WRiting Contest #1 - Poetry

Intermediate Category Winning SUbmissions

A Home From Before
By Valencia Cui
First Place, Intermediate Category

Not built from brick or stone
But from memories time had known
Scent of rain on sun-warmed ground
The loud and quietest little sounds
Of footsteps in the hallway fading,
And someone, from another room, calling

A window where the big twin trees,
Would tap its branches faithfully,
And cast a lace of light and shade
On laughter that will never fade.
A fortress built of bedtime stories
Of minor hurts and morning glories

The walls know every secret told
In winter’s chill or summer’s gold
I cannot find it on a map
Time has drawn its final cap
The key no longer fits the door
The rooms echo with nothing more

Yet, in my mind, I still can climb
The stairs of that remembered time.
For a home from before is not a place
That time or distance can erase
The first world I ever know
And still the truest one I do.

Creativity
By Vincent Kapoor
Second Place, Intermediate Category

People used to bloom and blossom.
People used to cultivate and create.
People used to think outside the box.

Now people don’t.
Now they’ll find every loophole in the book,
Just to get out of using their heads.

Doing what others do,
Following what everyone else does,
Listening to what everyone else says.

People used to be different,
Now different is the same.

No one has ever changed the world by following the rules.
But people are doing the same things,
So the world is going to stay the same.

Not me,
I want to cultivate and create,
be different and change the world.

I am going to break out of my cage,
Not just think out of the box-
I am going to destroy the box.

I am not going to follow every one else’s path,
I will forge a new path with the power of my will.
I will bloom and blossom.

The Conservation of the Last Brain Cell
By Desmond Li
Third Place, Intermediate Category

Think of the times,
when your last brain cell
saved you from doing
stupid stuff.

Like a knight in shining armor,
working it’s little butt off
to stop you from sending
“lol ok” to your teacher..

Like a champion.
Working on homework at 11:59
that is due at 12:00
and yet he still powers through.

Like a hero
Holding on with his last dendrite.

Let his sacrifice not be in vain
Let him be remembered like
The knight, the champion, the hero
He lived to be.

That little brain cell.
A champion.
A legend.
The conqueror
Probably dead now.

*Made with the last brain cell.*

Grandpa’s Garden
By Emma Shen
Honourable Mention, Intermediate Category

In my grandpa’s patch of green,
Where vines grow thick and leaves grow clean,
The tomatoes blush in summer’s light,
Held up with string and wrapped up tight.

Pipe cleaners twist with tender care,
To lift the fruits that ripen there.
Cucumbers climb with quiet might,
Their tendrils dancing left and right.

Grandpa walks in shorts of black,
A grey-blue shirt upon his back.
He hums a tune, the morning’s sweet,
Grey running shoes on steady feet.

Pumpkin vines stretch, the leaves a frame,
Each round green globe catching the flame
Of golden sun that drapes the land,
Making orange glow from Grandpa’s hand.

The air grows cool, the light turns gold,
As summer’s story nears its fold.
We watch together, side by side,
As autumn’s colors start to slide.

When harvest comes, we laugh with cheer,
The day is soft, the sky half-clear.
I taste the tomatoes, small and bright,
Orange and sweet — a pure delight.
For every fruit, each leaf and seed,
Was grown with love — that’s all they need.

The Perfect Golf Shot
By Miranda Luo
Honourable Mention, Intermediate Category

I towered over the golf ball,
Feeling nervous.
I shakily pulled back my putter,
Then let it go.

The contact,
It was perfect.
The soft feel,
The ball hitting my clubface,
It was all perfect and pure.
I watched the ball

Towards the hole.

Time seemed to move in s l o w
Motion.
The ball slid
Over the smooth

r l i g

o l n

Green masses.
I watched the ball roll over
Every divot hole,
Every bump.
The ball rolled towards the hole,
Then disappeared,
Over the edge.

The sound of the ball,
It hitting the bottom of the hole,
Clunking around,
It was very satisfying.
Every sound that rang out was cool,
Pure,
Clear.
When the sound finally faded,
a loud cheer erupted.

Everyone cheered for me,
Shouting compliments,
Expressing joy and surprise.
I proudly
Marched towards the hole,
Feeling satisfied.

I felt elated.
Making a putt like that,
With a long distance,
Difficult, uneven hills,
Between me and the hole,
You just couldn’t walk away,
Without feeling proud.

All my bad feelings
From the previous hole,
Faded away,
Like mist in the rising sun,
Replaced by a
Hopeful,
Proud,
Happy
Bubble.