On Wednesday, April 29th at 7:00pm, we will have The 11th Lee Golomb Cadiff Teen Poetry Contest awards ceremony. The contest has been expanded to include grades 5 through 12. Two special categories were added this year: Best Sports Poem & Best Humorous Poem. The ceremony honors the local poets who submitted the best original poems. Come hear the winning entries—all are welcome. Refreshments will be served.
THANK YOU FOR ALL YOUR ENTRIES! LOTS OF GREAT POEMS – GLAD I’M NOT A JUDGE! SEE YOU ON APRIL 29th.
The finalists have been announced for the 11th Annual Lee Golomb Cadiff Teen Poetry Contest. From over 250 poems submitted, the judges have selected the following finalists:
From Swampscott Middle School:
Elif Bithell -grade 6, Annie Burgett – grade 8, Isaac Dreeben – grade 8, Alexandra Fisk – grade 8, Clara Harrington – grade 8, Aidan McMaster -grade 6, Bianna Pierce – grade 7, Odin Randell- grade 7, Olivia Reiser – grade 8, Ethan Runstadler – grade 8, Vreni Runstadler – grade 5, Bella Seligson – grade 7, Marley Schmidt – grade 8, Sarah Tribendis – grade 6, and Maddie Winklosky – grade 6.
From Swampscott High School:
Brandon Adelman -grade 11, Lisa Gaber -grade 12, and Ethan Smith-grade 11.
The finalists will find out what prize they won at the Awards Ceremony on Wednesday, April 29th at 7pm at the Swampscott Public Library, 61 Burrill Street, 781-596-8867.The award winners will read their original poetry. Dessert will be served. The public is welcome.
Exciting changes have been made to the contest this year:
It’s time for the Teen Poetry Contest! This contest is for original poetry, with a 40 line limit. Be sure and check your grammar and spelling – the judges will be checking, too!
THE LEE GOLOMB CADIFF
TEEN POETRY CONTEST
We are proud to announce The 11th Annual Lee Golomb Cadiff Teen Poetry Contest. To enter, you must live in Swampscott, MA or attend a school located in Swampscott, MA. The contest is for 5th – 12th grade students. CASH AND OTHER PRIZES WILL BE AWARDED TO THE WINNERS. Entry forms will be available at local schools, the library and on the library’s website http://www.noblenet.org/swampscott on the Teen Scene Page. Poems must be submitted by Thursday, February 26, 2015. Please call the library 781-596-8867 for further information.
The Awards Ceremony for the 10th Annual Lee Golomb Cadiff Teen Poetry Contest was held on April 30, 2014. From over 300 poems submitted, the judges selected 12 finalists. Their prizes are listed below next to their poems.
From Swampscott Middle School:
Sophia Bereaud -grade 8, Annie Burgett– grade 7, Luana Dos Santos – grade 8, Brian Hoang – grade 8, Gina Hollenbach – grade 8, Ruby Jacobs- grade 8, Lori Kholomyansky – grade 7, and Troy Levine – grade 8
From Swampscott High School:
Erica Markarian -grade 12, Deanna Mazina-grade12, Luke O’Brien-grade 11, and Claire Weaver-Zeman -grade 12
Swampscott Middle School
Sticks and Stones
In days of old, I have been told, she was a beauty queen
Admirers surrounding her, for friendship they were keen
In popularity, she had the better of the fight
There were chick flicks and outings, and laughter in the night.
Paint the backdrop pink, and our killers take the stage
A breakup, lies to make up, social media outrage
Long fingernails to keyboard, they kept their weapons out of sight
And she read those harsh comments via whispers in the night.
These unrelenting demons subjected her to such pain
She succumbed to relief, through the bottle and the blade
And when society discovered that this girl was not all right
Enter therapy, and arguments, and sobbing in the night.
And now, we wonder fearfully, how does this story end?
In all honesty, dear bystander, I simply can’t pretend
If she’s ventured too far in the dark to now embrace the light:
Then what I fear most, is silence in the night.
a drop of sound
in the cacophony
A few notes
in a simple pattern
that precious few will stop for.
A bundle of notes
complimenting one another.
A crowd of notes
blending and mixing
to begin a story.
A symphony of notes
overpowering all else
an ocean of sound
tales layered and compressed into
Don’t look again,
in the dark corner.
you know what you saw.
a hungry stare,
a row of sharp teeth,
but don’t look again.
Don’t fall asleep,
Don’t hide under the covers,
it’ll come closer.
Don’t turn on the light,
it’ll be mad.
Don’t look under the bed,
Don’t look again.
at that dark corner.
Look Well to This Day
On a bitter, turbulent night,
incapacitating waves smash against the side of the boat. Broken
pieces of the structure fall deep into the bottomless space of the sea.
I look around at my deck. It is empty and I stand aboard unaided,
which means I must face the tide alone.
Trying to steer the ship into safer waters proves to be absurd.
There is no one to help me and my body trembles with anxiety.
There must be a reason for my loneliness aboard the boat.
At this point I do not care and I do not know how to move into calm waters.
I close my eyes and prepare myself for what is to come.
With both hands I grip one side of the boat.
The vessel begins to draw into the storm and
the absolute waves begin to rip apart the boat.
My body is rapidly yanked to each side of the boat.
My stomach throbs and my watered eyes are blurred, but this is nothing new.
As the waters fill up the deck and the waves smash down on me,
I rise from the hard, wooden floor of the deck.
I sprint down the sinking ship and I stumble many times.
But a boy learns to stand.
I then take a far leap into the sea.
The salt water feels cool on my mucked up skin.
Swimming up the surface, I witness the shipwreck.
I paddle to a thick wooden chunk of what appears to be part of my mast.
From there, I heave my soaked body over the mast
and my gut is crushed from the pressure of my body.
As I dangle from the mast, I feel the beaming sun and the warmth it gives.
As I open my eyes, I take in what appears to be calm and prosperous waters.
I have cracked but I will not be broken.
You made me a promise,
that you’d come back from the war.
That war could never tear us apart.
That being apart was only temporary.
And I believed
your words were true.
But now proof
you were a hero
and a worn American flag
is all I have left
Square With Three Corners
Same mind, different people,
your problems are my problems
her problems are your problems.
Sharing concerns via text therapy,
instant results in the digital age.
Our circle is tight,
the line unbroken
together we shall stay.
We are a square with three corners,
no one will ever fill the fourth,
a geometric family
Surrounding me is a silence
that no one else can hear
the last note of the song I heard
vibrates in my ears.
Flowing like a river,
clouded with sharps and bass.
Singing, swinging, cheering, screaming
through crowds and empty space.
Gathering inside of us; our savior,
our rebel, our lifeline.
So passionate, so profound,
so deep inside our lifetimes.
Fills you with a wonder that you
always want to feel.
Fills you with a fire that you
swear that you can hear.
Nobody is listening and yet
you can tell that they can hear.
A language we’re all born to know,
it vibrates in our ears.
The wind in my face blowing
moving swiftly down the slopes,
excitement and fear, confident and clear
mastering the mountain, blues to blacks,
difficult diamonds and smooth greens,
tall pines on paths, lots of laughs,
fearless and nervous at the same time
twisting turns, conquering the peak,
vacation all week,
navigating moguls and stopping on a dime,
sometimes it seems the whole mountain is mine,
Written In Stars
I tell myself
That we must be caterpillars
Before we’re beautiful butterflies
That the sun will beat
The darkness that’s deep inside
That flowers grow
From the soil dampened by tears
I consume my own lies
In hopes of some truth
You can’t force pain away
You can only make room for it
My thoughts linger with you
Mind immersed in uncertainty
Breathing is difficult
For love has closed my airways
Not knowing where you are
At night I close my eyes
To dream of you once more
One day I’ll find my butterfly
For there’s not much space between the moon and stars
Black and White
The color black quickly became familiar.
But what if the color black is not supposed to be gloomy?
What if the color black represents all of the words that the corpse said while he was alive?
What if everyone wears black at funerals because each person is filled
With all of the things, words, acts that the dead did while alive
What if black is meant to be the symbol of life?
The representation of fullness, completeness
Not the end, just the summary
What the person did to create everyone’s black
How many small words contributed to the black apparel?
The color white is fading
What if the color white is the enemy?
What if it isn’t angelic but rather demonic?
Full of nothing
No words or memories
Except all that could have fit on the white
All the words that should have been said
All the memories that should have been
All the love that never will be
What if that is the color of destruction?
Because in the end
What good is purity?
When it caused no one to wear black?
So maybe the meaning was lost
The origin forgotten
For the black
And it began to be negative
To represent death
Rather than all that was lived
So when I am the one whose body is pale
I hope there will be a sea of black
Not because people are sad
But because they were affected
There seem to be an infinite amount of songs
That I want to listen to with you
I wish we could lie on your bed
And listen to the phonograph spin for hours
Drive around and say nothing
Just hear the music playing
Feel the songs surround us
Create an endless melody
Create a bond of sweet harmony
That spans miles and state borders
A link that is unbreakable
by any strain of time
A love that will not die
Decrescendo, or go flat
Something as permanent as a song
A moment that feels like an infinity
I will sing this song to you
Everyday for as long as I can
And we can share this song together
Until we both can no longer sing
It rains and
Bright and stiff like
Slice our thighs
Licks our fresh
Cheeks pink and
Shining hair cups our
Misty faces with slim
Gather at our throats
And puddles polish my shoes
The Teen Poetry Contest is possible through the assistance of Mrs. Norma Cadiff Finn, Friends of the Swampscott Public Library, the Swampscott Middle School and Swampscott High School, and the Tin Box Poets.