4000 St.

Francis Drive
Rockford, IL 61103
2011
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Student Anthology
Verbal Visual
Boylan Catholic High School
Marisol Paredes 2014
Fine Arts Fair Poetry Contest
FINALIST
Poetry is like the soft patter of rain
It lets you think
It has you trust of piece of paper and pen
It enriches your mind, heart and soul
Its inspired by happiness, hopefulness, sorrow,
despair
It lets you be free, to be
anything you want to be.
Its almost like the vastness of the sky,
Innity that has no end
And when you think it is the end,
It has just begun.
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Poetry
Kyle Beckett 2012
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Jane Horvat 2014
Fine Arts Fair Poetry Contest
FINALIST
Can you feel it?
I can, always.
Creeping into every aspect of my life.
Other peoples wants and dreams for me.
The choices that are never my own.
The ever constant pressure to please.
I try and I try but how can I be what everyone else
wants me to be while trying to be myself?
I push and push but someday I will fail.
And what then?
I look at myself in the mirror and see a worn out
shell of the girl I wish to be.
How can others learn who I am if I myself dont
know?
What do I feel every day?
The pressure to live up to my name.
Trying to rise up to the expectations of my elders.
Trying to be a piece in the ever changing puzzle of
my peers.
Every side of my life looks at me with demanding
eyes.
All expecting me to rise above the surface.
To make waves in an already restless ocean.
But the pressure is pushing at me on all sides
To stay on top.
To please the people I love.
To be what everyone wants me to be.
Perfect.
But I can only ght for so long.
Only jump so high.
Only try so hard.
I will tread the water until all strength leaves my ever
working limbs.
And then, when the pressure pushes me down for
the last time.
When there are no more life savers to be thrown
I will drown.








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Pressure Points
Rebekah Hilby 2011
Ben Belford 2013
Fine Arts Fair Poetry Contest
FINALIST
The honey-rich evening sunlight
Of a clear autumn day
Splashes droplets of liquid gold
Across the face of the earth,
Painting the dying trees into shining candelabras
With leaves that glow like a gentle re.
A re like the comforting blaze
Of the hearth back home,
Warming the heart
In a world full of cold.
A re like the gentle caress
Of the spring breeze in the meadows of youth,
Bringing the promise of new life
In a world full of death.
A re like the radiant love
Of a mothers soft smile,
Filling the soul with a sense of belonging
In a world full of hate.
A re like the eager ambition
Of childhood dreams long abandoned,
Bearing the power to change
In a world full of stagnation.
But the re dies,
Flickers out as that blazing orb sinks
Down below the distant hills,
Strips the trees of their gilded armor,
Leaves the land cold and dead and
Casts a shadow on my soul.
In the growing twilight chill,
The re is a distant dream.
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The Fire


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Anna Girgenti 2014
Sadie Hooker 2011
Shivering, we had no intention of becoming
Close friends with the Wind
For Winters icy wrath had kissed goodbye to
Summers pleasantly warm lips.
And our bodies, bruised from cold,
Had had enough of this wonderland of soiled snow.
So I warm my hands near Fires breath
Waiting patient for Winters perpetual, undying rest.
Its 17 Degrees
and Im Cold
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Sadey Jumapao 2014

















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Sean Coyle
Fine Arts Fair Poetry Contest
FINALIST
I am small, I am plastic, I sit all day in a cavern
Whose mouth is toothed and almost always closed.
I have my own mouth, but I cannot open it to ght back,
For I have no jaws, so I sit resigned crammed next
To my friends the ruler, the History, and the D-.
I am brought out to the light only once a day, in which time
I am constantly opened and closed. But I dont mind,
For each time I open my mouth, a rainbow spews out
That solidies before my eyes into colorful magic wands.

I love seeing the Mabel brush the wands across the canvas,
Spreading a beautiful ocean across the top with uffy pillows
And lling the space below with reworks on rods of green
Placed lovingly among a rich green ocean nearly empty
Except for two Mabels holding tight as they sink into the
ocean.
I wish I knew how to hold the wands and use them the way
All the Mabels can. I do so wish I knew how
To take this rainbow inside me and use it the way
The Mables do in the art class every day.

I have something, though, the Mabels will never have.
When all those wands are put back through my mouth,
They blur together again and become the rainbow
I know them to be. They swirl and dance and shine
Each time the light outside ashes into the cavern,
Making my body sparkle as though it were a rainbow itself.
I know the Mables have nothing like that. I know,
Because the ruler and History told me so.
They may have magic wands, but I have the rainbow.















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Ode of a Crayon Box
Taylor Carlson 2011
Meghan Gaffney 2014
Fine Arts Fair Poetry Contest
FINALIST
Alone, I was always alone
and thats the way I likes it.
It was easier that way.
Secrets are easier to keep with no one to share
them with.
No one was around to abondon when things got
tough.
My jokes were always funny when I told them to
myself.
Then one day she walked up to me and smiled.
My secrets were better with someone to tell
them to.
She never left even when things were hard.
She laughed at my jokes and I laughed at hers.
I realized being alone wasnt easier.
I learned life was better when you have a friend
to share it with.
Not Alone










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Kelsey Gugliuzza 2013
Michael Cicero
Fine Arts Fair Poetry Contest
FINALIST
Striving for comfort
even though comfort is the last thing that I really want
Things are turning
like the crisp pages of a book
like the wheels of a skateboard tearing across the pavement
Things are always turning
like an ethereal song
on a record, under a delicate needle
reading every miniscule groove, and transforming it into sound.
Life is always turning
like a clock the minutes turn into days
like calender pages
as the days pile up
the yearly calenders eventually pile up too
I like to keep everything turning
but time
time can turn itself.
Turning














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Megan Schneider 2012
Nathaniel Danaher 2011
Rockford Womens Club
Creative Writing Competition
FINALIST

I want to be a mountain, but even your tears erode me.
I just need to keep my walls up, strong enough for the world to see.
Survival of the ttest is not the greatest I must say.
Pretend that you dont care. Its a good way to know what the Earth weighs.
Come on, take a shot. See what kind of a monster I could be.
Theres no way to take me down if you cant see me bleed.
Ill keep up this disguise, its only for a small fee.
As I look up and the skies turn gray,
I want to be a mountain, but even your tears erode me.
This is all for the better. I need you to believe
These words. No matter how untrue they may seem.
My heart harder than concrete, the choice is here to stay.
If I let my guard down these rocks may start to sway.
No, not again. This is my time to be free.
I want to be a mountain, but even your tears erode me.
I Want to Be a Mountain




























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Kasia Romanowski 2011
Jill Deutsch
Fine Arts Fair Poetry Contest
FINALIST
I fell in love with you caged bird
During those long summer nights
When you sang your sweet songs of freedom
We would sit together alone
From the world that called us, so
I fell in love with you caged bird
The sweetness of the echoes and tweets
Mixed with the swaying of the breeze
When you sang your sweet songs of freedom
We watched the world grow
Around us but little did you know
I fell in love with you caged bird
Inside you grew a restlessness
I never thought much of this
When you sang your sweet songs of freedom
Until one day you left me forever
All alone I am to remember
I fell in love with you caged bird
When you sang your sweet songs of freedom
I Fell in Love




























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Iliana Durbin 2012
Caitlin Campbell 2012
Rockford Public Library
Write It Out Short Story Contest
SECOND PLACE
...Suddenly the memory cascaded into
my mind. It was dark. I held my library books
tightly to my chest. I couldnt believe that I had
fallen asleep yet again. I wondered vaguely if
the print from my books had stuck to my face. I
hoped no one would notice the tiny droplets of
drool that I had left on some of the pages.
Absent mindlessly I rubbed my check
roughly. The autumn wind sent shivers down
my spine. The campus was covered in a thick
layer of fog. The hairs on back of my neck
tickled.
I glanced over my shoulder. Nothing.
I was paranoid for nothing. All those
stories of college girls missing were getting to
me. I was scared for nothing. Nonetheless I
picked up my pace. I had a feeling I couldnt
quite shake.
Thats when I heard it. Low growl. The
rustling of leaves.
Youre imagining things Cassidy, I
chanted to myself, as I started speed walking.
My dorm was only a few buildings away. Id be
ne in a few minuets. Tucked into a warm bed.
Surrounded by walls of safety. It was only a few
buildings away
The growling grew into a deafening
roar. I was running. My feet pounding into the
pavement. I could make it. Only a few buildings
away.
I heard the noise of thundering footfalls
behind me. I couldnt help it, I looked over my
shoulder.
Nothing.
Just a full moon peeking out at me from
behind a distant cloud. Laughing to myself, I
slowed my pace, and turned back around.
I dont remember much. Just two golden
eyes. And his teeth...
Lucky Me
(Excerpt)
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Taylor Graydon 2011
Grace Moss 2012
Fine Arts Fair Poetry Contest
FINALIST
When I look in your eyes,
you are exposed.
Your life unravels before me.
Showing me all the suffering and sorrow you have endured.
But when I look again,
I see a sliver of hope.
Waiting to burst open
And full your life with joy.
But I wonder...
Why cant that hope escape?
All you do is look back at me
And then I realize
That hope was me.
Hope





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Ashley Sciame 2011
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Bailey Balentyne 2012
Sarah St. John 2011
The Loudness
Aly Myers 2012
Fine Arts Fair Poetry Contest
FINALIST
The loudness
The overwhelming thumping beat
Filling her up
Vibrating in her chest
Expressing everything
The anger
She liked the song
It was how she felt
The only way to get it out
She wanted to scream
She couldnt
Feeling trapped
Sitting in the car at the stoplight
Waiting
Staring at the grey of the highway
Of outside
Of everything
Pushing down on her
Suffocating her
The anger feeling heavier
A weight inside
Worse the longer she sat thinking
Remembering
It was swallowing her
It was drowning her
The song played on.









































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Jenny Falzone 2011
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The Loudness
Evan Peterson 2011
Fine Arts Fair Poetry Contest
FINALIST
The cathedral is cold today.
The air is thick with incense, gossip, sighs, moans, and
complaints.
I look around and see
Stone faced, stony hearted
Statues hewn from mountainous heaps of skepticism and
indifference
As they emit half-hearted hymns,
Cold like the winds of Calvary,
From their tumultuous hearts.

It was once cast the rst stone if you are without sin.
Now it is harden like stone and care not
Or so says the embittered scores of wish-washers that sleep
walk the aisles.

Why waltz with the Lord of Lords?
Todays dance on that hallowed Sunday
A monotonous two-step
Motioned to the tune of incessantly crying babies
Telephones left unsilenced
Admittedly painful hymns by overly exuberant choirs
and underwhelmed churchgoers
Murmurs of that harlot in the front pew
Or that jezebel in the choir

To my horror, I at times gaze in the chalices reection
And see my countenance tinged with rock
My heart, a boulder of the hardest stone

Yet, hope abides

The dove has nested upon the Church, and it has remained.
Tongues of re can move tongues to praise
Someone hated by society
Condemned by secular relativism
Above our understanding
Against our corporal desires
But all loving, mysterious, and resplendent beyond
description.

Every awe-inspiring sculpture comes from a rock
But within that stone is placed a burning passion, driving it
to accept transguration
From an ingenious sculptor.
Without that cooperation between ore and designer
Well, look to the scowl in the neighboring pew next Sunday
Hustling out before the nal blessing to get to brunch.
Faithless Veneer











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Alec Filak 2011
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Stacy Cussen 2012
Alexander Snyder 2011
Fall has come.
Nothing, save the eternal evergreens,
can retain its vibrant green youth.
The gentle glistening dew
that adorns the grass each morning
has become a harsh, violent frost.
Acting as deaths long black sickle,
it destroys much familiar insect life
while driving many creatures away
until it too leaves.
Fall brings with it
virulent shades of brown, yellow, and red.
Never has imminent death looked so beautiful.
I too am changing,
becoming older and paler as the suns bright longevity
wanes.
I sit silently and watch the world swirl around the
drain,
and wonder: will my expiration also reect natures
great beauty?
The Softer Side of Agony
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Caitlin Campbell 2011
She remembers funerals with owers.
She doesnt like chocolate cause its sweet.
She doesnt dream of me in the small hours
Of the night while she lies on her bed sheet.
She fails to see the need of sweet love notes.
She cant draw the shape of a complete heart,
So used to seeing them broken. She oats
In and out of my mind when were apart.
She doesnt like it when I buy her gifts.
She sees herself when the lights are on low.
Slowly despite her nature, her view shifts.
With me, her fragile heartbeats start to s l o w.
She never learned to pronounce I love you,
But shes the o n e girl I could say it to.
The One Girl





















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Erin Miller 2011
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Monica Skrzypczak 2014
Claudia Brokish 2012
Jewish Federation of Greater Rockford
Holocaust Poetry Contest
SECOND PLACE
Their hollow eyes asked us why
As they reached out their skeleton arms,
Begging to be taken from their prison of despair and hate.
Their sweat and tears rained down
On the dry, forsaken ground of broken dreams
And nightmares that clawed at their hearts
And threatened to take their already
Shattered
Souls
That littered the ground like
Broken
Glass.
Their world was lled with ash that coated their lungs
And choked out their hope.
Their screams went unheard.
Their bodies went unburied.
Their hollow eyes asked us why their children were crying.
Their hollow eyes asked us why their people were dying.
Their hollow eyes asked us, Why are you lying?
Hollow Eyes
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Beatrice Hagney 2013
Fine Arts Fair Poetry Contest
FINALIST
We were here before you were born,
Before you were a thought or a dream.
Before the rst sh swam in front of our eyes,
And before the rst birds rested on our arms.
We saw you enter this world,
We watched with hopeful eyes.
Waiting for creation to come forth,
Our expectations were set high.
We saw you take our friends and neighbors
And turn them into pieces of art.
One by one they left their homes
To be used by the people.
We became knowledge.
People read history on our bodies.
We became protection.
We sheltered others from the rain and snow.
Soon the people took us away for good.
There was no creation used from our corpses.
We were left rotting and alone.
We became a nuisance to humanity.
Our kind needed to be destroyed
In order for the people to exist.
Our bodies lay in piles.
We noticed the smoke rising to the sky.
Above our graves lay factories;
Killing machines for the creatures.
The energy they need kills us slowly.
The air we breathe chokes and gags.
We stand smothered,
Observing this dirty world.
What would have happened if the humans never
came?
We would stand
Green and tall,
Watching the world pass by.












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Bridget McQuillan 2011
Watching the World
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Jaelyn Anderson 2012
Hannah Gibson 2013
Fine Arts Fair Poetry Contest
FINALIST
Myself Poem
Black keys,
White keys,
Sharps and ats,
Rhythm,
Beat,
Sound and tone,
Beat of a piano,
Sound of my voice blending in a choir.
Friends,
Many trends,
Fun in school,
Sweet, kind, caring, loving,
And smiley.
Myself Poem
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One by one, they all said no. I used to watch their cheeks
get redder and redder. They used to get real quitet-like
and stuttered like the time my buzz light-year was thrown
out of daddys pickup truck and broke and started sayin
innity over n over. Every time, they said they couldnt
help me. Every time, I waited until I got home to cry.
I still didnt wanna give up. Pa worked too much
to help me, and momma was busy doin what mommas
do best: makin supper n cleanin n takin care of all my
brothers and my sister. The most momma said she could
do was drop me off at the local guitar shop. I decided
thats what Id have to settle for if I was ever gonna learn
to play my guitar.
Ya see, me and my familys from Tennessee. Pa
worked for a big company down in the warmth and they
decied to open another in Chicago, Illinois. Thats why we
moved away from Nana and Gamps to Rockford. Momma
didnt wanna live in the big city and the drive is not that
bad for pa. I just wish I had a say. I hate Illinois. I hate the
cold. I hate being home schooled. And I miss Nana. See,
thats why I have to learn the guitar. The last thing she said
to me was Roger, when you come visit Nana I want you
to play me some Johnny Cash on that guitar I got you a
few years ago. You hear me boy? I had to learn. I wanted
to. My guitar kept me with my Nana.
Momma dropped me off outside the brick
building called Guzzardos at about ve. Leavin the truck
runnin, she left her seat and came round to my side. She
opened my door, took my guitar out of the bed of the
truck, and strapped it to my back. She knelt in front of
me, put her soft hands on my shoulders, and sighed.
Listen, Roger. Ill be back in half hour to pick you up,
but I cant come before then cause Ill be busy with supper.
You listenin? So if they tell you they cant teach you, youll
have to wait right outside these doors. No callin for me
before then. Alright?
Yes mam. I looked down to the oor and no-
ticed my shoelaces were untied. Slowly, with a tear in her
eye, she bent down and began to tie them. It was humiliat-
ing. I was eight years old, n I had to have my momma tie
my shoes because we couldnt afford anythin new than
hand-me-downs.
She kissed my forehead and was gone. I took a
deep breath and walked in the open door. Maybe this time
will be different.
Immediately when I got in the door, there was some
stairs that led down. I took them and walked onto a oor
with some people, guitar picks, guitar magazines, trumpets
and the like. I could smell wood. It was the same as the
other places for the most part. A room with fun things
that everyone refused to teach me.
I turned to my right and walked to the counter.
Scuse me, sir? Im here for a lesson with Stu. Can you
tell me where I might nd em? I asked timidly. The man
behind the counter had a ve oclock shadow like daddy
sometimes has when hes home all day, and he had long
black hair and an earring on his eyebrow. I found that real
strange, so when he pointed to the hallway on the other
side of the room, I went without a word.
I walked down brown tile hallway and found
myself in a little area with secondhand green chairs. There
was another hallway with six doors, all shut, with lots a
music comin from them. That must be where they give
the lessons. I plopped down and waited for Stu to nd me.
I was real nervous, so I buried myself in my sweatshirt and
cowered in the uncomfortable chair. Not long after, a man
got outta room three. And walked straight toward me.
He was different from all of the other instruc-
tors they had in Tennessee. He was about thirty-ve,
skinny but still muscular. No beer belly. He didnt have a
cowboy hat. He had a hat on that I think eryone in the
north called a fuh-door-aye. Somethin like that. His arms
looked like they had sleeves, but they were really just all
colored on. Tattoos. He also had on a tight t-shirt that said
Wisconsin: Smell the Dairy Air. I think it was supposed to
be funny, but I didnt get it. Come to think of it, the guys
beard looked like Abe Lincolns. Maybe its an Illinois thing.
I looked up at him with a little hope. He was different than
them other teachers back home. Maybe he can teach me.
Hey little buddy. Are you Roger?
Yes sir. I looked at my shoes.
Okay, well Ill be in there in a minute, just have
a seat and get tuned. He gave a small smile and was off
down the hallway. His wallet chain made lots of sound as
he went around the corner.
I walked down the hallway to the door he just
exited. It was a small room, enough for a bathtub and
toilet, but not comfortable enough for more than three
people. To the right, there was a small piano organ thing,
and a bookcase lled with CDs and a CD player. Straight
back was one chair, to my left there was another. There
were also lots a guitars hangin on the walls. Most of them
were paint chipped. They looked used. They looked loved.
Something strange I noticed was the blueness of
Jessica Dobson 2011
Rockford Womens Club
Creative Writing Competition
GRAND PRIZE
Shoelaces
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the room. The carpet was
a dark grey, three walls
were painted light blue,
and one wall was covered
in royal blue fuzzy carpet.
Crazy northern folk.
I heard Stus wallet chain
tinkerin down the hall so I
hurried up n sat in my seat.
I left my guitar in my case
on the oor. It wasnt worth
the effort to try to take it
out if he was gonna turn me
away.
Alright Roger! Nice to
meet ya. Im Stu Johnson.
I play in bands for a living- a great way to make money if
you ask me. Never worked more than a day in my life.
But enough about me. Lets start the music! Tell me about
yourself! Stu leaned his elbows on his knees and looked at
me expectantly. I got shy n looked down.
Uh. . . Okay little buddy. Lets just start with guitar?
What did you wanna learn rst? Before we start with
learning all the technical stuff, I think it is really good for
the students to try to learn a favorite song. You see, when
you fail at learning your favorite song, you realize you
need to learn the boring things to be able to do the cool
stuff. Get it? Just being honest. So what did you want to
learn?
Johnny. . . Cash.
With a small smile, he grabbed his acoustic gui-
tar off of the blue wall. He cleared his throat mightily and
gave me a smile. I giggled.
I- hear the train a comin! Its rollin round the
bend. . . Stu started singing and playin Nanas favorite
song, Folsom Prison Blues. He then played a lot more of
my favorites like Walk the Line, Ring of Fire, and Big River.
I couldnt help at laughin at his funny accent. Before I
knowed it, we were singin together, laughin away.
There you go, little buddy! Thats music! Thats
what I want to see. Now grab your guitar and we can get
started! He gave me a big smile.
My laughter faded. I could feel my face fall. I got
red, choked back my tears, and stared at my darn shoe-
laces. I hate shoelaces.
Roger? Stu prodded. Roger, whats wrong
buddy? Dont you want to learn? Stu bent down to look
me in the face. This
is it. This is when
hes gonna get red n
tell me I hafta leave. I didnt want to do this anymore. I just
wanted to learn to play the guitar. Slowly, I removed my
arms from my sweatshirt pockets and held them in the air.
I let him look at what was there: nothing but stubs. I was
born with no hands.
I stared right at him. I braced myself for the
stutter, the redness, the Im sorry. I waited to be turned
away, once again.
He stared only for a moment. Did you need
me to open your case for you, then? Why didnt you just
ask?! Stu smiled at me and opened my case, and laid my
guitar across my lap. His smile remained strong. I took a
deep breath.
Look mister, if you cant teach me. Just say so.
Thats what everyone has told me. They cant teach me. Ill
understand. I looked into his set eyes.
Roger, they obviously didnt try hard enough
then, did they? You are. . . unconventional. . . sure. . . so
this will be new for me too. Skip the technicalities, then.
First things rst. We will need a plan. Lets nd a way to
make you some guitar hands. Im thinking maybe we can
make something that straps to your right arm like this, and
has a pick attached. . .
Stus voice faded in my ears. I looked at my right
arm, the arm he was holding and pointing around, draw-
ing some crazy design. I concentrated on not getting red. I
concentrated on not crying. He could teach me. He would
teach me. I think I like Illinois.






















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Lucas Frichtl 2011
The sound of whispers crackle like burning trees.
Thats how it begins; one person, one spark.
The words spread and spread.
They run uncontrolled.
They appear not to stop.
I try to defend myself.
But the words, they smother me.
I can not breathe.
The aming words burn against my heart.
But soon the whispers die down and life goes on.
And Im left standing, my reputation in ashes.
What am I to do?
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The Burning
of the Words
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Alex Cimino 2014
Fine Arts Fair Poetry Contest
SECOND PLACE
The man sits, head in his hands.
What we see, we see from the outside,
Looking in.
All we know,
Is what the world has taught us to know.
That this man is,
Just a man.
He cannot change what we are taught is the inevitable.
He cannot have an opinion,
Because we are taught not to value it.
He cannot open the curtain covering the evils of our society,
Because we are taught to look the other way.
He cannot try to convince us of wrong doing,
Becaue we are taught to accept injustive because the world says we cannot change it.
He cannot speak out,
Because we are taught not to listen.
He cannot open our eyes,
Because we are taught to follow blindly.
The man still sits.
Allison Corcoran 2012




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Andrew Tibbett 2011
Fine Arts Fair Poetry Contest
FINALIST
I saw this brown haired girl, beat down by the world, sitting in
the park
I asked her for her name, she said theyre all the same, I just
want something real
I said baby Im a ghost, but thats what I love most about who
you are
A long walk to the coast, the one you love the most is never
coming home
The words mean nothing now, and nobody knows how you
got to be this way
Do their faces look the same? When you stare into the crowd
and the silence is so loud
Youll never know what its like
to be lost so close to home
Youll never feel alright
cuz this illness is in your bones
and the reparations made by colonies
could never satisfy all of your needs
which is why youll nd yourself
all alone
Can you spare a dime for all the wasted time in the fading lines
For the questions that we ask, over looked on second glance,
we wish wed had a love for other plants
Other than the rose, tho beautiful in prose it hardly ever looked
so good alone

















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Bryn Bauling 2011
Fading Lines
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Nick Moore 2012
Fine Arts Fair Poetry Contest
FINALIST
Good morning, and welcome to our broadcast of
It's not just cleansing, it's ultra-powered
Newscast, where we'll break down
Your paper and recyclables
So you can live a better life today.
Good afternoon to all of you on lunch
Hillshire Farms! Go
To your local store today, where you'll nd
A Whopper, Jr. only
99 dollars a barrel and rising.
Good evening, today we'll tell you
Politicians like myself, ruining socioeconomic
Side-effects such as diarrhea, constipation,
Buy now! Before
Friday, it all begins, an epic movie adventure with
Mark Twain ruining our youth.
Television ruins our youth.
Kids should read.
Books are too vulgar for kids.
This! is Late Night
Where *intimacy*
Explains the corruption of
Coupons for everyone!
Oprah's new book club,
What's ruining America
Tune in tomorrow!
You learn something new every day. What did
you learn?
Typical



































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Jennifer Falzone 2011
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Terris Sallis 2011
Fine Arts Fair Poetry Contest
FIRST PLACE
The kid with a dream
The kid with many nightmares
Who believes everything happens for a reason
Who drives himself crazy trying to nd the meaning
The kid who is trapped in his own mind
The kid with many friends around but still feels alone
Who feels on another planet, sometimes even another galaxy
Whose life story would be a mix of a comedy and a tragedy
The kid whose temperature is making the pot bubble over
The kid whose love is locked down
Who nds the devil in the red dress gorgeous
Who cares for many but afraid to love one
The kid who is hardest on himself
The kid who puts the world on his shoulders
Who can hold a conversation with a sailor
The kid who is loved by many
The kid who can only see one enemy
Who is in the mirror
Who loves sleep
The kid who hates nights
The kid who is Boomhauer
Who is a family guy
Who is too young to be an American Dad
The kid who is a man
The man who doesn't want to let that kid go.
Bryn Bauling 2011





















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Hannah Castree 2011
Jewish Federation of Greater Rockford
Holocaust Poetry Contest
FIRST PLACE
I choke on ashes rising to the sky
My Father. My Mother. My Little Brother.
Innocence.
I choke on them
Their memory
Black in my lungs
Taste the bitter pain
Black on my arm
I am not a number
Not then.
Not now.
Branded like an animal
Dont forget
My Father. My Mother. My Little Brother.
They will come back in the rain
And stain your skin.
Ashes
Sara Diemer 2011







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Catherine Tenney 2011
Fine Arts Fair Poetry Contest
FINALIST
Into the deep navy night
The idle moon rises with an illuminating glow
Casting a shine upon the mother and daughter
Gazing up at the blanketed space
Anticipation
The rst burst of a sparkled rework breaks the summer stillness
A high pitched squeal shatters the tranquility
Torpedoing through the sky
Erupting in a fan of uorescent colors beside the moon
A bright projection of light accompanied by their hushed gasps
Watching the descending colored sparks that faded into the darkness
The solitary moon casts a soft shimmer onto their faces
















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Kelsey Gugliuzza 2013
Summer Memory
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Samantha Gray 2011
Abbie Francisco 2012
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Caitlin Prchal 2011
The windowpane is so frosted and dark--
Sweetheart, my love, Ill give you all the stars;
You can place them in patterns in Heavens arc.
Ill kiss away all your past and open scars;
Ill be the one that sings you to soft sleep,
The one that lets sunlight shine onto your face,
Forever in my arms Ill know youre to keep--
In my veins youll have your own resting place--
The one that sees the world dancing in your eyes,
The one that will never break your milky skin,
With you I wont have to wear my disguise,
Our sweet, strong hearts beating drums within,
Tonight, Ill set all my love for you free--
And perhaps, someday, youll want to love me...
Bringing You the Moon
Breana Letsinger 2011











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Megan Schneider 2012
Robert Collins Creative Writing Award
RECIPIENT

You may think me an idiot personally, I prefer naive or unrealistic but given my current company,
I doubt you nd me qualied to make any sound decisions: the man to my right, after all, is wearing a visor
with a built in wig, the man on my left with the inatable snow shovel is holding something that resembles a
mangled coat hanger, and the man sitting across from me is wearing a full body rain-proof suit complete with
rubber tie. But I assure you, the woman you see rubbing her head and wishing she had popped that extra
Aspirin is not mentally impaired or masochistic; she is simply a product of the fates.
So you wonder, if I was not abducted and brainwashed by aliens, what could possibly compel me to
meet in the stale back room of a meat packing plant with these, ahem, colorful characters? Ive heard it before,
the same question, usually accompanied by a few profanities or the oh- so-familiar Oh, Darla, where did we
go wrong with you dear? (depending on whether my father or mother is doing the talking) to which I say,
how can you qualify naming your child Darla as a good decision? A slight over reaction, yes, but remember,
you are probably blessed with a name that actually needs an alternate rst consonant to be considered
offensive.
My struggle with the cosmic forces began the day I was named and it has brought me here, to the
9th circle of hell, 365 Robespierre Riviera. Why you would name a road in Detroit, Michigan after a mass
murderer is beyond me, but this town also spawned two people who named their baby girl Darla. As a child,
I was often told choose something you love as a career path, but, convinced that the fates had conspired
against me in all ways, I instead chose to conquer the one that ruined my life: names. The youngest and often
snubbed child, I was well acquainted with both rejection and determination, and after overcoming the rst
humiliating failures (including suggesting Tragedy as the name for the family dog) I became, against all cosmic
odds, a highly sought brand manager (what my father calls a product namer). Yes, I realize the sagging
mouth of the ceiling tiles and the speckles of ancient mustard paint on the concrete walls hardly match your
ruminations of the luxurious life of a marketing wizard. If only you knew.
My descent into this coffee stained, squeaky wheeled chair was slow, almost imperceptible at rst. In
those rst brilliant days of high marble walls and tailored suits, I could almost hear Juliet from my imaginary
hidey hole below the balcony as she poured out her heart to me, her Romeo! the aromatic rose whose
fragrance depended not upon its name. Of course, the symbolism is quite humorous Romeo ends up dead,
and Juliet, well, she just might have chosen poison over my aching head and humiliation. Banks and cars
and cereal brands were soon swallowed up along with my Shakespeare reenactments by the vortex of gym
equipment and kitchen appliances and infomercials, til I nally heard the death knell of this: self-employed
(unemployed) entrepreneurial inventors...
...And then the inevitable came: rejection. Except this time, it wasnt nicely printed on company paper,
or even left in a courteous message on the answering machine. The e-mail came from one, iluvmarissatomei@
yahoo.com and consisted of 4 sentences, 15 grammatical errors, and two words unidentiable by both
Merriam-Webster Dictionary and Wikipedia.
Miss Jenkins?
Back in the pasty room the one with the rubber tie is talking. Wait, is he the self-propelled surfboard
guy too? No thats the clown nose bald one. Okay, rubber tie guy, Mr.Mr. Hogg.
Yes, Mr. Hogg. Im sorry, but once again, what are the practical applications of this product?...
Whats in a Name?
(Excerpt)
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Laura Hayes 2011
Through the mirror everything looks different,
Held in a single instant.
For a while everything seems ne,
A perfect eight out of nine.
But then you step away from the net,
Look at the fall below descent,
Cower in fear of repent
Let yourself walk the crooket line
It looks straight through the mirror.
When God, Himself, refuses to send
A worthy ten out of ten,
Begin to choke in the vine.
Where were all the signs?
Dont you fret.
You were looking through the mirror.
Through the Mirror
































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Lauren Hutmacher 2011
My time.Youre on it.Unaware?Now you know.
If youre here.It isnt an accident.You could be out. Just
as quickly.As you came.
Whether you made.A slice or a gash.On the epidermis. Of it
all. Everything.
Heals.And can easily.Disappear.
It doesnt matter.Life wont shatter.
Like the.Buttery Effect.
Maybe you made all the difference.
Maybe you didnt.
How high you remain.On your high horse.
Will this smack. In. the. Face.Force.a
Dismount?
Who am I.to lay this.Out for you?
Who are.You?
Fleetly forgetting
This isnt yours.
Its
My time.
Stream of Consciousness
Megan Schneider 2012












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Sarah Gass 2011
The soft white hands that swept her long black hair,
Dark green eyes that stared right back at him.
The light pink color on her cheeks so fair,
On this quiet night with the light so dim.
She wipes a tear away from her dark green eye.
The lean steeple so quiet and still.
Family and friends all started to cry,
Some reserved and calm while others were shrill.
The preacher spoke soft, weighted words,
Just snifes and weeping broke the silence.
The girl stood and paused, to walk out is absurd,
At the door she turned, she just needed guidance.
The man she had loved was now dead and gone.
She walked away from the Church, this time alone.
The Quiet Steeple
Anna Rinaldo 2012




















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Ally Moir 2013
Fine Arts Fair Poetry Contest
FINALIST
Drip, drip, drop, plop
She beats the ground with little sound.
Make the rst stride but do not subside
Step step, stop, op.
Try again.
Drip, drip, drop, plop
She tiptoes to avoid foes.
Play hide-and-seek but
promise not to peek
Pop, pop, pound, found.
Try again.
Drip, drip, drop, plop
She holds a wheel with hope of another meal.
Do not mar the car
Gas, gag, gap, tap.
Try again.
Drip, drip, drop, plop
She feels a crack by the heart attack.
It is sore but knows there are more.
Cry, cry, crumble, tumble.
Try again.
Drip, drip, drop, plop
She has a girl and time will hurl.
Show her love and thank the above.
Kiss, kiss, kind, bind.
Perfect the rst time.
La Vida
Sara Diemer 2011





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Press START
the game begins now,
six lives left
as Fate makes its rounds.
One life lost here
a mistake made there,
second chances safety
renewal in the air.
Fresh personalities
changed color of hair,
manufactured gures
manufactured cares.
Why? You may ask
Why not? is how it goes,
four lives left
Fate is getting close.
What If We Could Start Over with
Our Life?

















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Shannon Goebel 2012
Overwhelming stress
Misunderstood grief,
a shortcut is taken
you are now on life three.
New family, new name
different aws taking place,
your last life is born
into the human race.
The nal countdown
memory shot and blind,
will you get it right this time?
Will you even try?
Alyssa McHugh 2011
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Kasia Romanowski 2011
I want to lie among the stars that cry.
My sorrows will be sent through tears that fall,
Help me help them regain their light supply.
With energy theyll shine through thickest walls.
Let sleep put spells into my mind tonight.
My dreams come quickly and cannot subside,
They ll the absence and have shown new light.
So deep inside is where the dreams reside.
Awoken and conned inside my mind.
Sit still and I will now gain consciousness,
But stay in me for I feel rather kind.
Now know I need you for my next success.
And grow and grow until I get the strength.
Inspire me to go the extra length.
Dream into Reality













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Richard Vital 2013
Fine Arts Fair Poetry Contest
FINALIST
Looking in the mirror,
The long haired odd boy we know very little of.
Lets take a look inside,
Frustrations from within cloud my head
Decisions I cannot make
choices I had to take
I never wanted to be here in this room
Looking in the mirror
It shows so little, only one side, so
Lets take a look inside
Left behind by so many,
I ask myself why, as I am
Looking in the mirror.
Dreams shattered by words and neglect,
Love has been scarce for the child thats
Looking in the mirror.
Fear and anguish is something he knows well
But, now he has love, and
That love is what has made
The child whole again, he who is
Looking in the mirror
A Quick Glance






























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Leah Budde 2011
Sleepless Night
Gabriel Smith 2012
Fine Arts Fair Poetry Contest
FINALIST
As the sun sets and the moon takes over
the clock paces slowly down to a seeming stop
as the stars surround, and the clouds disperse
the minutes trickle by like single tear drops
Me eyes just wont shut, no matter how hard I try
the walls of my room start to close in
the night goes by ever so slowly
as I wait eagerly for the day to begin
Minutes turn into hours and days into years
hopes disappear to be replaced by fears
that the day will never come
the night has won
that the clock wont change and the nights just
begun
Knowing day will come, as it has before
my thoughts become hopeful
as light shines through the door
the stars fade away, the night becomes day
the sun in my room is the light for my way
The moon starts to fall
replaced by the sun
the sun hears the call
the day has begun.
Sleepless Night


















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Abbie Francisco 2012