Poetry contest winners for digital newspaper
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May 13, 2022
As renowned American poet Robert Frost once said, “Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and thought has found words.”
This year, many esteemed poets from West Ottawa submitted their best works to The WestOttawan’s annual poetry competition. After careful reading and consideration, The WestOttawan is delighted to announce Soph. Justin Kuiper as West Ottawa’s 2022 Poet Laureate.
“‘To the Authors’ pays tribute to the many writers who I have never and may never meet, but who had a great impact on me nonetheless, and inspired me to follow in their footsteps. I decided to submit it to the competition because I realize that authors profoundly influence all of us in one way or another, and I hope, through this poem, that anybody reading it may remember those authors and poets and dreamers and appreciate how they have changed the world,” Kuiper said.
This year’s poetry competition winners are as follows:
Taking first place is Justin Kuiper, second place is Sr. Zoebelle Bean, and third place is Sr. Saedra Bierling.
Third place:
“Misunderstandings”
Saedra Bierling
How long does it take to decipher if your lucky coin is lucky?
Does one bad day ruin it?
I know that not all misfortunes
Are stopped by the small anomalies
That weigh down my pockets.
I wouldn’t say that luck has been
For or against me
But I will say
Bad days come and go
And that has never been stopped by a penny.
Second place:
“Was’t Hamlet?”
Zoebelle Bean
Just past dawn, the sun stands.
I see it with shadows in my heart.
Taller it reaches, drawing a path against the sky,
But the darkness only grows in my gut.
It does not shy away in the noontime sun-
It writhes and moans, grumbling with hunger,
Hunger that is only satiated with
Revenge.
I write as I while
The Time
Of a ghost who
Bothers me on the terrace,
Of a girlfriend
Who just doesn’t understand,
And of an uncle
Who murdered my father.
He mocks me as if I twere a little boy:
“Cast thy nighted color off, boy,
Stand up straight, boy,
Let thine eye look like a friend, boy,
Pay no heed to my affairs, boy,
Shoo, boy.”
Mother dearest, don’t you see,
He is getting the better of thee!
Inaction against action,
I grapple with myself.
O, that this too too solid flesh would
Melt,
Thaw,
And resolve itself,
Resolve my family issues,
Resolve my lying uncle and my
Clueless mother dearest,
Who cannot see
What her husband is:
A little more than kin and less than kind behind
Closed doors and closed
Curtains …
Mine is a dark horse, struggling against the reins.
The line is taut, the muscle fibres stretching,
Breaking
Through the fabric, the curtain that separates
Sense
Is leaving me, leaving me standing with a
Knife
Silver in the red, silver in the body that is
Laying
Around for an answer to appear.
You see the point of a knife
Driven through the inky,
Red
River that shimmers in the
Sun,
Bright silver against dark
Blood.
I know no emotion as this
Action is made by my hand.
If thy right hand offend thee,
Cut it off and
Cast
It
From
Thee.
For it is profitable for thee that
One of thy members should perish and not
The whole of you.
Foolish, foolish!
I deny the action.
I’m lost and confused,
Discouraged and unmotivated.
I liken myself to a rolling ocean-
Constantly pushing against the shore but
Unwilling to commit to actually washing over.
I roll in my despair,
I beat against my hopes.
A bat in my right and a log in the left
I clobber what is left of my future.
I speak in tongues to those who
Understand only riddles.
I try to tell the dumb and deaf
To wise up against their masters.
I try and I plead
To my devoted mother
That one is not as he seems.
Foolish, foolish!
I am denied any action.
Give me candy!
Something sweet rather than sour,
A ripened apple, something heavy,
Something that won’t stick to the tree
Of knowledge.
Something intentional,
Something undone.
A sweater rolling away in the distance…
I see my mind leave me.
But if my mind leaves me,
Who is left?
I must stay awake.
I must keep my dignity.
For in this sleep of death what dreams may come
Should I close my eyes,
Should I let go.
I can see the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune
Bearing down upon me.
But if I take arms against this sea of troubles
Will my opposition truly end them?
Which is nobler of the mind…
Nobler, my butt!
My love is waiting for me
Across the undiscovered country.
I see her in the water
But I know, no traveler returns.
She is lost to me.
The lady doth protest too much, methinks.
Her words hit me with unnecessary force.
The water stings her cheeks in death
Just as her speech did in life.
Roses adorn her hair,
Thorns adorn my heart.
I gurgle for hope
As she settles in the stream.
Her returned letters flutter before my eyelids,
And the white paper is stark against her
Darkly turned back.
All that is left
Is a sword tipped with
P I O
O S N
My last chance comes in
The form of a dagger,
The shape of a goblet,
The hands of an old man,
Who wedded my mother and left
Me for dead.
Was’t Hamlet who hurt you?
No, never Hamlet
Was’t Hamlet who’s dead?
No, never-
I’m dying-
I’m gasping-
Horatio’s eyes leave me and
Heaven greets me.
I feel as if
Ophelia sees me now, and she’s in my arms.
I rest knowing we’ll be draped in linens
And be kissed by white paper.
First place:
“To the Authors”
Justin Kuiper
To all the authors who had the courage
To take up a sword and face their dragons
Who built the towering castle turrets
Who made the ships and wove their captains
To all the authors who tilled the earth
And planted seeds within the ground
Who stoked red fire upon the hearth
And saw veiled magic in the clouds
To all the authors who roamed the forest
And sunk their feet into the grass
Who listened to an unseen chorus
Who saw beyond the looking glass
To all the authors I wish I’d known
Who painted colors in the water
Who chiseled beauty from the stone
You’ve made me too into an author
To all the poets who built a boat
And sailed into a great unknown
Who told the darkness of endless hope
And marched to face their foes alone
To all the poets who raised a sword
Girded in the armor of song and rhyme
Who befriended notes and strummed their chords
Who danced upon the threads of time
To all the poets who saw beyond
And kindled prose onto blank pages
Who wielded words like wizard’s wands
Who wept with love of their creations
To all the poets I’ve never met
Who saw the truth within each moment
Who carved words down with tears and sweat
You’ve made me too into a poet
To all the dreamers who cleared the trails
And put signposts within the ground
Who carried with them ancient tales
To find things which had not been found
To all the dreamers who spent their souls
To see the ending of their fight
Who saw the end and reached the goal
Who sprinkled the air around with light
To all the dreamers who saw a need
And strove to build a better place
Who saw ripe fields in a plain of weeds
Who seasoned life with salt of grace
To all the dreamers I’ve never known
The lovers and the believers
Who saw new worlds in sheets of stone
You’ve made me too into a dreamer
“There is a long history of poets writing about becoming a writer and discovering the power of language, and this poem fits within that legacy,” Instructor and poetry competition judge Ann Kirkendall said. “His poem has a lovely interplay of the tangible (“blank pages,” “ripe fields”) and intangible (“salt of grace,” “threads of time”). It has a rhythm and rhyme, but it never devolves into a sing-song-y nursery rhyme. Kuiper’s poem has been crafted; it has a structure and intentionality that most student-poems lack. And he is certainly playing to his audience; English teacher-judges like me understand that to write is to dream,” she said.
Congratulations to Justin Kuiper, Zoebelle Bean, and Saedra Bierling, and thank you to each and every student who submitted a poem to the competition. The WestOttawan is proud to showcase such prolific writers and looks forward to seeing next year’s talented submissions.