The First
Poetry Prize Winner Summer 2006
"The Journeyman"
You brought me a mirror that walks with my feet.
Reflections meet my conscience sweet wherever
My silver cord travels in this land of the living.
I wander beat streets in search of milestone’s
dawn.
My milieu’s days will live with hope of Eden’s
morns.
Silently I hear my heart pray to master rhythms.
Can I drop into a solution to clean me from these
spots?
I’m an island of faults – fortunes are
not so hot.
Search for riches – not money – it’s
poor tracing paper.
Each tomorrow is promised until I die – live
no lie.
Flowers are power plants I dig – clean dirt
grows.
Spare the cameras – simple mirror takes pictures
of me.
I love Mother Nature – let me be at home in
sheltered deeds.
Bees use nectar for mouthwash – butterflies
stay in
Powder rooms – their beauty races in colors.
Make me a workhorse – sense-of-humor –
without tumors.
Endurance is a bear with it given biceps of thoughts.
Hope may be a driver who deflects to the passenger
side.
Because of you my survival ponders – no dead
end wonders.
I get drowsy – in the earwax museum I dare
not
Sleep; I live inside a safe like the palm of your
hand.
I look at my steps as my feet walk away from me.
Yet like a revolving door I keep turning more to
you.
I’m but a spirit yet my sins cause flesh wounds.
No human companionship is the tonic for my lone
soul.
My body is a temple – you friendship attends
service.
A candle is light at both ends – heal my sick
wick.
I falter alter, I win and lose, make me a wiser
journeyman.
Life is precious – I think of memories –
some long ago.
A joy came over me: I would not change for many
a joy I know.
By James Wesley Ford
of Indianapolis, Indiana -USA
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Second
Poetry Prize Winner Summer of 2006
“Root”
I was sitting on the root of the tree and
fell asleep.
The root spoke to me.
The wind interrupted from time to time.
I woke by the sound of empty can blooming
into a flower from the recycle garbage can.
The root spoke to me again.
The wind interrupted again and the root reached
out its hand with its branch.
It could touch nothing.
I can see that I was like the root that could
not touch.
1 could not climb to the top of your mind,
And
now I understand that I was nothing more than water pipe of the tree.
You followed me even into my dream.
When I spoke to the sleep, the flowers kept
their mouths shut all at once.
The wind held its breath, too.
The morning of when I woke from a deep sleep,
I see roots hanging from the end of a branch.
By Cheol Su Yeom
of Bundang-gu Songnam,
South Korea
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Third Poetry Prize
Winner Summer 2006
“You Are”
You are light and air,
The majesty and mystery of the ages,
In your own time.
Timeless,
weightless,
You
float above the muddy cares
Of
life, transpiring pain
Into
pleasure,
Confusion
into crystal clear meaning.
Unbreakable
In soul and spirit.
By Meskerem Kinfe
of Oak Park, Illinois - USA
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First Poetry Prize Winner - Winter 2006-2007
“DREAM - WEAVER”
You weave us sad songs
on your loom,
O Weaver, or mayhaps
a merry tune,
Or startle us or make
us reach.
Like virtuosos of the
harp
You pluck ~ magical
design
From out your mind
and store it on your strings.
With warmth and heart
you pluck on weaver’s warp
A song of love in living
color.
You design us hope
to live by
And the spell that
beauty kindles
As you weave us bold
new fabrics.
In your head you’ve
dreams today
To spark our eyes tomorrow.
Your dreams of soul—compelling
beauty
Need no mind—impelling
drugs.
Oh, would that I could
be,
Yes, how I’d
love to be
A dream—weaver.
I’d
dream a world of peace and love,
Then flesh it out in
warm reality.
By Frank Ray Davis
of Zapopan, Jalisco, Mexico
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Second
Poetry Prize Winner - Winter 2006-2007
“The
Bluest Eye: Pecola’s Prayer
A
series of Lunes”
By
Kiarra Lynn Smith
Inspired by Toni Morrison’s, The Bluest Eye
God,
where’s my blue eyes?
Give
me them
To
be beautiful
My
indigo eyes
View
justice
As
invisible
I
absorb disgust
Hurled
my way
For
my skin is Black
Blue
can change my world
Halting
screams
From
this fragile frame
By Kiarra Lynn Smith
of Saint Louis, Missouri -USA
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Third Poetry Prize Winner - Winter 2006-2007
Our House- by Caroline Cecil
comfy and small- three
bedrooms in all
where ever shall I begin?
a townhouse you know,
one of five in a row
with neighbors close
by to drop in
With two out of three
of the bedrooms- peewee
my parent’s room
is a suite
and the basement so chilly-
it seems rather silly
Its rundown fireplace
has no heat
my room is unique- nothing
matches at all
with hot purple paint
on the walls short and tall
on the tall wall my loft-
on the short wall my sister’s
My tall loft is metal-
my sister’s has splinters
My big sisters room is
cool and blue
Twin bed and TV with
remote control too
with her window and view
just over a tree
Its view is so calm you’ll
take time to see
our kitchen is filled
with all that you need
to cook a meal -and plant
a seed
to grow the sweet herbs
— to season our day
and a TV to watch our
friend Rachael Ray
the living room chairs-
do not match-
though this pair
is important to me
one- from my grandmother
and as for the other
— from pop pop
who meant much to me
By Caroline Cecil
of Timonium, Maryland -USA
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First Poetry Prize Winner - Summer 2007
( “
Get Lost ” )
You don’t need to tell
me that you don’t love me anymore as it’s reading all over your face,
You don’t need to explain yourself, there’s the road, get lost You don’t need
to look back as there is nothing here for you to see, as I hang my head to cry my loudest cry, down by the waterfront as her
sweet kisses did.
Not less long only her savage lies to be whipped like a dog; I was better off playing it safe reading
Mad Magazines never to unfold love is only for fools thinking it will; Less and later she got fat and me and myself and I
we just did not care as the years came flying like there’s no tomorrow as I made it big to create my Own ( You Idiot Magazine )
to enslave the world just like Harry Potter fans too spend there money to no end;
To attack within, going to sea just like a good monster as my aircraft just landed across the good (USA)
just like a hungry beast and never mind about ( Global );
Hell, I was a good kid until she got her claws in me as only the ( President ) can lie to you never to
get fired just like Paris Hilton and now they ask if she got special treatment. Do I have to spell it out for you? I am not
a real doctor but I play one in TV as everything is staged; We pay them to make me look good just like in commercials as women
to enjoy cleaning after those pigs with a great smile just to talk about soap; Everything shining white that was in the day
of the caveman and now they feed us lies as we are close to dead just like always.
So get lost girl. La End…
By Jesus “JB” Martinez,
of Del Rio, Texas -USA
Jr. Age 54
Yes, I love to write just like always like rain that we all
enjoy on a hot day to sleep well at night, yes.
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Second Poetry Prize Winner - Summer 2007
Perfect
By Sean Ludwig
I never reach the end of a day
Where I feel I have completed it.
Nothing is done, finished
According to my own mind.
Could be better, could be more
Perfect.
A word which I will never be
Able to rightfully use.
A word which no mortal man has ever or will have enough
Time on Earth to understand.
Only in a place where age
Is non-existent, where moments
Are as eternal as the language
Of the winds- Only in a place
Where time is impossible and movement is infinite
Will perfection really take place.
And to find this place, one must
Look between two pages of a book,
Or underneath a rock where only
Earth could dwell. Then, in that
Second, perhaps one will find
A moment of perfection, and in
The reality of his own thought
Use it to make the right decision.
This, as a contradiction to what
One assumes, could be that very
Timeless place we all seek.
But maybe someday, someone will
Notice it and not let it pass by
Thinking it was just another ordinary moment.
By Sean Ludwig
of Atlanta, Georgia –USA
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Third Poetry
Prize Winner - Summer 2007
"THE MOON"
AGAINST
A CLOUDLESS SKY IT ROSE
ITS
LIGHT SHOWN THROUGH THE TREES
BRILLIANTLY
ILLUMINING
THE
BRANCHES AND ITS LEAVES.
PERFECTLY
SERENE AND YET
MAJESTIC
WAS ITS GLOW
No
MORE TO ME A MYSTERY
FOR
GOD I TOO NOW KNOW.
FOR
HE HAS MADE ALL THAT WE SEE
IN
HEAVENS DOME OF NIGHT
THE
STARS THAT SHINE
THE
MOON THAT GIVES
THE
EARTH ITS NIGHTTIME LIGHT.
KAREN M. WOOD
of Amissville, Virginia -USA
AND
GOD MADE THE TWO GREAT LIGHTS,
THE
GREATER LIGHT TO GOVERN THE DAY
AND
THE LESSER LIGHT TO GOVERN THE NIGHT;
HE
MADE THE STARS ALSO.
AND
GOD PLACED THEM IN THE EXPANSE
OF
THE HEAVENS TO GIVE LIGHT ON THE EARTH
GENESIS: 1 16-17
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