The   S T R O K E S T O W N i n t e r n a t i o n a l  
P O E T R Y  F E S T I V A L / Féile Idirnáisiúnta Filíochta Bhéal Áth na mBuillí

 The Strokestown Schools' Poetry Prizes 2009 -
for young people living in or going to school in Co. Roscommon

I'm in a Bad Winter Mood

Hi, my name is Winter and I’m in a bad mood today. 

I must do something to calm DOWN!

 So there are eight things I must do, including my awesome powers!
Anyway, let’s start, shall we.

One, I will blow the birds away with a blizzard.
Two, I will make it rain like mad with hailstones and snow.
Three, I must flip over the cars like waffles.
Four, I will make it misty so nobody can see.
Five, I must make it icy cold so every tap will freeze.
Six, I will blow up a storm.
Seven, I will send lightning because it will strike everyone.
Finally eight, I will sit back and relax my feet and watch all the bad (good things for me) I did!

Some Strange Pocket

In a strange pocket you could find
A tickling Tasmanian devil,
A perky pop-up pen,
A healthy hopping handbag,
And a hiding hatching hen.

 In a strange pocket you could find
A freaky fighting fox,
A scary silver sunflower,
A bold biting box,
And a dumb dancing dingo.

 In some strange pocket you could find
An amazing Aborigine from Australia,
A kangaroo-killing king,
A piano-playing parrot,
And a racing royal ring. 

In a strange pocket you could find
A perky planet called Pluto,
A creepy cheating cheetah,
An evil egg called Elvis,
And a spying sloppy sheet.

 If we all look in a strange pocket,
We could find a quiet quilted queen,
A chatting cheesy chair,
A bright building book,
And a pretty puffy pair.

The Last Eden

 In the sky there lies a crescent moon
That casts its light on the silent lagoon
In the mountains of solace and solitude
In the crimson skies
Where the stars are diamonds
A city lies
Watching and waiting
Never to be touched by man or beast
Hidden away in the havens of the east.

 Upon the towers of internal and indigo
Upon the bays of valour and Valhalla
Upon the seas of wild endeavour
Some would be inspired
Some would be sad
Some would go mad
So beautiful
Never to be touched by man or beast
Hidden away in the havens of the east.

Last Breath

Crimson locks and auburn eyes,
Airbrushed features and silk skin thighs,
Pale, petite fingers buried in the snow,
Encased green locket, only she will know.

 In the watered down reflection the young girl smiles,
In the face of redemption, she cringes at the lies,
Spread by the elders to shelter from the fears,
Remembrance of the others, brings her close to tears. 

Sudden ash rainfall, sprinkles like icing on her cheek,
War stricken surroundings, painful, terror, horror, grief,
Newly forming puddles, reflecting future pain,
Curiosity licking danger, turmoil starts again. 

Pawing through the thawing ice,
Prodding at the mess,
Trouble on the horizon,
The fallen body he begins to caress.

 Guilt and remorse blinding her from hope,
In the burning village scene before her entangled in the smoke,
Hiding from the collector, quickly drawing in a breath,
Wounds ebbing slowly, the beauty kissed by the angel of death.

It is, in its own right, nice. Even just walking while the rain falls down on you. Or in winter, just lying in the snow, slowly feeling the feeling seep out under the cold light of stars. A malignant numbness that eats you so peacefully. A gnawing of helplessness and of pain that slows the fear of a beating heart. The feeling of not feeling is like being on a distant planet alone. Alone in aching relaxation and peace. The silence screaming, throbbing in empty ears of lonely echoes. The white and black lit by a distant moon of solitude and solace. And still, I walk, doused, as the sky crashes around me…

Setting Sun

The setting sun
Stings the eyes
Of those who don’t abide

Many will say it
Many will think it
But the rising moon
Will always…
…deny it.