First Place: “Adorned with Gold,” Ciara Furlong, Hobart High School, Hobart, IN
Teacher: Audrey Weaver
Adorned with Gold
I once knew a girl
Whose eyes had a neverending brightness to them
And she wore a dress
Adorned with gold
And her necklace matched her dress.
She had not a care in the world
And she had nothing to worry about.
I once knew a girl
Who came to school with a bruise on her arm
Her eyes had a neverending brightness to them
And she wore a dress
Adorned with lace
And her necklace was made of gold.
She laughed often
But it always ended abruptly.
I once knew a girl
Who came to school with sunglasses on
Her eyes were hidden by black lenses
And her skin was purple.
She wore no dress that day
And she wore dark colors.
And stopped wearing her necklace.
I once knew a girl
Who stopped coming to school
When I saw her in town,
Her eyes had tears in them.
She wore long sleeves
And long pants
And she ducked her head to hide her bruises.
And she didn't laugh anymore.
I know a girl
Whose eyes are glazed over
And she is wearing her favorite dress
Adorned with gold
And her necklace is made of rope.
She has a smile on her face
And her note says goodbye.
Second Place: “Closing Note of Vincent van Gogh,” Jessica Elliott, Noblesville High School, Noblesville, IN
Teacher: Bill Kenley
Closing Note of Vincent van Gogh
The husk of the red-haired man
sits on the edge
of the red, woolen bed,
whose blankets still retain
the depression of his body,
and rests weathered feet
on cracking wood floor,
long painted green.
He,
whose eyes see black,
but reflect the luminosity
of a thousand sun-soaked fields
and star-freckled nights,
and he listens,
as the green hums
on the other side of the glass,
brilliant voices
brought up by the wind
itself, through lone ear
and silent mouth.
He makes up his mind.
He is alone in the world,
not because
there is no one around him,
but because they are
alive,
and he can feel himself growing
cold.
Third Place: “Medicinal Shattering,” Caitlyn Bushnell, R. Nelson Snider High School, Fort Wayne, IN
Teacher: Suzanne Kaiser
Medicinal Shattering
my grandfather is becoming more like
the hospital gown each day
colder
uncomfortable
wisely immobile
the
distance
between he and his life-partner is now
etched out in the trenches under their eyes
and i wonder
how long
it will be
until they die
and take my father
with them
my father whom
had just gotten used to
knowing his own father's
smile
after twenty-five years of the
disappointed
frowns
he uses on my sister
today
amazing how pain
is
genetic
Honorable Mention: “Ode to You,” Bella Lawton, John Adams High School, South Bend, IN
Teacher: Mary Dickerson
Ode to You
Winding down the dark tree-canopied road,
rain pouring down on the rusty old Buick,
the smell of wet soil and the drivers cheap cologne wafting through the vents.
The radio whispers as I choke down what’s left of the
stinging sweet drink found in the back of this rusty old Buick
that promised to erase you from my mind, if only for tonight,
but it fails
and my mind drifts to the way you
wiggled your toes when we half-watched bad Lifetime movies,
slumped against the wall of your red-brown room.
Laying in my little lukewarm,
lavender scented sea
my hair floats and brushes against my shoulder
and my fingers wrinkle
like road maps on my hands.
The old brass faucet drips in time with my
pulse, my pulse that speeds up when
my mind drifts to the way your red-brown hair
shook between my nail-bitten fingers
that sunny Tuesday afternoon.
Honorable Mention: “Usurper,” Cynthia Aguilar-Delgado, Hobart High School, Hobart, IN
Teacher: Audrey Weaver
Usurper
Unwelcome interrupter,
I regret we have converged
on this decrepit bridge.
Warning signs are redundant:
We know of the fast approaching peril.
Nonetheless, the view is marvelous.
It won't be long now
before we are standing on a pile of rubble.
We shall embrace demolition
I fear this altitude
and you would jump off for the thrill,.
but isn't it wonderful to feel the turbulence
as everything crumbles?
Honorable Mention: “Prelude to the Apex of Existence,” Arisa Moreland-Woods, Avon High School, Avon, IN
Teacher: Dawn Fable-Lindquist
Prelude to the Apex of Existence
-Since I was the pharaoh of Kemet and you were the high priest of Nubia,
-Since you were the queen of Meroe and I was the princess of Kush,
-Since I was the conqeror of Songhai and you were the ruler of the Mali empire,
-Since you were Igo, Yoruba, Nigeria, and I was Zulu, Makua, Mozambique,
-Since I was stolen by the slavers and you were sold by the warring tribe,
-Since you were Queen Nzinga and I was your bravest warrior,
-Since I was shackled to the mast and you were chained to the decks below,
-Since you were from fluffy cotton fields and I was from muddy rice patties,
-Since I was fervently Union and you were forced Confederate,
-Since you were "emancipated" and I was still fighting Jim Crow,
-Since I was working with Ida B. to vote and you were the Talented Tenth,
-Since you were proudly a part of the UNIA and I was writing you poems from Harlem,
-Since I was hiding from sheeted riders and you were the strange fruit on the trees,
-Since you were a member of Martin's congregation and I was reciting my du'a with Macolm,
-Since I was the Assata Shakur of the revolution and you were the Kwame Ture of Black militancy,
-Since you were jamming to Jimi Hendrix and I was singing to Nina Simone,
-Since I was the victim of Ronald Reagan's poison and you were the father of a crack baby,
-Since you were Dr. King waking up and I was the most beautiful of First Ladies,
-Since I was Renisha, just begging for help, and you were Trayvon, just satisfying your sweet tooth,
-Until you slowly wrinkle and I gradually age,
-Until I find you in Heaven again and you meet me through eternity once more,
-Until we return to Earth and choose each other like we did 47,000 lifetimes before.
-Our bond was made magic by melanin and will transcend into a million dimensions.
-Our souls will sync, no matter sexual orientation, gender expression, or body parts.
-Our auras will intertwine until twilight descends across the universe and God finishes with His fifteenth galaxy,
-We love in another space and time, beyond consciousness and sentience.
Honorable Mention: “Until,” Aliza Adhami, Canterbury High School, Fort Wayne, IN
Teacher: Jeff McRae
Until
heavy Lahori smoke clings to the long curls of my hair,
mingling with the sterilized sweetness of America ever-present in my shampoo.
it drip, drip, drips from my strands,
and I imagine my soul following,
washing away down the drain,
and across the seas until I reach the date palms that know me,
bidding farewell to this temporary abode, the place where I was reside,
yet cannot bring myself to call home.
Honorable Mention: “Static,” Paula Cloyd, Shortridge High School Indianapolis, IN
Teacher: Chris Speckman
Static
I am
static, clinging
to your body,
your woolly sheets,
the carpet
stained with shadows.
I’m stuck on you,
to
you, making my lips frizz
as you pull away.
Wanna
zap you back up,
implore
you to stay, make your way
back
into my salty demeanor,
cleaner
than dryer sheets.
Honorable Mention: “Such Beauty In One Man's Laugh,” Daizjha Verrett, Shortridge High School, Indianapolis, IN
Teacher: Chris Speckman
Such Beauty In One Man’s Laugh
He’s laughing at the boy who spreads ketchup on his golden chicken.
His laughter’s thick and lofty, filling the room
with its sound, drawing the family’s attention
to the boy. The children join in the laughter,
for this tradition of eating chicken is foreign
and new. Smells of divine meats and vegetables
fill the home, overpowering this laughter.
Again it’s silent and the clang and cling
of silverware resumes.
He’s stuck his gaze on the boy as he eats his
meal and chuckles.
He’s cold yet warm.
He’s the hoe, no, the pickaxe in the shed.
His light’s dim and suspended in darkness.
He’s the beginning of the hurricane, the instant from calm to danger.
He’s a black onyx wrapped in silk and grunge.
He’s the canyon you wonder where it ends, where it begins.
He’s midnight where everything is hushed and silent,
but the people know there are secrets in the dark.
But somehow this boy of weird taste
brings out a genuine laugh, a joyous smile,
a remarkable night.
It has been a while since he’s laughed this laugh
covered in dust and cobwebs from the months and years
of non-use. The family knows
this, and they can only be grateful
that night laughter has never struck that man
so hard he fell from his chair
holding that tiny belly. That night ended
with such beauty in one man’s laugh.
Honorable Mention: “Harvest,” Marlee Jacocks, Fishers High School, Fishers, IN
Teacher: Bridgette Goss
Harvest
Ripe, sticky watermelon juice
Crept down our arms
As we watched from the window
Built by the common theme
Of us looking out
Yet no one looking in
We watched the boys run
Across the asphalt that seemed
To glisten in the blistering heat
As if the rush of sweet fruit to our head
Had caused mirages to form
Felt their fear as they raced
To the speed of our hearts
Not quick enough
Not as quick as the burst
Of pink dripping
In unknown territories of our skin
They were gone in a flash
But oh how we clutched
To the glimpse of mere strangers
How we longed
For them to pass again
And this time, be looking in
Honorable Mention: “Perpetual Silence,” Melissa Jones, Avon High School, Avon, IN
Teacher: Dawn Fable-Lindquist
Perpetual Silence
The car screeches to a halt.
Tumbling, landing upside down.
passers-by watch in shock.
Everything plays in slow motion.
People are shouting, but no noise can be heard.
People are running, but it seems like they’ll never be there in time.
The driver of the car looks at his surroundings –
colors blur. Silence. Flashing lights.
Suddenly, he is lifted out of the car.
He closes his eyes and fades out of the present.
He awakes to rain dripping on the window.
Weird, mechanical noises.
Unreal.
Gathering strength to look around, he observes:
white walls, clean floors, machines on wheels,
lots and lots of wires.
The machines soon stop.
He hears voices. Very distant voices.
Shortly after, back to nothing
but the rain.
The rain takes him away,
leads him to his perpetual silence.
Honorable Mention: “An Ode to my Heritage,” Jaclyn Flores, Hobart High School, Hobart, IN
Teacher: Audrey Weaver
An Ode to my Heritage
When I was younger,
I was embarrassed by You
“I want to be American”
Blonde hair, blue eyes
Not a cluster of names I couldn’t pronounce.
As I now converse in your light and graceful language,
I regret that statement made as a foolish girl
I recite your simplest words,
comparing them with the dense common tongue spoken here
With brown waves that drape
Over bronze shoulders,
And mocha coloured eyes
That hide my innermost thoughts,
It’s difficult to say I could ever be anything else
Than of You.
To be of the rich cultures one could ever want,
From tamales, horchata,
Mofongo, arroz con gandules,
To raucous eruptions of trompetas y guiros and
tender, sweet melodies of guitars and cantadores,
pouring into the barrio with colorful vibrations,
overwhelming aromas,
bouncing rhythms,
Nothing could ever compare
To the life You have bestowed upon me.
In the eyes of America
I am no more
than just tacos, burritos and nachos,
than drug cartels, landscaping, sombreros, maracas,
sex-hyped latinas portrayed in the movies,
I am so much more
I am the burning light of my ancestors,
piercing through the cracks of an imperialistic society,
the end result of lessons taught by my abuela,
I am an unrelenting force,
that exists solely because of You.
I am Hispanic
There is no longer doubt in that
Within me,
There is an explosion of many worlds,
splattered murals of Rivera and Kahlo,
Casals and Chávez,
the music of Puente,
blasting through the vibrant streets of my mind,
This eruption of life within me
is fueled by adoration and pride for You
Honorable Mention: “A Bird in Winter,” Sabrina Kohlmeier, John Adams High School, South Bend, IN
Teacher: Mary Dickerson
A Bird in Winter
The sweet peach juice slowly drips down her fingers
As she throws her head back, carelessly laughing.
She is a bird with not a care in the world;
She is always on the move, ready to fly
Away into the endless, midnight blue sky.
She loves the feeling of summer's warm, soft breath
As it billows her warm brown hair behind her
And brings with it the fresh smell of snapdragons.
She has beautiful eyes, but behind them lies
Deep sadness and secrets that tarnish her heart.
The winter has chilled her soul and made her cold.
Her soft wings no longer happily flutter,
And the peach juice no longer stains her fingers
For she is fading away into winter.
Honorable Mention: “I am,” Hannah Derleth, Noblesville High School, Noblesville, IN
Teacher: Bill Kenley
I am
I am from dreams.
From pride and courage.
I am from the cardboard of moving boxes,
Rough, and smelling of new house and old trucks.
I am from the purple maple tree,
The large Sedum plant growing ever the larger beneath the bay window.
I am from orthopedic surgeons, back braces, and orthotists.
From plaster and X-rays.
From countless doctor appointments,
And "Have you had any pain lately?"
I'm from the hard workers,
And the thinkers.
I'm from both sides of the tracks,
From a family combined to have morales and ethics.
From a future, that I've made for myself.
I'm from Michigan, and Tennessee.
From barbecue and collard greens, and warm chocolate chip cookies.
I'm from the four schools I've attended,
Two public, two private,
From the pristine white of cotton fields, of the downtown square, and the big cities.
In the corner of my closet is what was once a simple white photo box.
Bursting with memories, pictures, and items,
Of a past so long ago, but not so forgotten.
I am of these things, these things hold keys,
Keys to what hold my secrets.
Honorable Mention: “Chandelle (response to the painting Chandelle by Norman Bluhm),” Larissa Witzcak, Indiana Academy for Science Mathematics and Humanities, Muncie, IN
Teacher: Margaret Smith
Chandelle (response to the painting Chandelle by Norman Bluhm)
You wanted to know
What I see.
But there are no words
To define it.
How do I say that bright blinding light
Shoots from my chest
And rattles through my ruptured ears
Till even the trains, with all their rumbling and roaring,
Sound like mewling
Infant mice.
How do I tell you
Of the black and blue whips
That plagues my tiny little mind.
How do I tell you
That the world spins
And my neck twists around too tight.
Or how I don’t understand
This world that holds colors
Which should be dancing,
Yet crosses them all out
With standard white paste,
Because that’s what happiness should be.
I struggle to get it all out
But my arms don’t move fast enough and
Everything keeps tumbling off the shelves,
Pouring, surging, crashing
Out of every crevice in my head
And I can’t move fast enough.
Everything jets back and forth up and down
In every direction
And I can’t hold it in place before
It courses through my fingers again.
So the room starts fill and my feet
Don’t touch the bottom
And I run out of air.
I finally get it all down
Because I’m trying to show you,
But it looks like nothing
And nobody notices
Because no one sees
The way I see.
Honorable Mention: “Here, in this Bed,” William Chen, Carmel High School, Carmel, IN
Teacher: Amanda Richmond
Here, in this Bed
Lying on this bed alone in darkness,
Listening to wind scratching wood outside
Like there’s treasure out in that wilderness,
Where the river passing under bridges
Flows into the swollen lake of mem’ries.
Very much like rain, then was a time of
Moisture sliding down my skin of burnt trees.
“Dry,” she’d tease, ‘though she knew what it needed.
Hidden weight ties down my atrophied limbs,
Yet, not long ago, these limbs held vigor,
Realizing without cession my whims.
How could I know it would end with one wound?
But the scar’s there, lodged like Ptolemy’s stars.
I will yearn and weep, but it will not leave.
Beating in the vacancy, these pulsars,
Distant lighthouses for banished sailors,
Summon pain the red of heavenly Mars,
Red that once had been our mutual passion.
Honorable Mention: “Alive,” Hannah Lindley, John Adams High School, South Bend, IN
Teacher: Mary Dickerson
Alive
Triumphs of the human spirit are hard fought and hard won.
Whether it is soul or animal that commands our limbs,
Whispers of defeat can always be turned into war cries.
If we are knocked down, we get up stronger. I am elastic, and
I am prepared for battle. Sharp swords and bright eyes:
Far more than a match for these long nights ahead.
There is no obstacle insurmountable, and this is a call to arms.
From these new cracks in my head and heart poured everything
That I could never say to you, to them, to myself.
I have not been honest: the nights are not long, in fact,
They are nonexistent. I am as strong as dawn, I am the sun.
A slow dawn, but day can wait: I am dawn nonetheless,
Bleeding brilliant red-- like the broken skin of the first sin.
I heft the tremendous weight of darkness onto my shoulders--
I am Atlas, and I am the modern Midas: everything I touch turns to gold.
We are strong, we are everything. We are light, and I believe--
As the sun, I have been burning bridges since day one.
Honorable Mention: “Family Garden,” Maria Ferraro, Noblesville High School, Noblesville, IN
Teacher: Bill Kenley
Family Garden
I am from Downtown Noblesville
from busy streets and victorian houses
I am from a house filled with people
(Screaming, crying,
smelling like Snikerdoodle cookies)
I am from the apple tree,
the snapping dragons.
Whose yellow and white seemed to pop up
just when I needed comfort.
I'm from Rib-B-Q and Comfy Sweatshirts,
from Bill and Michelle.
I'm from the try hards,
and the push-overs,
from Good job! and Calm down!
I'am from The Father,
with The Son,
and The Holy Spirit.
I'm from Italy,
Fresh cannoli's and warm lasagna.
from the ear my uncle bit off
in a fight,
to the leukemia that took my aunt.
In my drawer were pictures
reminding me of,
a group of familiar faces
with moments I will always hold.
I am from those memories-
died before I bloomed-
a pedal fallen from the family garden.
Honorable Mention: “We Are the Forgotten,” Katie Biggs, Penn High School, Mishawaka, IN
Teacher: Caela Armstrong
We are the Forgotten
9 Year Old Girl: I was left in the streets.
10 Year Old Boy: My father beats me.
Teenage Girl: I have to wear long sleeves to cover my tracks.
12 Year Old Boy: I was a failed abortion.
11 Year Old Girl: I haven’t eaten in three weeks.
Teenage Boy: My uncle sexually abuses me.
All: No one loves us.
Teenage Girl: I’ll do anything to get a fix, even if I have to hurt my family.
12 Year Old Boy: My mother drank alcohol and did drugs while she was pregnant.
11 Year Old Girl: My stomach hurts too much to sleep.
9 Year Old Girl: Once I slept in the dumpster with the rats to avoid the rain.
10 Year Old Boy: He broke my arm when I was three.
Teenage Boy: I bleed every time he rapes me.
All: No one will help us.
11 Year Old Girl: I don’t remember what bread tastes like.
Teenage Girl: I started shooting up when I was 13, after my dad died.
Teenage Boy: My parents know but don’t do anything.
12 Year Old Boy: I was born with FAS and underdeveloped lungs.
9 Year Old Girl: I’ve worn the same clothes for two years.
10 Year Old Boy: I tried to kill myself last year, it was my 9th birthday.
All: No one cares.
9 Year Old Girl: My bed is made of newspapers on the ground.
10 Year Old Boy: I have scars from when he smashed my face in the glass.
11 Year Old Girl: I weigh 43lbs; I can see all my bones now.
12 Year Old Boy: I was born addicted to cocaine.
Teenage Girl: I’ve overdosed three times on heroin, last time I was in a coma for five days.
Teenage Boy: He calls it our “special time,” but I don’t feel special. I feel dirty.
All: No one sees us.
10 Year Old Boy: My skin is more black and blue than white.
11 Year Old Girl: I’ll follow someone and dig through the trash if they throw something away.
Teenage Boy: I have nightmares, I wake up screaming.
Teenage Girl: I contracted HIV from sharing needles.
12 Year Old Boy: I have seizures and ADHD.
9 Year Old Girl: I’m always sick, I keep coughing up blood.
All: We are the invisible.
All: We are the worthless.
All: We are the hopeless.
All: We are the broken.
All: We exist.
Honorable Mention: “For Boston,” Connor Keaney, Noblesville High School, Noblesville, IN
Teacher: Bill Kenley
For Boston
The dirt flies
Engraining the pain
In the eyes
Of the little girl
Who watches
As the shrapnel
Rips into her father.
And the blood
Traces the anguish
As the heroes
Lift the gate off of
A bleeding woman
A dead man.
Days like today
Liberty weeps.
But when do days
Like today
Become the everyday,
When does the name
Of the way things
Should be
Lead into the
Tailspin of chaos
That feeds
On the tears
Of the girl
As her father's
Chest goes still?
The answer lies
In the heart of
That girl
Should we stand
And roast
The elephant
The donkey
On the spit
Of brotherhood
And hold our spirit
Hold fast to our courage
And grab hands
Are we the people?
As we shout in unison
We are the people.
First Place: “Adorned with Gold,” Ciara Furlong, Hobart High School, Hobart, IN
Teacher: Audrey Weaver
Adorned with Gold
I once knew a girl
Whose eyes had a neverending brightness to them
And she wore a dress
Adorned with gold
And her necklace matched her dress.
She had not a care in the world
And she had nothing to worry about.
I once knew a girl
Who came to school with a bruise on her arm
Her eyes had a neverending brightness to them
And she wore a dress
Adorned with lace
And her necklace was made of gold.
She laughed often
But it always ended abruptly.
I once knew a girl
Who came to school with sunglasses on
Her eyes were hidden by black lenses
And her skin was purple.
She wore no dress that day
And she wore dark colors.
And stopped wearing her necklace.
I once knew a girl
Who stopped coming to school
When I saw her in town,
Her eyes had tears in them.
She wore long sleeves
And long pants
And she ducked her head to hide her bruises.
And she didn't laugh anymore.
I know a girl
Whose eyes are glazed over
And she is wearing her favorite dress
Adorned with gold
And her necklace is made of rope.
She has a smile on her face
And her note says goodbye.
Second Place: “Closing Note of Vincent van Gogh,” Jessica Elliott, Noblesville High School, Noblesville, IN
Teacher: Bill Kenley
Closing Note of Vincent van Gogh
The husk of the red-haired man
sits on the edge
of the red, woolen bed,
whose blankets still retain
the depression of his body,
and rests weathered feet
on cracking wood floor,
long painted green.
He,
whose eyes see black,
but reflect the luminosity
of a thousand sun-soaked fields
and star-freckled nights,
and he listens,
as the green hums
on the other side of the glass,
brilliant voices
brought up by the wind
itself, through lone ear
and silent mouth.
He makes up his mind.
He is alone in the world,
not because
there is no one around him,
but because they are
alive,
and he can feel himself growing
cold.
Third Place: “Medicinal Shattering,” Caitlyn Bushnell, R. Nelson Snider High School,
Fort Wayne, IN
Teacher: Suzanne Kaiser
Medicinal Shattering
my grandfather is becoming more like
the hospital gown each day
colder
uncomfortable
wisely immobile
the
distance
between he and his life-partner is now
etched out in the trenches under their eyes
and i wonder
how long
it will be
until they die
and take my father
with them
my father whom
had just gotten used to
knowing his own father's
smile
after twenty-five years of the
disappointed
frowns
he uses on my sister
today
amazing how pain
is
genetic
Honorable Mention: “Ode to You,” Bella Lawton, John Adams High School, South Bend, IN
Teacher: Mary Dickerson
Ode to You
Winding down the dark tree-canopied road,
rain pouring down on the rusty old Buick,
the smell of wet soil and the drivers cheap cologne wafting through the vents.
The radio whispers as I choke down what’s left of the
stinging sweet drink found in the back of this rusty old Buick
that promised to erase you from my mind, if only for tonight,
but it fails
and my mind drifts to the way you
wiggled your toes when we half-watched bad Lifetime movies,
slumped against the wall of your red-brown room.
Laying in my little lukewarm,
lavender scented sea
my hair floats and brushes against my shoulder
and my fingers wrinkle
like road maps on my hands.
The old brass faucet drips in time with my
pulse, my pulse that speeds up when
my mind drifts to the way your red-brown hair
shook between my nail-bitten fingers
that sunny Tuesday afternoon.
Honorable Mention: “Usurper,” Cynthia Aguilar-Delgado, Hobart High School, Hobart, IN
Teacher: Audrey Weaver
Usurper
Unwelcome interrupter,
I regret we have converged
on this decrepit bridge.
Warning signs are redundant:
We know of the fast approaching peril.
Nonetheless, the view is marvelous.
It won't be long now
before we are standing on a pile of rubble.
We shall embrace demolition
I fear this altitude
and you would jump off for the thrill,.
but isn't it wonderful to feel the turbulence
as everything crumbles?
Honorable Mention: “Prelude to the Apex of Existence,” Arisa Moreland-Woods, Avon High School, Avon, IN
Teacher: Dawn Fable-Lindquist
Prelude to the Apex of Existence
-Since I was the pharaoh of Kemet and you were the high priest of Nubia,
-Since you were the queen of Meroe and I was the princess of Kush,
-Since I was the conqeror of Songhai and you were the ruler of the Mali empire,
-Since you were Igo, Yoruba, Nigeria, and I was Zulu, Makua, Mozambique,
-Since I was stolen by the slavers and you were sold by the warring tribe,
-Since you were Queen Nzinga and I was your bravest warrior,
-Since I was shackled to the mast and you were chained to the decks below,
-Since you were from fluffy cotton fields and I was from muddy rice patties,
-Since I was fervently Union and you were forced Confederate,
-Since you were "emancipated" and I was still fighting Jim Crow,
-Since I was working with Ida B. to vote and you were the Talented Tenth,
-Since you were proudly a part of the UNIA and I was writing you poems from Harlem,
-Since I was hiding from sheeted riders and you were the strange fruit on the trees,
-Since you were a member of Martin's congregation and I was reciting my du'a with Macolm,
-Since I was the Assata Shakur of the revolution and you were the Kwame Ture of Black militancy,
-Since you were jamming to Jimi Hendrix and I was singing to Nina Simone,
-Since I was the victim of Ronald Reagan's poison and you were the father of a crack baby,
-Since you were Dr. King waking up and I was the most beautiful of First Ladies,
-Since I was Renisha, just begging for help, and you were Trayvon, just satisfying your sweet tooth,
-Until you slowly wrinkle and I gradually age,
-Until I find you in Heaven again and you meet me through eternity once more,
-Until we return to Earth and choose each other like we did 47,000 lifetimes before.
-Our bond was made magic by melanin and will transcend into a million dimensions.
-Our souls will sync, no matter sexual orientation, gender expression, or body parts.
-Our auras will intertwine until twilight descends across the universe and God finishes with His fifteenth galaxy,
-We love in another space and time, beyond consciousness and sentience.
Honorable Mention: “Until,” Aliza Adhami, Canterbury High School, Fort Wayne, IN
Teacher: Jeff McRae
Until
heavy Lahori smoke clings to the long curls of my hair,
mingling with the sterilized sweetness of America ever-present in my shampoo.
it drip, drip, drips from my strands,
and I imagine my soul following,
washing away down the drain,
and across the seas until I reach the date palms that know me,
bidding farewell to this temporary abode, the place where I was reside,
yet cannot bring myself to call home.
Honorable Mention: “Static,” Paula Cloyd, Shortridge High School Indianapolis, IN
Teacher: Chris Speckman
Static
I am
static, clinging
to your body,
your woolly sheets,
the carpet
stained with shadows.
I’m stuck on you,
to
you, making my lips frizz
as you pull away.
Wanna
zap you back up,
implore
you to stay, make your way
back
into my salty demeanor,
cleaner
than dryer sheets.
Honorable Mention: “Such Beauty In One Man's Laugh,” Daizjha Verrett, Shortridge High School, Indianapolis, IN
Teacher: Chris Speckman
Such Beauty In One Man’s Laugh
He’s laughing at the boy who spreads ketchup on his golden chicken.
His laughter’s thick and lofty, filling the room
with its sound, drawing the family’s attention
to the boy. The children join in the laughter,
for this tradition of eating chicken is foreign
and new. Smells of divine meats and vegetables
fill the home, overpowering this laughter.
Again it’s silent and the clang and cling
of silverware resumes.
He’s stuck his gaze on the boy as he eats his
meal and chuckles.
He’s cold yet warm.
He’s the hoe, no, the pickaxe in the shed.
His light’s dim and suspended in darkness.
He’s the beginning of the hurricane, the instant from calm to danger.
He’s a black onyx wrapped in silk and grunge.
He’s the canyon you wonder where it ends, where it begins.
He’s midnight where everything is hushed and silent,
but the people know there are secrets in the dark.
But somehow this boy of weird taste
brings out a genuine laugh, a joyous smile,
a remarkable night.
It has been a while since he’s laughed this laugh
covered in dust and cobwebs from the months and years
of non-use. The family knows
this, and they can only be grateful
that night laughter has never struck that man
so hard he fell from his chair
holding that tiny belly. That night ended
with such beauty in one man’s laugh.
Honorable Mention: “Harvest,” Marlee Jacocks, Fishers High School, Fishers, IN
Teacher: Bridgette Goss
Harvest
Ripe, sticky watermelon juice
Crept down our arms
As we watched from the window
Built by the common theme
Of us looking out
Yet no one looking in
We watched the boys run
Across the asphalt that seemed
To glisten in the blistering heat
As if the rush of sweet fruit to our head
Had caused mirages to form
Felt their fear as they raced
To the speed of our hearts
Not quick enough
Not as quick as the burst
Of pink dripping
In unknown territories of our skin
They were gone in a flash
But oh how we clutched
To the glimpse of mere strangers
How we longed
For them to pass again
And this time, be looking in
Honorable Mention: “Perpetual Silence,” Melissa Jones, Avon High School, Avon, IN
Teacher: Dawn Fable-Lindquist
Perpetual Silence
The car screeches to a halt.
Tumbling, landing upside down.
passers-by watch in shock.
Everything plays in slow motion.
People are shouting, but no noise can be heard.
People are running, but it seems like they’ll never be there in time.
The driver of the car looks at his surroundings –
colors blur. Silence. Flashing lights.
Suddenly, he is lifted out of the car.
He closes his eyes and fades out of the present.
He awakes to rain dripping on the window.
Weird, mechanical noises.
Unreal.
Gathering strength to look around, he observes:
white walls, clean floors, machines on wheels,
lots and lots of wires.
The machines soon stop.
He hears voices. Very distant voices.
Shortly after, back to nothing
but the rain.
The rain takes him away,
leads him to his perpetual silence.
Honorable Mention: “An Ode to my Heritage,” Jaclyn Flores, Hobart High School, Hobart, IN
Teacher: Audrey Weaver
An Ode to my Heritage
When I was younger,
I was embarrassed by You
“I want to be American”
Blonde hair, blue eyes
Not a cluster of names I couldn’t pronounce.
As I now converse in your light and graceful language,
I regret that statement made as a foolish girl
I recite your simplest words,
comparing them with the dense common tongue spoken here
With brown waves that drape
Over bronze shoulders,
And mocha coloured eyes
That hide my innermost thoughts,
It’s difficult to say I could ever be anything else
Than of You.
To be of the rich cultures one could ever want,
From tamales, horchata,
Mofongo, arroz con gandules,
To raucous eruptions of trompetas y guiros and
tender, sweet melodies of guitars and cantadores,
pouring into the barrio with colorful vibrations,
overwhelming aromas,
bouncing rhythms,
Nothing could ever compare
To the life You have bestowed upon me.
In the eyes of America
I am no more
than just tacos, burritos and nachos,
than drug cartels, landscaping, sombreros, maracas,
sex-hyped latinas portrayed in the movies,
I am so much more
I am the burning light of my ancestors,
piercing through the cracks of an imperialistic society,
the end result of lessons taught by my abuela,
I am an unrelenting force,
that exists solely because of You.
I am Hispanic
There is no longer doubt in that
Within me,
There is an explosion of many worlds,
splattered murals of Rivera and Kahlo,
Casals and Chávez,
the music of Puente,
blasting through the vibrant streets of my mind,
This eruption of life within me
is fueled by adoration and pride for You
Honorable Mention: “A Bird in Winter,” Sabrina Kohlmeier, John Adams High School, South Bend, IN
Teacher: Mary Dickerson
A Bird in Winter
The sweet peach juice slowly drips down her fingers
As she throws her head back, carelessly laughing.
She is a bird with not a care in the world;
She is always on the move, ready to fly
Away into the endless, midnight blue sky.
She loves the feeling of summer's warm, soft breath
As it billows her warm brown hair behind her
And brings with it the fresh smell of snapdragons.
She has beautiful eyes, but behind them lies
Deep sadness and secrets that tarnish her heart.
The winter has chilled her soul and made her cold.
Her soft wings no longer happily flutter,
And the peach juice no longer stains her fingers
For she is fading away into winter.
Honorable Mention: “I am,” Hannah Derleth, Noblesville High School, Noblesville, IN
Teacher: Bill Kenley
I am
I am from dreams.
From pride and courage.
I am from the cardboard of moving boxes,
Rough, and smelling of new house and old trucks.
I am from the purple maple tree,
The large Sedum plant growing ever the larger beneath the bay window.
I am from orthopedic surgeons, back braces, and orthotists.
From plaster and X-rays.
From countless doctor appointments,
And "Have you had any pain lately?"
I'm from the hard workers,
And the thinkers.
I'm from both sides of the tracks,
From a family combined to have morales and ethics.
From a future, that I've made for myself.
I'm from Michigan, and Tennessee.
From barbecue and collard greens, and warm chocolate chip cookies.
I'm from the four schools I've attended,
Two public, two private,
From the pristine white of cotton fields, of the downtown square, and the big cities.
In the corner of my closet is what was once a simple white photo box.
Bursting with memories, pictures, and items,
Of a past so long ago, but not so forgotten.
I am of these things, these things hold keys,
Keys to what hold my secrets.
Honorable Mention: “Chandelle (response to the painting Chandelle by Norman Bluhm),”
Larissa Witzcak, Indiana Academy for Science Mathematics and Humanities, Muncie, IN
Teacher: Margaret Smith
Chandelle (response to the painting Chandelle by Norman Bluhm)
You wanted to know
What I see.
But there are no words
To define it.
How do I say that bright blinding light
Shoots from my chest
And rattles through my ruptured ears
Till even the trains, with all their rumbling and roaring,
Sound like mewling
Infant mice.
How do I tell you
Of the black and blue whips
That plagues my tiny little mind.
How do I tell you
That the world spins
And my neck twists around too tight.
Or how I don’t understand
This world that holds colors
Which should be dancing,
Yet crosses them all out
With standard white paste,
Because that’s what happiness should be.
I struggle to get it all out
But my arms don’t move fast enough and
Everything keeps tumbling off the shelves,
Pouring, surging, crashing
Out of every crevice in my head
And I can’t move fast enough.
Everything jets back and forth up and down
In every direction
And I can’t hold it in place before
It courses through my fingers again.
So the room starts fill and my feet
Don’t touch the bottom
And I run out of air.
I finally get it all down
Because I’m trying to show you,
But it looks like nothing
And nobody notices
Because no one sees
The way I see.
Honorable Mention: “Here, in this Bed,” William Chen, Carmel High School, Carmel, IN
Teacher: Amanda Richmond
Here, in this Bed
Lying on this bed alone in darkness,
Listening to wind scratching wood outside
Like there’s treasure out in that wilderness,
Where the river passing under bridges
Flows into the swollen lake of mem’ries.
Very much like rain, then was a time of
Moisture sliding down my skin of burnt trees.
“Dry,” she’d tease, ‘though she knew what it needed.
Hidden weight ties down my atrophied limbs,
Yet, not long ago, these limbs held vigor,
Realizing without cession my whims.
How could I know it would end with one wound?
But the scar’s there, lodged like Ptolemy’s stars.
I will yearn and weep, but it will not leave.
Beating in the vacancy, these pulsars,
Distant lighthouses for banished sailors,
Summon pain the red of heavenly Mars,
Red that once had been our mutual passion.
Honorable Mention: “Alive,” Hannah Lindley, John Adams High School, South Bend, IN
Teacher: Mary Dickerson
Alive
Triumphs of the human spirit are hard fought and hard won.
Whether it is soul or animal that commands our limbs,
Whispers of defeat can always be turned into war cries.
If we are knocked down, we get up stronger. I am elastic, and
I am prepared for battle. Sharp swords and bright eyes:
Far more than a match for these long nights ahead.
There is no obstacle insurmountable, and this is a call to arms.
From these new cracks in my head and heart poured everything
That I could never say to you, to them, to myself.
I have not been honest: the nights are not long, in fact,
They are nonexistent. I am as strong as dawn, I am the sun.
A slow dawn, but day can wait: I am dawn nonetheless,
Bleeding brilliant red-- like the broken skin of the first sin.
I heft the tremendous weight of darkness onto my shoulders--
I am Atlas, and I am the modern Midas: everything I touch turns to gold.
We are strong, we are everything. We are light, and I believe--
As the sun, I have been burning bridges since day one.
Honorable Mention: “Family Garden,” Maria Ferraro, Noblesville High School, Noblesville, IN
Teacher: Bill Kenley
Family Garden
I am from Downtown Noblesville
from busy streets and victorian houses
I am from a house filled with people
(Screaming, crying,
smelling like Snikerdoodle cookies)
I am from the apple tree,
the snapping dragons.
Whose yellow and white seemed to pop up
just when I needed comfort.
I'm from Rib-B-Q and Comfy Sweatshirts,
from Bill and Michelle.
I'm from the try hards,
and the push-overs,
from Good job! and Calm down!
I'am from The Father,
with The Son,
and The Holy Spirit.
I'm from Italy,
Fresh cannoli's and warm lasagna.
from the ear my uncle bit off
in a fight,
to the leukemia that took my aunt.
In my drawer were pictures
reminding me of,
a group of familiar faces
with moments I will always hold.
I am from those memories-
died before I bloomed-
a pedal fallen from the family garden.
Honorable Mention: “We Are the Forgotten,” Katie Biggs, Penn High School, Mishawaka, IN
Teacher: Caela Armstrong
We are the Forgotten
9 Year Old Girl: I was left in the streets.
10 Year Old Boy: My father beats me.
Teenage Girl: I have to wear long sleeves to cover my tracks.
12 Year Old Boy: I was a failed abortion.
11 Year Old Girl: I haven’t eaten in three weeks.
Teenage Boy: My uncle sexually abuses me.
All: No one loves us.
Teenage Girl: I’ll do anything to get a fix, even if I have to hurt my family.
12 Year Old Boy: My mother drank alcohol and did drugs while she was pregnant.
11 Year Old Girl: My stomach hurts too much to sleep.
9 Year Old Girl: Once I slept in the dumpster with the rats to avoid the rain.
10 Year Old Boy: He broke my arm when I was three.
Teenage Boy: I bleed every time he rapes me.
All: No one will help us.
11 Year Old Girl: I don’t remember what bread tastes like.
Teenage Girl: I started shooting up when I was 13, after my dad died.
Teenage Boy: My parents know but don’t do anything.
12 Year Old Boy: I was born with FAS and underdeveloped lungs.
9 Year Old Girl: I’ve worn the same clothes for two years.
10 Year Old Boy: I tried to kill myself last year, it was my 9th birthday.
All: No one cares.
9 Year Old Girl: My bed is made of newspapers on the ground.
10 Year Old Boy: I have scars from when he smashed my face in the glass.
11 Year Old Girl: I weigh 43lbs; I can see all my bones now.
12 Year Old Boy: I was born addicted to cocaine.
Teenage Girl: I’ve overdosed three times on heroin, last time I was in a coma for five days.
Teenage Boy: He calls it our “special time,” but I don’t feel special. I feel dirty.
All: No one sees us.
10 Year Old Boy: My skin is more black and blue than white.
11 Year Old Girl: I’ll follow someone and dig through the trash if they throw something away.
Teenage Boy: I have nightmares, I wake up screaming.
Teenage Girl: I contracted HIV from sharing needles.
12 Year Old Boy: I have seizures and ADHD.
9 Year Old Girl: I’m always sick, I keep coughing up blood.
All: We are the invisible.
All: We are the worthless.
All: We are the hopeless.
All: We are the broken.
All: We exist.
Honorable Mention: “For Boston,” Connor Keaney, Noblesville High School, Noblesville, IN
Teacher: Bill Kenley
For Boston
The dirt flies
Engraining the pain
In the eyes
Of the little girl
Who watches
As the shrapnel
Rips into her father.
And the blood
Traces the anguish
As the heroes
Lift the gate off of
A bleeding woman
A dead man.
Days like today
Liberty weeps.
But when do days
Like today
Become the everyday,
When does the name
Of the way things
Should be
Lead into the
Tailspin of chaos
That feeds
On the tears
Of the girl
As her father's
Chest goes still?
The answer lies
In the heart of
That girl
Should we stand
And roast
The elephant
The donkey
On the spit
Of brotherhood
And hold our spirit
Hold fast to our courage
And grab hands
Are we the people?
As we shout in unison
We are the people.