging in the rain of tears
that pang against my spine-
yet behind me they remain,
covered,
fading.
Five years from today,
the ink on this page will go from black to blue,
the block letters, stamped into me, shall have risen.
Ten years from today,
these pages might be lost,
tucked away in the bathroom drawer,
and barebacked I’ll turn in bed
no longer burning from the friction of hurt against time.
.
JESSALYN CALI
The Absence of Water
Commend the cactus.
In the absence of water, she has learned to thrive,
Has built up a thorny temple which holds the fragile drops that nourish her.
Don’t take it so personally.
Remember that she was not created for you
Remember that she too is tangled up in struggles of her own
Remember that you are a tiny part of a big world
Remember that you are the child of stardust and that somebody cares for you and that in the
absence of water, there are other ways to quench your thirst.
Get drunk on stardust.
Open your hands and your mouth and your eyes,
Attempt to take it all in, in big gulps and swallows.
Remember that the mountain and the arch and the canyon are the children of sand
Remember that this place was not sculpted for your approval
Remember that the the rain will come
Remember that the moon controls the tides and that you control nothing but yourself and that in the absence of water the cactus is doing the best she can.
Hold the mother of the mountain in the palm of your hand.
Breathe.
Get drunk on stardust.
Commend the cactus, and try to understand.
