Life's Unique Journey ... 2008 Poetry Award Winners
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First Place
Balloon Man
By Ginny Lowe Connors, West Hartford CT
The sky is a blue door
and he has opened it.
After years of patching flats,
tightening bolts, breathing in the exhaust
of others as they peeled away, now
he grins in his lawn chair
as 200 balloons lift him up
to sail over a coffee cart,
beyond the light poles. The noise
of a white dog fades away, yap yap
yap, then just the breeze in his hair, soft rush
of motion, a little applause.
And barrels leaning behind the brewery
are a clutter of thimbles, the cars
in the Safeway lot just a pattern of color,
a shiny mosaic. Tower Theatre's tall sign
looks like a tongue depressor held up to the light.
It's his second attempt, and this time
he's done everything right. He's passed
the empty factory surrounded by weeds
and the nursing home where people
stay blanketed in their chairs.
now he floats past fields of sagebrush,
stands of juniper, and now he sails above
the high plateau.
His wife loves a tree
called Rose of Sharon. All over the yard
its blossoms fall. He thinks of that as he sees
his shadow glide along our earth like a flower,
silent, mysterious, as all things are
that bloom and fall away.
Above him balloons rub against each other
humming and squeaking in the hands
of the wind and it's hard to know if the dream
is this flight
or the life he's fled.
Far below white shirts flap on a line like flags.
They are empty
but he is fat with the green smell of forests
and with all that he's dared. He slugs back some coffee,
pats his pockets for chocolate, the blow darts,
and the BB gun, Red Ryder, to use when he gets too high.
SECOND PLACE
Waiting for MRIs
By Carol Kanter, Evanston, IL
Creased with age, not current worry,
two men sit apart,
heavy jackets unzipped.
Neither picks up a magazine.
The stouter one nods at the other's blue cap,
its World War II insignia.
South Pacific? Army or Navy?
Oh, I was Navy.
Seven battles. Clear as yesterday.
A third man enters.
Turns out he was Navy back then, too.
A clerk calls for Slim as Stout barrels on.
A storm beached my LST at Okinawa.
I got blinded, flown home to heal.
At least we were clear
what we were fighting for.
Not like now.
Folks in Washington used to know
how to do war. How to get us home.
They reconnoiter, waiting for the fall-out
Here at Nuclear Medicine.
THIRD PLACE
Five Times When Getting Married
Seemed the Right Thing to Do
By Gary Anderson, Arlington Heights, IL
Fifth Grade: Renee and I were married
on the steps of the abandoned
house we all thought was haunted.
Donny married us - no kisses though -
and then everybody blew dandelion seeds.
Senior Year: Everybody thought Tonya and I
Were the Couple Most Likely.
Some days we thought so too.
If we'd just stayed friends instead of
whatever that was, we'd probably still
be friends. But no.
Two Years
After That: The summer romance with Jodi
swept into fall. Then Jodi said
she didn't want to spend her life
married to a teacher,
and I took her picture down from
my dorm room mirror.
(She married a plumber.)
A Close Call: Lisa and I were just having fun.
We had so much fun we thought
we should get married. Then we realized
we loved the fun more than each other.
The Next Year: I finally got it right.
FOURTH PLACE
Hair Today …
By Janet Best Badger, Bangor, ME
Oh, my hair was russet brown,
And oh! My hair was long.
Its heavy, shining curtain,
Just like Samson's, made me strong.
And oh, my hair was curly
And I struggled with it so.
I fought the frizz with bands and clips
And gels to make it glow.
And oh, my hair was lovely
As it turned to silver gray.
It was my crowning glory!
Well, it was, 'til yesterday.
But yesterday I realized
The bitter truth I faced.
The silver threads that drifted down
Were not being replaced.
Today I'll take my vitamins
And fluff up what's still there.
But oh, how hard it is to learn
That I am not my hair.
Honorable Mentions:
"At Rumi's Tomb in Konya"
By Anthony Russell White of San Rafael, CA
My heart can hear you, Rumi,
wants to fly to you, fly with you.
The air is thick with fine white feathers.
My tears keep washing them off my arms.
Quick, no more words.
"A Branch"
By Michael Nickels-Wisdom of Spring Grove, IL
a branch
before me, broken
the way I'm going
"Luke"
By Barbara Mackay of Fort Bragg, CA
Luke was luckless
he failed at what ever he tried
watchman, grape picker
merchant mariner, he loved the sea
he could not catch on to handling the ropes
he thought "Liberty" meant he was free
he spent some time in the brig
then dropped out of Merchant Marines
he came home for awhile
we said join the military
no, I do not know how to kill
and I do not want to learn
we said go back to school
or apprentice to a journey man, acquire a trade
no, I have learned what I need to know
I'm joining the circus and becoming part of the show
the last we heard of Luke
he was flying through the air
with all of the ease of a daring young man
in love with the air and a swinging trapeze
a belief in luck and in being free-
sometimes I wish I were Luke instead of me.
"Report on the Human Condition"
By Neva Wallace of Altadena, CA
Did it ever occur to you
that we are waterproof?
We can stand out in the rain
without getting soggy whatsoever.
We towel-dry very nicely
and live to swim another day
and find when we have finished that
we are still the same size.
We do not shrink.
In fact, we are colorfast
in hot, soapy water.
We do not run and transfer color
to those standing next to us
or walk about the house
trailing flesh-colored puddles
everywhere we step.
Nor do we leave our indelible hue
on everything else in the laundry.
We're not just some cheap sweater.
We hold up well in heat.
We don't shrivel up and blow away
and certainly develop nothing worse
than a big fat thirst
cured by a cool glass of water.
Do we get burned? Yes, of course.
From stupidity, from curling irons,
barbecues and so on down the list.
But look at all that nice new flesh
replacing our scrapes and blisters.
Not only do we find that we are
Preshrunk, Waterproof and Colorfast,
but - you heard it here first folks
we are Repairable as well.
So stand up you trembling humans
we are tougher stuff than you would
let us think. Forget the umbrella.
Have you ever tasted rain?
Don't stand there shivering
in your cave all day.
Turn off your air conditioning.
Be a fire-breathing dragon
making love in sweaty heat
drowning in the wet sheets of passion
and then dive into rapture
skinny-dipping in the moonlight.
Don't worry, you won't catch cold.
And I doubt if you'll ever
go back to your cave.
