Great job, everyone! I really enjoyed reading your poems. 

3rd place: Rogue! That was super dark in the best way possible! The line breaks and quick, almost frantic description really communicated the fear in the poem. The ending was so good and creepy, gah. Great work!

2nd place: Leafpool! I like the title, and how you depicted a more metaphorical form of escape. You captured a very specific yet universal feeling, and it's haunting and sweet in all the right ways. I adore the line, "I fell hard and long for you."

1st place: Soren! Your poem is absolutely brilliant, it truly knocked the wind out of me. It gives me Orpheus and Euridyce vibes, and it's so darkly pretty and chilling, I love love love it. My favorite parts were the imagery of "arms... dipped in the River Styx" and "the mellow nothing under my eylids". Amazing job!! <3

Sorry everyone, I lied about the due date/judging. I'm leaving for summer camp on the 18th, so I'm moving the judging to the 25th. Sorry about that!

I prefer to post poetry anonymously, but, er, here is my poem for the contest? 

~

The scent of Oranges drifts upon the wind, 

Such a innocent smell,

Memory’s drift to the surface, 

Jumping and withdrawing like flames, 

Playing among the ashes I the fireplace, 

Coming sharp, and clear, details easy to distinguish, 

And, 

Fading, into only the smell 

Once again, 

Tears soon join the memory’s

Behind my eyelids, 

Such a innocent smell, 

Such a innocent child, 

Introduced to the pain of life, 

So young was I, but a sapling compared to the mighty oaks before me, 

Such a innocent smell, 

My feet, kicking up dust, carry me along the dirt path, 

Back home, 

To the house where I can escape the memory’s, 

I bury my nose into my pillow,

To extinguish the last traces of the scent from my nostrils, 

Such a innocent smell, 

Will I ever face my past, 

Without flinching, 

Without running, 

With courage? 

Writing prompt: Courage

~~~~~

Glancing up I frown,

Raising my hand,

then standing up 

To face the rest 

"That is not courage."

I simply add

to our class debate,

"Yes, it might seem like

an act of courage, to us,

But not for an 'invincible' hero.

Heracles was driven

by pride, and glory,

by repaying his debt, and hubris only."

I state flatly. 

"Is that so?" 

My English teacher responds

Narrowing her eyes,

Now thoroughly interested. 

"Please elaborate." 

Is all she says, expectantly. 

"For any of us, slaying the Hydra

Or the Nemean Lion

Would be quite

the courageous undertaking.

But not to a hero

who always wins, 

And whose destiny,

A point is making."

I pause, taking a deep breath,

"Real courage isn't always

So loud and flamboyant,

it can be simple,

Such as talking to some one new,

Or as important

as avoiding a war,

With, at stake, your reputation, too."

I sit back down,

My classmates

and teacher smiling,

And on the inside

Knowing that sometimes trialing

My often radical ideas also

requires some courage rallying.

Get Up, Get Up Onto Your Own Two Feet

Why sit and think when you already know the answer? 

You are hated,

Bullied, 

Despised

When you fall you can't even get up onto your own two feet

Why do you expect someone then to stand up for you?

Why do you expect someone to have the courage when you can't do anything yourself?

Get up

Get up

Get up onto your own two feet

Have courage

Believe

And have courage 

Have the courage to stand up 

Stand strong and tall on your own two feet

You will not fall if you have courage 

I'm not sure this fits the theme properly, but oh well.

• • • • 

some nights the sea

the great beyond lives in my bathroom

balanced on the tub’s porcelain edge.

suspended, on tip-toe, i press my hand

flat against the wall

and my palm cups an ancient globe.

it is easy to love this headless figure

a blurry mirror belladonna.

arm to thigh to graceful back, reflected in

a steam-smoked shard of glass

thoughtless, unbreathing.

the cracked shutters send light

slivering across nightshade hips

as the shower head spits and cries

its saliva scattering across hexagonal tile

my picture-show stays picture-sure:

there is no courage

in loving the fatale.

braver, though,

is adoring the prefix, is kissing the femme, is

loving the girl in the mirror,

when she steps down from the ledge

braver still, to smile and mean it, at her

head and shoulders and

heart

and all.