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These winning poems really shine

Back in October, we invited "Kidspace" readers to submit poems for our fourth annual young people's poetry contest. We were hoping you would flood us with poems, and you did. We received more than 1,300.

Entries came from all over the United States, and a few from Great Britain and the Bahamas. The poems were reviewed by three judges: Diana Der-Hovanessian, president of the New England Poetry Club; Maria Mazziotti Gillan, director of the Poetry Center in Paterson, N.J.; and Elizabeth Lund, the Monitor's poetry editor.

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Many thanks to everyone who participated! Look for our new contest in October. And to those of you who provided a stamped, self-addressed envelope: We'll be sending out your "I'm a poet" buttons next month.

The editors

For information about next year's contest, past winners, tips, and a teacher's guide, go to:


for Mackenzie, age 2

She wakes in her new bed, calling out 'my name.

As my head rises from the pillow, she smiles.

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She asks me if she can wake up now,

as if to make sure it is morning

and not dark anymore.

She climbs out of her bed and into mine,

places her yellow knitted blanket on my lap

and rests her head on my knee.

I gaze at her, trying to imagine

what is going through her mind.

I think she is a wonder.

She asks for a drink of water

and we go to the kitchen

where I pour her a cup.

She carefully climbs onto her chair

at the table, and drinks

while I stare at her in amazement

watching how carefully

she sips and puts the cup down -

every movement distinct, important.

Then softly, she reaches her hand to mine.

On this cold morning, I am filled

with warmth. I smile,

learning more every day

what is truly important.

Eva Glaser

Grade 9

St. Mary's City, Md.

Strum, end, and remnant

In my head

I hear

the strum

to which the candle flame


The rhythm

of its light

alluring the shadow.

In my eyes

I see

the end

of a brightness


The heat

of drowning dark

in rose wax.

In my heart

I feel

the remnant

of a light


the glass

with aromatic whim.

J. Oscar Polanco

Llano, Texas

Grade 10

Ice ballet

The ice crystals sway

on the trees hitting

against each other

making music for

the snow ballerinas

as they jump and skip

in the wind.

Corey Storb

Denver, Colo.

Grade 3

Music in the ground

I drop a stone down the stairs.

A blink a blank a plunk.

It sounds as if there's music under the ground

no one has yet found.

Caitlin O'Brien

Oconomowoc, Wis.

Grade 4


Lifted by your pride

Your burning head lights the sky

And frightens the moon

Aubrynn Nealis

Delhi, N.Y.

Grade 10

The wild stallion

He does not shine.

Scars do not shine in the sun

and he carries many scars.

From the hard hind feet of mares.

From the hard teeth of rivals.

From the hard land itself.

His mane and tail torn short by sagebrush.

His hooves worn down by stones.

He does not shine.

He does not wear the scars like medals.

Glory does not find water.

Glory does not find grass.

Glory does not save foals from coyotes.

He does not care about scars at all,

and when he stands on the mesa,

to smell the air for danger,

it is not so you can call him beautiful.

Laura Perry

Johnstown, Ohio

Grade 7


A swarm of yellow and red butterflies

float through the air

Krista Shaw

Denver, Colo.

Grade 6


Balls bats baseball hats grass

dirt sliding diving screaming

chanting cheering hitting throwing

charging winning losing crying

shouting catching dropping running

single double triple home run

grand slam glove 1st base 2nd base

3rd base home plate left field right field

Casey Hackett

Gorham, Maine

Grade 7

(c) Copyright 1999. The Christian Science Publishing Society

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