2023 Writing Contest Winners
Student Poetry
First Place: Morning Jazz
by Annabelle Yenter
Waking up at the crescendo of daybreak
My eyelashes brush plastic constellations
Plastered to the ceiling
Glowing faintly with
Captured memories of sunlight
I stay in bed
Lavender clouds wrap my soul
As the morning wind
Sweeps away the last of the stars
And the sea tugs
At Gaia's skirt
Pools of light
Dot the floor
And shapeless wings
Russell long cattails
With no stars left to hear my plea
I release my entirety and let
The blues of my heart sing
My eyelashes brush plastic constellations
Plastered to the ceiling
Glowing faintly with
Captured memories of sunlight
I stay in bed
Lavender clouds wrap my soul
As the morning wind
Sweeps away the last of the stars
And the sea tugs
At Gaia's skirt
Pools of light
Dot the floor
And shapeless wings
Russell long cattails
With no stars left to hear my plea
I release my entirety and let
The blues of my heart sing
Second Place: When the Ocean Went Still
by Finn Lunstrum
The tide of shifting faces
moving, swaying
loud like a storm as the sea sorts itself.
They jostle and consume one another
laughing and crying, hiding behind their masks
layers and layers to the fake-faced
lies we wear.
What makes us want to hide,
we little hermits in our shells?
Was it the years when the ocean went still?
Unable to move, to dream, to dance with the gulls
as they carry the breeze under their wings?
Or was it the fear?
When the tides began to shift once more,
and we told it,
"Stop, wait, I'm not ready"
But the ocean waits for no one.
Riptides, pulling us back into the fray
that we hadn't known in so long
oh so lonely and forgotten.
We sink to the bottom and hide,
little hermits in our shells,
waiting for the tide to retreat
and leave us behind on the shore.
A chance to rest and breathe.
That twisted longing for the way things were,
when the sea was still and silent,
and the quiet ate away at our hearts like salt.
Yet we still crave that sting
that excuse to hide,
little hermits in our shells.
But it was so easy to be alone.
moving, swaying
loud like a storm as the sea sorts itself.
They jostle and consume one another
laughing and crying, hiding behind their masks
layers and layers to the fake-faced
lies we wear.
What makes us want to hide,
we little hermits in our shells?
Was it the years when the ocean went still?
Unable to move, to dream, to dance with the gulls
as they carry the breeze under their wings?
Or was it the fear?
When the tides began to shift once more,
and we told it,
"Stop, wait, I'm not ready"
But the ocean waits for no one.
Riptides, pulling us back into the fray
that we hadn't known in so long
oh so lonely and forgotten.
We sink to the bottom and hide,
little hermits in our shells,
waiting for the tide to retreat
and leave us behind on the shore.
A chance to rest and breathe.
That twisted longing for the way things were,
when the sea was still and silent,
and the quiet ate away at our hearts like salt.
Yet we still crave that sting
that excuse to hide,
little hermits in our shells.
But it was so easy to be alone.
Honorable Mention: so where did you grow up?
by Jillian Baer
See I grew up in a suburb
Which is like a bunch of empty houses filled with stuff
Materials, but not any mater
Or rather, anything that does matter
Suburbs, the land of materialism and Marie Condo
The land of contradictions
And there’s so many unspoken rules
And I am a very verbal person
So I would infringe on the armistice between kingdoms
Much to the displeasure of my long suffering mother
The suburbs remind me of roses
Romanticized and beautiful, but can easily draw blood
And while there are many lovely people in the suburbs
I grew to fear a certain brand of woman
Smiles just a bit too toothy, music a bit too quiet
Lipstick a bit too red, counters a bit too white
I always felt for the children of these particular women
Tight braided little soldiers of their fathers
Pumped full of Reaganomics and Catholic guilt
Just as their mothers pumped the chardonnay
Lucky for me my mother had a distaste for wine and bitterness
But instead she had a child who was out of place
What with her loudness and anxiety and depression and opinions
And she handled it pretty well
A child like me is hard to manage
But especially in the suburbs
Where one misstep could cost a pretty penny
So that’s where I grew up
Usually I just say Seattle
Saves me a lot of time.
Which is like a bunch of empty houses filled with stuff
Materials, but not any mater
Or rather, anything that does matter
Suburbs, the land of materialism and Marie Condo
The land of contradictions
And there’s so many unspoken rules
And I am a very verbal person
So I would infringe on the armistice between kingdoms
Much to the displeasure of my long suffering mother
The suburbs remind me of roses
Romanticized and beautiful, but can easily draw blood
And while there are many lovely people in the suburbs
I grew to fear a certain brand of woman
Smiles just a bit too toothy, music a bit too quiet
Lipstick a bit too red, counters a bit too white
I always felt for the children of these particular women
Tight braided little soldiers of their fathers
Pumped full of Reaganomics and Catholic guilt
Just as their mothers pumped the chardonnay
Lucky for me my mother had a distaste for wine and bitterness
But instead she had a child who was out of place
What with her loudness and anxiety and depression and opinions
And she handled it pretty well
A child like me is hard to manage
But especially in the suburbs
Where one misstep could cost a pretty penny
So that’s where I grew up
Usually I just say Seattle
Saves me a lot of time.
Honorable Mention: My Grace
by Zachary Lee
The torment to be lost in such a place.
Her eyes, a gleaming jewel’s fluorescence.
Her beauty, my disgrace. Her grace, my Grace.
Within her charms, such a soothing space.
A location with life’s purest essence.
The torment to be lost in such a place.
Her hair burns a summer ember’s embrace.
Skin, the moon’s glow in clear luminescence.
Her beauty, my disgrace. Her grace, my Grace.
Thunder, my heart booms at such a swift pace.
My frail legs in complete obsolescence.
The torment to be lost in such a place.
Her heart beating for me, gone without trace.
The night’s bitterness in full quintessence.
Her beauty, my disgrace. Her grace, my Grace.
Was she ever mine in this dreadful case?
Was my love expelled into quiescence?
The torment to be lost in such a place.
Her beauty, my disgrace. Her grace, my Grace.
Text here
Her eyes, a gleaming jewel’s fluorescence.
Her beauty, my disgrace. Her grace, my Grace.
Within her charms, such a soothing space.
A location with life’s purest essence.
The torment to be lost in such a place.
Her hair burns a summer ember’s embrace.
Skin, the moon’s glow in clear luminescence.
Her beauty, my disgrace. Her grace, my Grace.
Thunder, my heart booms at such a swift pace.
My frail legs in complete obsolescence.
The torment to be lost in such a place.
Her heart beating for me, gone without trace.
The night’s bitterness in full quintessence.
Her beauty, my disgrace. Her grace, my Grace.
Was she ever mine in this dreadful case?
Was my love expelled into quiescence?
The torment to be lost in such a place.
Her beauty, my disgrace. Her grace, my Grace.
Text here