Arts Consortium of Carver County 2021 Poetry Contest Winners
We are pleased to announce the 2021 winners of the Arts Consortium of Carver County Poetry Contest. This is the 8th annual Poetry Contest sponsored by the ACCC. Our theme was Change. This year we had almost 30 entries with the largest number coming from students in grades 3-5 and from poets living outside of Carver County (Nonresident). We had many strong poems, and it was difficult to choose the winners. Congratulations to the winners and all the participants! We enjoyed reading your work.
We were especially happy with the students’ participation from classes at Victoria Elementary, Chanhassen Elementary (Mrs. Jackson’s class), and Online Learning/Carver Elementary (Jami Weber’s class) for submitting poems. Congratulations to all the students who submitted their work and inspired us with their writing.
Each of our winners receives a ribbon from ACCC to mark their honor and, with their permission, has their poem published on this site. Please take a moment to read the wonderful poems below.
Student Grades 3-5
Rebekah Davison
1st Place
The Way I See
The way I see the start of the page flipping,
with a breath of wind.
The way I see myself reflected,
on satin water that makes me look wide
and longer than so tall.
The way I see my dreams in my mind,
like a movie theatre that lasts forever.
The way I see the icicles dripping,
dripping
dripping
with the sound of spring.
The way I see the trees lifting up
the toes of their branches…
reaching for the sky.
The way I see the smell of brownies
rising
trying
to impress my nose.
The way I see my feet spring,
when the word “GO”
touches my senses.
The way I see
that little compliment,
pushing open my smile.
And the way I see the end of the page
finishing its breath,
exhaling its last words
before the story’s ends.
Pushing
and pushing
out the words
the end!
I see everything!
Avery Williams
2nd Place
Untitled
Forests burning
Pages turning
Change happens
Down fall the ashes
Chains break
Change we thank
Good things rise
Losers winning
Thoughts spinning
Change is near
Change is here
Change we must approach
Change we can coach
Happy ending
The world is mending
Mari Sullivan
3rd Place
Snake In The Sea
Once I saw a snake in the sea.
I swear It swam right by me!
I screamed and then came a squeal.
The lifeguard said, “That’s just an eel!”
I said, “oh…
can’t it still poison me though!?”
Student Grades 9-12
Amelia Fischer
1st Place
Riverbed Body
Why am I confident when I wear a skirt
That shows my upper thighs?
Or my breasts, round things of beauty on my chest,
With twisting purple vines drawing up towards the sky.
Why am I confident when I wear a swimsuit in the sea?
I dress appropriately,
Yet openly,
You share your praise of
“Confidence”- being assured and trusted in oneself.
So where is this confidence of me?
Does the apple fall too far from the tree?
Why is one body the body of all,
Who have been birthed on this earth?
Whose body flows the smoothest?
Whose riverbed is free of rock?
Your riverbed rock rolls off of you,
Tidal waves of insecurity,
An undercurrent of hatred
For the body your mother created.
Why, when you gaze upon our rivers
Do you seek to expunge it?
Drain it all + create a new form.
One that has no river bends to wind around.
No beautiful perfections within its imperfection.
I am not confident when my river runs wide,
When there is no problem with my neighbor the creek?
It is not a watery basis of worthiness.
The clear waves are not ripples of consent.
This is an epidemic.
A pandemic.
One of a kind.
One in six girls throughout their lifetime
will be sexually harassed.
77%.
14-17 years of age,
The most prominent time to get raped.
This system should protect us.
So why does it wreck us?
English class 7th grade,
Boys on either side.
White skin, blonde hair.
I shouldn’t be surprised.
But why are they pinching my thighs?
No one’s paying attention.
Why?
Because I’m just a whore.
One who shows even more,
Regardless if she’s been slut-shamed
At an absurdly young age.
Seventh grade.
What’s the worst she can do?
Coming to class late or getting the flu?
No, they just say they’re caring,
About that skirt that she’s wearing
In the middle of winter.
It’s just so short.
They’re being not fair,
But she won’t report.
She knows where it comes from.
This hatred of women,
The wantings and yearning to make us feel less then
A boy, a man, a male. That what we wear and how we’re shaped
Determines our value.
If we “deserve” to get raped.
These watery graves are not made in our beds,
They are intertwined throughout society’s threads
That makes you think any river is yours.
Any body of water is yours.
Any body is yours.
My riverbed is mine.
I am not confident for having rocks in my riverbed and bumps in my soil.
It is not a thing to cower away from,
The size and form of your river is not something to be “brave” of.
It is something to be of.
What we wear and how we are molded,
Is not an opportunity for a bronze silver or gold and,
no matter how your river body looks,
Whether it be a long sprawling mess or a barely covered line, that body is yours. And it is time.
time.
Time to weed out the poison,
That are killing our girls.
Of what our body looks like,
And what we deserve.
By the way that we dress,
Or the size of our breasts.
And our legs and our chest.
Of picturesque scenes
From Hollywood screens.
And hearing the screams
Behind dumpster machines.
She did not ask for it.
She did not wear that for it.
She wears it for herself.
And the girls whose rape clothes
Are up on the shelf
Of Bindy Museum,
Up in Binghamton.
To remind all of those fat thick and thin
That no matter your size.
No matter your clothes,
A no is a no.
No matter the time no matter the place
If I don’t say yes then you can’t trespass.
So no, my river is not yours to dive in.
It is mine to thrive in.
Adult Carver County Resident
Jen Anderson
1st Place
Solstice
the Sun and the Earth
and all seasons turn
and converge in this moment of brightness
a skip of a heartbeat’s length
within the span of the infinite
the light rays catch and stall the hours
while we wait, breathless
in the heartbeats between
the dawnbreak and the gloaming
on this day of Light
we reap the fruits of our patience
our sweat
our endeavors
our trials
our yearnings
on this day of radiant transformation
we shed our worn and stagnant skins
emerging gods and goddesses reborn
lit from within
by the vital force that traces the forms
of all mortal creatures
and lingers longest, warmest
on this day of days
we dance among sunbeams
and hold close the promises
born true of our hearts
and we wait
holding fast to each breath
surrendering to the unyielding pull
of this dazzling journey of moments
we wait in joyous silence
for the Daylight to fade
Bruce Coghill
2nd Place
Moving
You know you have been my shelter
since the day I was born.
You have served me well
and like me you’re getting worn.
All those Christmas’s and birthdays
and there were quite a few.
Memories of wife and children
who lived here, lived here, too.
I’m getting older, so I have been told
Now what am I supposed to do?
After long denying this problem
my future’s over due.
I’m getting tired and getting frail.
I don’t want to be a burden.
Change will wash over me.
That I can be certain.
It will be easier
having a smaller back yard.
But the thought of leaving you my friend,
I’m finding to be hard.
Memories are all I have left
If my mind doesn’t stray.
Packing them into boxes
It makes me want to stay.
Oh, to be young again
and go back to yesterday.
Wish I could find that special button
that’s clearly marked replay.
As the snow tapped against my window
I said to my lovely wife,
If you think about it, it’s a gentle reminder.
We’re in the winter of our life.
This decision is hard!
I said with a frown,
moving off this, my beloved place.
It’s the hardest thing I will ever do.
Looking back thru the rear-view mirror
at you.
Adult Carver County Non-Resident
Jeannie L. Piekos
1st Place
Becoming again
Just because it feels like
the world you’ve known has
come undone doesn’t mean
that you are finished.
True, there is no going back.
But memories aren’t meant
to ensnare us, and, anyway,
this is a path for going
forward.
Above us—
deep, dark silk
has wrapped
the sky, and snow
has only momentarily
forgotten how to fall.
Beneath us—
the solid, spiraling earth
thrums and hums itself along,
a serpentine path
of certitude and chaos.
Within us—
we spin worlds of our own
that glow from tender,
sieve-like openings where
loss has left its mark.
At the close of our long
night, we see that the terrible
thing we thought might
break us has somehow only
made us more whole.
Micki Blenkush
2nd Place
This Community Garden
has already forgiven
cigarette butts and broken bottles
lifted from its surface.
Boarded up, torn down, vacant lot
now an empty palette
for the art of seeds.
People who can’t speak the language
bend and weed side by side
all through the summer
until they come to know
the tending ways
of their neighbors.
This is not a fairy tale.
No witch or wolf to blame
for hail or lack of rain
as they dig and plant again
in this realm
beneath our sun. Straw hats
bowed next to hijabs
and baseball caps.
Compost turned to soil
by worms in silent work.
Every shovelful a testament
away from crumbled mortar.
Heartsick elders too weak to walk
all through drywall winter
lean their canes against the fence
to plant peppers and tomatoes.
Parents stoop to show children
bean sprouts curled in tight promise
just about to spring
from their plot of earth.
Previously published in Encore anthology, 2017, National Federation of State Poetry Societies.
