| You can search the Artella Web site or the Shoppes of Artella RIGHT HERE! |
ARTELLA'S POETRY GARDENS OF FAME! Click the links below to read the winning poems for the week of January 21, 2005. Poetry Gardens of Fame Index |
Second Place
Third Place
Fourth Place
Robin Huelsman
|
At an Impasse en Route
A desolate road invoked in error I stagger through the morning fog Scrambling at thoughts too scattered to grasp Past the wake of a day prescribed by function Embracing futility as a fact of fate Mysteriously distracted from the berm I was tracking As the shadow of a structure emerged from the haze Relinquishing the road and its condemned consecrations Kicking through brush till reaching a fence Overgrown with life and footed in stone Reaching up to the trees tempting its resolve Brushing back the branches from the rusted wrought iron I peer inside through hands cupped in quotations Where a house stands stately though seemingly abandoned Blackened windows, time ravaged façade I glanced back towards the road and my deferred inception But this imposing digression beckons my attention Or is it silence that spawns this souls insurrection Gives pause to retreat for the sake of reflection Then I thought I saw the face of a child in the window Gazing into space as if wistfully dreaming Then the face faded and the window went black And a denser fog began to assemble I turned but quickly froze in my tracks What unbeknownst presence might lurk in this murk What devious device Would be assigned to its work And at that moment the sound of voices Their unearthly chatter faint but insidious I raised my hands to block my brow But all I could see was the fog before me |
Back to Index
Ann McGovern
|
HELLO
At the age of seven I started to stutter, after my father died, and a stranger followed me into the self-service elevator. I remember he wore a waiter's apron. I remember kicking and screaming. Stuttering replaced screaming. I never spoke in school. Never raised my hand. No one called on me. It was too painful to hear me try and talk. Thinking I lacked attention, they made me carry the flag at a school assembly. My white blouse had a missing button. I wanted to drop through the floor. At 17, they sent me to Dr. Green's Hospital for Speech Disorders. The teachers were former stutterers. Mine took me home in his car and touched me. My stutter got worse, mostly on vowels and silent h's. Answering the phone, I couldn't say, "hello." At 20, I had a boyfriend who vowed to cure me. Speaking slowly and tracing my hand along a table didn't help. Buying me a parrot didn't help. My boyfriend named the parrot Hello. I had to greet the parrot every day. "Huh-huh-huh-lo. Huh-huh-lo." This story would be funny if the parrot learned to stutter and say, "huh-huh-huh-lo." But the dumb bird never said a word. I gave it away to Helen who worked at the cleaners. I kept on stuttering until I fell in love with a man who believed I was precious. He proved it at Howard Johnson's where he bought me a ring from a vending machine and hid it in the fried clams. |
Back to Index
Jos Munro
|
South Canterbury Bus Ride (heading home for Christmas 2004, South Island, New Zealand) The bus heads south through St Andrews where you can put your left arm out of the window and tickle the sea with your little finger and at a stretch with your right arm you can cup the tops of the mountains with your hand & the land rolls and curls in between |
Back to Index
Dawn Richerson
|
Wild-Hearted Winter Queen
Chiseled wolves tracked her long through forest of her fear, silencing icy wind with howls superior. Feral flames flashed in hungry eyes and lit a course, dared shifting snowdrifts to succumb to shadowy force On arctic throne ornate rode solemn winters queen not fearing packs pursuit, though unsettled by the scene. Generations of progress theyd devour, erase should she allow them to succeed in rash, reckless chase Invisible boundary drawn by society separated her from such savage vulgarity. Still, seduced with sophisticated style en route to chosen prize, fierce love, their protection resolute, she felt a sacred bond, kinship, to no avail, with kind who filled her dreams with unruly plaintiff wails. So in the frozen tundra of her life, she shed regal robe of propriety, bolted free and fed Ravenous need, aching and unfulfilled desire to run with wolves, driven by wild winter heart on fire. |
Back to Index