The following are the winners of this year's annual teen poetry contest, sponsored by Richmond Public Library. The contest encompasses two age categories - 12 to 15 and 16 to 18 years old.
12-15 year old group Labyrinth Night Red flashing, blood rushing Heartbeat loud in my ears Door slamming, feet pounding run run run run run Pass the streetlights, into the shadows And the night lets me scream Scream into silence Let my problems engulf the entirety of This dark world Make them bigger than they seem. Hope the Heavens are listening Fill the silence with my troubles Until all that's left are my ragged breaths And it feels like a saw is being drawn up my lungs With every heavy pant. From far off, tires screeching and horns honking A swerve and a crash In another direction, sirens. The moon is full and it's a cloudless night and I'm all alone in the dark with my small little problems compared to this vast, labyrinth night.
By Salisa Jatuweerapong (14)
My Spring Fling
He likes to tease Covering my car in pink mess But his strong arms surround me And the wind carries his light caress. 7 days later.
Fleeting, weeklong beauty Isn't spring the season of love? Cherry blossom, please don't leave At my bruised heart, cruel petals do shove. Oh tragedy; oh storm of spring To this, Shakespeare would fawn Cherry blossom you've left me Dead remains all over my lawn.
By Angela Fong (15)
16-18 year old group Keen You're a peach, I suppose With your bitter pit and sunshine sweetness. I see you, though You think no one is looking when you drop your eyes.
(Have you ever even seen a blue sky?) They picked you, unripe But so eager and electric. Break through your surface and there you are!
Some peach you are! Hellish mind Foolish child.
By Vivienne Ramirez (16)
Beautiful
My best friend is beautiful At a glance Long brown hair cascades down her shoulders, her sky blue eyes sparkle But if you look closer, her eyes are littered with empty darkness and Her arm is littered with deep gaping cuts Failure is engraved Her injuries are not from careless choices, nor accidents They are casualties of a war being fought inside of her A razor blade carving out the score on her skin She hides her battle wounds since Society tells her that something is wrong with her Her parents roll their eyes in disgust; they think it's a phase Her sister says she should snap out of it Teachers think she has a motivation issue Her friends tell her that she is attention seeking Her new companion in her head is egging her on, Slowly muffling her cries Depression and an aching loneliness are now her only comrades Their hateful words engraved into her mind Blossoming into a pattern of hopelessness And as hard as I try, pulling her out of their grip is impossible But I am not giving up Scars litter her arm Battles are waged in her head Depression hugs her close But I am holding her hand as the battle wages on, And I have to say that My best friend is beautiful
By Julia Olsen (18)
Portrait of a Homeless Man Blaring horns of the angry cars that have woken up before the sun act as an alarm, reminding him that his nightmares and reality are no different at all.
Hurried footsteps, quick, judging glances; a few suggesting pity, but most accompanied by a disgusted frown of the brow as if they are the kings and he, the peasant.
His stomach, a relentless and vicious lion, continually roaring while it scours the floors of the concrete jungle, looking for anything left behind by the heartless animals passing by.
Hope, depleting by the day like the money in his pocket, creating an everlasting expression of exhaustion on his rugged face.
Smells of the littered streets, the pureness of the icy air, his torn-up clothes that protect him through the dark, endless night, combine into one, overwhelming stench that surrounds him. Why does he fight through the meaningless days to live when he has reached the point where life is his greatest luxury ?
Where the very idea of death does not send shivers down the spine, but rather, uplifts the mind? No family to alleviate the loneliness, no shelter to protect from the harsh cold, no money, no chance at redemption. But he lives on. By Kenneth Ng (16)
