In celebration of National Poetry Month, Columbia University Press is pleased to announce the three winners and one honorable mention in the sixth annual Columbia Granger's World of Poetry® Student Poetry Contest.


WINNING POEMS

“Red Banner”

by Wyndii Schram-Miller of Upper Merion High School, Pennsylvania,
    inspired by “The Wound Dresser” by Walt Whitman


The thought of something new, new feet on old soil,
The laughs and the cries of what seems to be new breaths.
They deceived and they lied, oh why did they do this?
Now the sky raining with fire, the lands have burnt down,
Not our fault but theirs, we wait till the end of the deathsong.
The red banner is still high on the peak,
Seeking out the symbol of glory.
Countries conquered by corpses,
And the black boots in unison, marching past the grave's dreams.
The bloody hands dragged us down to the hole, one by one.
Ever more darkness shrouds the sights of the mourning birds,
Tables were flipped and clocks were broken,
Books were burned and shoes were piled,
Stacked chambers of already booked rooms by fooled liars.
The number of piled birds rose as the sun heightened.
Humanity is the new seed of terror planted in each deceived gesture.
Behind the cloud is the sun, trapping thoughts of forgiveness.
Remembrance still lingers in the minds of the wounded,
Among the shadows of the deceased screams and cries.
It is always the roots that test the loyalty of a man, not the branches.
Mourners awake from the chilled silence of trees scowls,
Each corner of grass forgetting the feeling of snow,
Do they remember the dark grass underneath the shade of the elm?
Do they still remember the opulent hush from the steel tracks of the train?
As the war within fades, so does the burden of past consequences.

     ----------------

"Still"

by Nathalie Robayo of Marymount School of New York,
    inspired by "The Song of Oceanides" by Heinrich Heine


You dove right in,
a sea of ripples rising through the foam,
the force of your fall disrupting the stillness.
Steadily, you breathed and I watched the air from your lungs turn to
Ice. The blue of your veins seemed to surge into the crystal
blood underneath you, its brine
fresh in your wounds and
caught in your throat.
The warmth began to seep from your smile
as your face turned cold.
I longed for the stillness of
Before,
the hum of gentle waves,
Tranquility’s soothing sear.
The trembling of the water
ceased and the sky held the promise of darkness.
Still,
HONORABLE MENTION

"The Russian Lie"

by  Oleksii Klapushynskyi of the Woodberry Forest School, Virginia,
    inspired by "Dulce Et Decorum Est" by Wilfred Owen.


Bent double, arms around your head.
Run, run for your life, before it gets you.
To the shelter, through the dark night.
The leftovers of the city are on fire again.
 
Men and Women,
Children on their backs scuttled asleep,
Bare feet, in their pajamas.
Drunk with fatigue, shell shocked, deaf from “rescuing” bombshells.
 
Siren! SIREN!  50th night at one of the Mariupol’s bomb shelters.
Some still were outside, they didn’t make it.
One second, one scream, one explosion.
 
In all my dreams, every time I close my eyes,
I see his look at me: his anger, his desperation, and my helpless self.
I am a bystander thousands of miles away
From everything and everyone labeled ‘home’.
The guilt, just like a deadly tumor, grows on the inside.
And every time I wake up, I don’t feel better,
Just another night, I am in my bed,
And his emotionless face in front of me.
 
In some other dreams, you too could pace,
Behind other people hustling in rush,
From the Death, that stared at their faces.
And you would watch the ruins of the city,
Demolished, empty buildings,
And cold bodies laying on the ground,
You would hear the terrifying scream of the woman,
Whose child got torn down to pieces,
From an unfair war, from absurd ‘military operation’,