Poetry Contest Winners
Read our winning pieces below!
A Stubborn Hope
by Renu Vijayaraj
Poem
The Earth, a fractured mirror, reflection of souls,
Where shards of memory, as daggers, pierce a gaping hole.
The heart of conflict, cold and sharp as obsidian, takes hold,
A ruin of thorns, a tale hidden and untold.
Begone the prolific meadow, bygone the hand of grace,
But deviant spears, the crest of a desolate space.
Here, in this barrenness, a single root,
Clutching the abyss, a fragile sprout.
Unborn of sunlight, but of quiet, welling tears,
A stubborn hope and defiance, crumble its fears.
It obliges forth, a desperate pain,
Whispered promises, rising from a flaming domain.
A nascent bud, trembling from the precipice, the brink,
A wounded heart, too close to sink.
It unfurls slowly, each silken petal a sigh,
A testament to life, to peace, refusing to die.
Not mere beauty, but strength divinely wrought,
A fragile promise, barely sought.
Yet the thorns still prick, taunting, sharp, and cruel,
Oh, how these new blossoms force that painful duel.
A silent dialect, comprehended by few,
Those scars and thorns will transform into something new.
They rise from ashes, from the depths of despair,
A brittle chance, and a silent dare.
Each bloom a courage, a breath in the breeze,
A memorial to resilience, longing for ease.
Yet not a victory, no matter how high,
But quiet triumphs, underneath a watching sky.
Each leaf a lesson, etched from light and shade,
Not even darkness can completely erase.
That longing for the sun, that upward climb,
There is only hope, and it cannot look behind.
The bloom of petals provide shelter, to the weary soul,
A haven sculpted, resting beyond the tyrant’s droll.
Space for solace, where fractured spirit mends,
Sealing the broken bridges, starting to make amends.
Peace, not the absence of courage and fight,
But the strength to flower, in the deepest night.
This heartwood, rooted deeply in the barbs,
Turned a sanctuary and a testament to the stars.
A living emblem, even in the deep,
Where shadows breed, and old wounds eternally weep,
Life finds purpose and hope in its sacred way.
To bloom and to blossom, searching for a brighter day.
Peace, a tender echo in the night,
Will persist a path, to bring forth the dawning light.
Harmony
by Charis Wong
Poem
The ocean crashed,
and we were yanked along with it
in little more than a skiff.
I held one end of our remaining oar;
you held the other
You shouted at me that we needed to go one way,
I shrieked that it was the other.
Our screams could be heard over the howl of the wind,
the crack of the thunder,
And two waves reared up on both sides
as we battled,
they clashed,
slamming against each other—
huge mountains
erupting in great geysers
so the whole world could hear them
roaring
in discordant harmony with our cries.
We were swept up between them,
massive, glittering sprays drenching our boat,
so we were rocking sluggishly on the rough rollers,
crying out for some respite from the great storm
both in
and out
of our precarious vessel.
Slowly, we fell into a senseless stupor,
the waves lulling us
so the oar clattered from numb, chilled fingers
to the bottom of the craft.
Our dispute cast over the side,
drifting in the deep with the lone oar’s partner,
we clung to each other
in a sort of reluctant reconciliation.
Then I felt a blinding flash sear my eyes
Stumbling back, I blinked away the dark spots on my vision;
your arms were suddenly vacant, and you turned to the light,
eyes closed, tears mixed with seawater
trailing rivulets through the salt on your face.
I turned my face up as well,
allowing myself a touch of feeling,
allowing myself to thaw, my bones to warm.
Without warning, we both gave a shout of delight
mixed with gratitude and joy
and we clung to each other,
sobbing our regrets
into already soaked shoulders.
The boat stilled,
and the waves swirled below them,
glassy and blue
with no sign of the tumult before;
the surface now still,
peaceful—
a clear mirror of the clear sky,
pure sunlight reflecting back up into the heavens
that had once brought slicing wind
and spitting rain.
And oddly,
it didn’t matter which way we went,
what things we encountered,
when we returned home,
(because I knew, somehow, we would).
It was just me
and you
in our skiff
in our peace
on the great, powerful sea
and that was enough.
It is Dark, It is Quiet
by Oliver Gray
Poem
The light and figures around me began to fizzle away into the dark.
Once awakened from the dark I seem to have returned to it.
Though this time I’m conscious and what I feel is-
suit fabrics gliding across velvet, but it’s quiet.
The missing light, I search for the source of it.
I wonder what will make a sound but nothing is.
I smell a pungent chemical smell and I wonder where it is.
It is impossible to search for the smell because of the dark.
I can’t find it!
I need to find it!
Throughout my struggle, there is nothing but quiet.
The feel of my skin is cold just as the dark is.
It is me, that’s what it is!
I seem to have been doused with chemicals, that’s why the smell is-
pungent. I’m laid back, enjoying the quiet.
I drape down my eyelids despite it already being dark.
My past, I dream of it.
The light, I wish for it.
Unable to keep a dream, I raised my head and hit it.
It being something that I don’t know what it is.
Mith my icy hands, I feel for it.
Velvet covering something firm is what it is.
Unable to see because of the dark,
I feel for my surroundings, it still being quiet.
I feel my heart; no thump; it’s quiet.
Unbuttoning my shirt there is a scar across my chest, I can feel it.
I assume all that is left inside of me is the dark.
I realize the most important thing I have not yet done is-
breathe. I need to figure out what this nightmare is.
I try to breathe but I can not do it.
I am dead; I have concluded to it.
I miss the chatter of people. I’m scared of the quiet.
All I can do is-
lay on this velvet. The light, I have stopped looking for it.
What I wish for is-
some god to take me away from this place. I miss the sun. I’m scared of the dark.
It is dark, it is quiet.
It is dark, it is quiet.
It is dark, it is quiet.