1999 Poetry Quill Awards

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First Place

Two Dog Grey White Photograph

By John Tyson

Faded, tattered, creased and torn,
my grey white face of yesterday
where I a blonde and curly child,
so full of hope on grey white chair
next to my old straw dog on wheels
whose name I cannot recollect,
except he trundled by my side
forever in my grey white world.

It shows a time of long ago.
Before the sound of marching feet
Before the air raid warning's wail
that sounded when the bombers came.
A world of innocence and joy
shared by one small fair haired boy
A world that is no more because
it passed away with Nazi war.

I wish I had the innocence
of faded, tattered photograph.
A grey white sunlit garden scene
with neighbour's noisy terrier dog
who ran along and barked at me
through grey white wooden picket fence,
because I dared to offer him
a small and grubby friendship hand.

Now I am older all is gone.
I can but pray that I'll return
to two dog land of innocence
in long lost grey white garden scene
preserved on one small photograph,
All that remains of my young world
before that world grew old and tired
and I had made my future past.

Second Place

Siren's Song

By Karen Marquis

She sang a sibilant siren's song
from her golden bower.
Flaunting skin of velvet black,
she drew me with her power.

She spoke of sweet temptations,
of desires she'd fulfill.
She asked for my submission
but I hesitated still.

She beckoned like a lover
promising delight
if I would but surrender
to the pleasures of her night.

She whispered words of wonder,
speaking to my greed.
With trembling hands I yearned
to soothe the aching need.

She offered me her passion,
I relented to her call.
A chocolate covered cherry
held me firmly in its thrall!

Third Place

Rueful Reflections

By Karen Marquis (Kaz)

I walk the murky roads
of memory and time,
sifting through the images,
searching for a sign.

Life's become a habit
of dreary bluish grey,
filled with timeless seconds --
a never-ending day.

Lustful, longing passion
erupted in the past,
but fate never promised
that it would always last.

Trust and vows were shattered
without any regret,
Remorse became a mistress
I refused to reject.

Love, joy, and laughter,
wishes, hopes, and dreams,
lie beneath the echoes
of my helpless screams.

I must accept my choices,
for they are the true key
to a life that brings me peace,
respite, and harmony.

Yet though I've found the sign
and now I hold the key,
I prefer to haunt the paths
of my despondent memory.

For change is owed a price
I am not prepared to pay,
though I've promised to myself
that soon will come the day. . . .

Fourth Place

Symphony

Amy Cipolla

Last night
I took a bath
with Beethoven,
Bach, and Brahms.
Naked, I waited for each
movement, listening, absorbing,
the little water adagios
against my body.

Allegros danced
like Swedish massage
first across my face
and down each arm,
pulsating my tired legs
and pentrating
the tissue
of my aching back.

I closed my eyes
and let the music flow over me
a waterfall of crescendos
and pianissimos-
pulling me,
grabbing me,
dragging me
under the sea of music.

When the storm of melody
reached its feverish pitch,
and the last note died,
the audience sprang to its
feet with yells of bravo
and encore.
I stood. I clapped,
still wrapped
in my little black dress.

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