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”
Inspired by Toni Morrison’s, The Bluest Eye
By Kiarra Lynn Smith
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.
____________________________________________________________________________
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
