2.  I Am An Apple of No One’s Eye 

Like all into this world, I too came by,

No cozy cradle for me, no baby lullaby.

My mom toiling for food, her breast almost dry,

My dad too busy to hold me, even when I cry.

I AM AN APPLE OF NO ONE’S EYE.

I was fed only until I couldn’t, on my own,

I was on streets early away from my home.

At the dawn of life my sun bid me good bye,

My wings cut untimely before I could fly.

I AM AN APPLE OF NO ONE’S EYE.

I pick up rags, carry loads and do other errands,

The fancy of an ice cream just melted in my sweaty hands.

My hands rough with dirt, my fate a bit too shy

Even then if I smile, I will tell you why.

I AM AN APPLE OF NO ONE’S EYE.

When you give us old toys and clothes too,

Just then I grab some used hopes too.

My head down with load, but my spirits are still high,

My present may be drab but my future is not dry.

I AM AN APPLE OF MY OWN EYE. 

© Garima Prakash

Honorable Mentions: 

1. Her Battle by Jill Detrick-Yee, Age 13, Wilton , Connecticut
2. I Am An Apple of No One’s Eye by Garima Prakash, Age 16, Roorkee , India

1.  Her Battle 

Behind curtains she lingers.

Without a word she performs.

Her eyes the only window to

the pain she feels,

and the respect she wants.                 

Her hands tied behind her back, 

the whip in his hand.

Passing laws to demean.

whish

Ignoring protests to belittle.

whish

Stoning the brave to intimidate.

whish 

What will it take to defeat the whip?  

The hidden battle rages

between tradition and equality

for the right tocut off her restraints,

tear down the curtain,

and unleash her voice. 

© Jill Detrick-Yee

1st Prize awarded to Andrew David King, Age 17, of Hayward , CA .  His winning poem: 

Eggshells

Tiananmen Square, June 5, 1989 

I.

Years ago, my little cousin from America

sent me a pogo stick and a puzzle

with a note that said one gave you wings

and the other taught you to find pictures inside pictures.

I believed these things even after the day I first heard

the word for mercy in my language,

as grandmother smashed eggs on the bowl’s lip,

wrung the necks of chickens. 

I was not told the shadows of tanks in city streets

could force the mosaic of a life to assemble.   

Nor was I warned of how high you must jump,

for the length of an under-breath utterance,

to glimpse the fragile truth

between an eternity of patience and a moment lived. 

II.

I tried to drive the tank around you

in this street wide as the possibilities of death.

If there is any truth to the lies of my training

it is there unintentionally, because if cameras had not been rolling,

I would surely have been ordered to crush your porcelain spine

against the brutal asphalt. 

Still, no lens recorded your face,

soaked with the power of eyes rarely lifted.

The world did not see your gaze puncture armor,

coax the turrets from their conviction,

or teach me a word I barely remembered

as three bystanders dragged you back inside

the eggshell of the life you refused to let crack.  

© Andrew David King

6.  You Can Win

Oh would I could I but embrace

The whole of the human race

The children of children of that far removed eve

Borne of man who still believes

That there is solace somewhere near

Away from mankind’s cheerless fears

And that is true for he cannot die

An eternal spirit set about my lies

Striving to survive which he can only do

For he is forever, a spark of truth

We reach to help, and often have wept

At the cruel prisons that man has kept

The eyes of the innocent stare bleak through the wire

The hearts of their keepers cringe in terror afire.

We wonder why, feeling anger grow

At our helplessness to reach, succor and help them know

That we are all of the same wondrous tree

Root, branch and leaf, can’t they seeIf you bleed they bleed too

What is true for you is for them also true

Reach down in their center where they live for real

Help open their windows help them know how to feel.

Know in the long run that they cannot win

Stand tall and persist and they will let you in

Love them in spite of all that they doLove them and their light will come shining through. 

©  LD Sledge

5.  When Children Cease To Be 

Same inquisitive eyes. Same mischievous smiles.

Same giggles and laughter, with bare souls and bare feet they manage to play.

No place to go on sunny afternoons, just demolished churches, demolished mosques, and still they manage to play.

No computer games, no play stations, just whistles made of leaves, and still they manage to play.

No burgers, no cokes, no fries. And still they manage to play.
No party costumes, no balloons, no clean new clothes.
No football on Saturdays, no hotdogs, no cuddly toys with furry ears.
And still they manage to play!

No schools.
No books.
And still they manage to play!

No warm beds, not enough food, no medicines .. .. still they manage to play.
No grassy knolls, but playgrounds of demolished homes, empty mortar shells and plastic bullets.
No parents,
No hope,
No future

… and still we watch and expect them to play. © Fadwa

4.  Peas on a Freight Train 

“Oooh, lots of water!”

“Yeah, we’re so lucky to be here.”

“She takes good care of us.”

“Soil’s not too bad…”

“…kinda sour though.”

“But not too bad.”

“And look at all that sun!”

“…that famous Peace River sun.”

“A little too hot for me.”

“I hope there’s lots of bees.”

“Yeah, lots of bees to tickle us…hee hee.”

“And birds.”“But just singing birds.”

“And no cows.”

“Goodness, no, no cows!”

“Imagine, al the way out to BC!”

“Yeah, I thought we’d never make it, all that rocking and shaking.”

“And all that weight on top of us.”

“And dry: I almost dried out to my middle.”

“But, here we are, lucky to be alive.”

“Hey, down there, I found a trellis: we have a view!”

“Ouch!  There’s thistles here!”

“Let them be.  They’re good for the soil.”

“And for birds.”

“It’s like loosestrife:  someone in government     decided some beautiful flower is a weed, so they kill them all.”

“Mmm…good thing we weren’t on freight train #1943.”

“Tell me!  I’m too young to know.”

“Well, someone in government decided some beautiful people were weeds,  so they ‘weeded’ them.”

“Oh, dear!”

“Yeah, good thing we were not in that freight train.”

“You mean it could’ve been us?”“

“Well, if they can do it to one, they can do it to another.”

“Oooh…”

“Let’s never call anything a weed, O.K?”

“All agreed.”

“Just look how lucky we are: we’ve got a gardener, soil, water, a view,     and that famous Peace River sunshine.”

“Yeah!Here’s to a really good summer you guys, yahoo!”

“Yahoo!” 

© Ruth Hill

3.  Wrote the author:  “I saw a movie with some great Irish music in it so for this one we’ll go for a wee lyric.” 

Clause 09: No one shall be subjected to arbitrary arrest, detention or exile.  

Forlorn, the flag of Maguire she flies,

Detailing the passing of men and their lies.

The trumpet of Dublin , the drum of McGill

Shout out to those bandits who’re running but still.  

The castles, the highlands, the burning of peat

With Ireland brown and winter’s begging for heat,

True men and the mountains sing life as if one –

Their living’s with laughter ev’n when it’s nigh done. 

We work and we drink, then we drink a bit more,

The working to soften and to smarten the bore.

We tell the old stories and inhale them like spring,

The seduction of knoll-songs or the young man’s first fling.  

A man is a man where he holds to his own

When he’s spread out the seed to see his food grown.

A man he must know what rules he does live by

To safeguard his fam’ly and keep his gaze high. 

A way that is true, uncluttered with muss

That keeps the old women from making a fussIs a life that’s one’s own and he knows he controls

Which no gov’ning lackey will ever have stole.  

So prison’s a place for the wickedly few

Not the keeping of those with a wee over’ge of brew.

And it shan’t ever fall to the pompously cruel

Nor ever be home to the madmen’s death tool. 

Living the life of a freeman in love  

the land and the fam’ly and the caring thereof

Is what we soon get when the state leaves alone

The heads of the clans to manage their own. 

© David Aden

So sorry, get distracted, disrupted, .. one of the pitfalls of having too many interests :-)

Second poem with honorable mention .. enjoy: 

Clause 7: All are equal before the law and are entitled without any discrimination to equal protection of the law. All are entitled to equal protection against any discrimination in violation of this Declaration and against any incitement to such discrimination.

It’s a tall tree, pristine and flat-barked,

Stately, impressive, an oddity in a world of twists and curves,

An out-of-place and daunting anomaly that defies imagination,

A resolution of the worldly chaos into a singular perfection:

A violation and yet also culmination of all things real.   What roots it must have! Snaked into the earth,

Strong, unwavering, aged with wisdom and singed with the rightness

Of one who has and will survive.  

Its branches reach right and left, strong enough to hold twelve men and more

In comfort, without strain, without so much as fluttering a leaf

Or quivering a twig. Such a tree, with perfect thrown formed high

And forward, the place where sits a chief, a king or perchance a god.  

A man, small-made to feel, brought to face such forbidding integrity,

An unimportant sacrifice to the gods who could its making still direct,

A man once given the chance to look upon such stately airs

Would know that from this form, naught but high wisdom might exude.  

Yet one man, two men, a group or more, each overawed and

Overwrought, find little comfort in this, the ultimate arboreal cathedral,

Swing now from smaller, imperfect, lifeless trees, their branches home to none,

Their roots but surface-dug, encased with petty clay and tar.  

Two trees, one pristine and perfect, the other tragic flawed,

One polished and smoothed, the other rough-hued and weary:

The dual and unforgiving trees which grow from justice too long forsaken.  

© David Aden

Visit my inspirational blog to read about my recent visit to Beirut!