Xanadulitmag launched its first ever 2024 Walt Whitman Xanadu Poetry Contest this spring. The contest was open to Walt Whitman High School students grades 9-12 with the chance to win $700 in awards.
We’re thrilled to announce and congratulate first prize winner Emma Lucana for her poem “i want to be loved like a sick dog,” second prize winner Katie Mondry for her poem “Ache,” and third prize winner Katy Valle for her poem “What Did You Think.” Congratulations to Lillian O’Phelan, Addison McCready, Steven Granado, Kate O’Phelan, and Nicolas Guillermo for being awarded Honorable Mention. Honorable Mention recipients each received gift certificates to The Next Chapter Book Store in Huntington Village. Funds for these well earned prizes were raised over the years from proceeds of Winter Xanadu Concerts.
In congratulating the participants of this first annual poetry contest, Walt Whitman High School English teacher, Joe Pipolo, described the art of poetry beautifully. “Poetry is a wild and powerful soldier of consciousness. Poetry has muscle and heart. It has blood and brains and conscience. Poetry is the attempt to express that which is seemingly inexpressible in any other way. It tries to name the unnameable. It should heal wounds and cause some if necessary. Poetry should wake the reader up.”
The high school poets used this writing opportunity to truly awaken their readers. The first ever Xanadu Poetry Contest had over 150 entries, encapsulating the creative voices and unique experiences of Whitman’s students. Those who took home winning prizes and honorable mentions stood out from the rest, demonstrating their soul, skill and sophistication through their unique prose. Six anonymous poets and writing teachers judged the entrants’ works for their level of sophistication and voice, with consideration of a number of writing components.
As Xanadu’s mantra Creation is Activism persists, writing opportunities such as these show just that. Xanadu is Walt Whitman High School’s award winning online gallery, run by students. The talent and creativity is on full display at xanadulitmag.com.
First Prize: $500.00 Emma Lucana
i want to be loved like a sick dog
euthanized dogs
know something
i don't.
i, too, wish
to be handled with delicacy
in such overwhelming pain.
surrounded by tears
and words of affirmation—
they're fed delicious cheeseburgers
and poisonous chocolate.
smothered in kisses,
soothed by whispers of comfort,
softly caressed down their fur.
i yearn to be held
like it’s the last time,
yet remain oblivious
to my fate.
most of all,
i am jealous
of a dog's easy way out.
painlessly
released from their suffering—
let go
as an act of love.
when a dog is sprawled out
on a white-tableclothed counter—
i am envious they do not know
it is their final
goodbye.
Note: Sometimes in immense pain, physical and mental, I wish to be put down as kindly as a sick dog. Surrounded by love and sympathy, I want to remain oblivious that my end is near. I am envious, and I can only hope my pain will go away so peacefully.
Second Prize: $150.00 Katie Mondry
Ache
I want to lace up skates
and break into a cold sweat.
I want to crawl along the wall
like a newborn deer.
With stiff fingers
shoved into fingerless gloves.
I want to crash into the wall—
hands shooting out
to cling to the ledge,
chipping a nail in the process.
The jagged edge catching on wool
as my hands tend to my
dripping nose.
Coughing up phlegm,
cheeks rosy from the frigid air—
I want to fall.
Hard.
And have the wind knocked out of me
as I hit the ice.
And laugh
as Dad scoops me up
by my armpits.
I want to sit outside the rink—
and share warm fries
with my Dad
one more time.
Note: Ache is about the doors that have been shut on things I once loved. Multiple concussions have robbed me of many experiences, but after 6 years ice skating is the one thing I still “ache” for. It was something I could enjoy just doing without needing to be good or better; it brought my dad and I closer during a time we could have grown apart.
Third Prize: $50.00 Katy Valle
What Did You Think
Did you think everything would be ripped apart?
Exploding into hundreds of pieces,
as it lays on the ground,
Sad and broken,
That you’d stare and wait
For something horrible to pass.
Did you think everything would be transformed into glass?
That it would fly in the air,
It would catch the sunlight,
And for a second,
That you’d see all possible variations of color,
Catching in the sun.
And for a glimpse,
Just a moment,
Everything is beautiful.
Then, it falls.
It smashes on the ground,
Its shards glitter in the grass,
like a gorgeous mosaic,
failed, shattered, and stunned,
Never to be seen.
This will not happen,
Just because,
You had the audacity
To not be perfect.
The absolute nerve,
To be only human.
Note: A note on perfectionism, a criticism of a society that leaves so many burnt out and unconsolable. It is as impressive as destructive; wonderous things the mind can do on 2 hour sleep schedules. This poem is a letter to anyone who ever felt like being human wasn’t an option, that being flawed was a crime.
Five Honorable Pieces:
Stargazers by Lillian O’Phelan
Nothing is beautiful forever.
Not for a second can I doubt it.
The flowers on the table will shrivel and wilt. Your silver necklace will tarnish.
One day, when you catch a glimpse of my face, you will wonder what you saw there once before.
What will I think?
Looking at life through a stained glass window,
The colors distorted and fragmented with age.
Yet I'll still know
What your heartbeat sounds like
With an ear pressed against your chest.
I'll remember
the sweetness of your smile,
Your teeth tinted beige with coffee,
As we watch the evening sunset.
Perhaps the beauty of it all
Is indistinguishable from the agony.
That I may recognize your face in darkness just the same as in light.
Then what does it all matter, anyway?
You turn to watch the starlit sky,
And the question seems redundant.
Hand in hand,
I forget why I asked.
ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ by Nicolas Guillermo
What lies within the bounds of A and Z?
Is it a child
trying to remember the song,
or the shout of a store owner's slur?
A few here…
used to control traffic,
and others there…
breeding distracted drivers;
causing catastrophes through the city.
The characters formed together
by your mother stating:
You are not at all amazing.
But the next day
formed again to exclaim:
You are a genius.
Grabbing hold of meaning,
diction, designation.
Grabbing hold of your heart,
your memories, your ideals.
Nonessential words start nonessential wars.
Yet, at the same time—
allows a soldier’s wife to send a letter,
reminding of someone at home.
Take a few letters out of an insult,
and see if it still hurts your love.
Take a letter out of a compliment.
Would it still warm her soul?
Circles and lines—
Dashes and dots…
Nothing more.
Note: My poem discusses the irony of complaining about words and language, using words and language.
Me and the Trees by Addison McCready
We enter the world with our future certain for us. The universe, fate, or God—
pick a theory to settle your mind.
‘Hometown’—
Where the seed is planted and receives nourishment.
The radicle begins to grow and intertwine with the Earth beneath.
New roots ground the sprout, protecting its flimsy body from being snatched into the advancing wind.
Passing faces inscribe themselves in the
prepubescent mind.
Countenance of those you won’t remember until the phrase,
I feel like I know you from somewhere.
Floating through stages of life—
Fickle friends interchange as our personalities metamorphosize.
Shrubs and saplings become naked as they shake and shimmy, littering the ground with fallen beauty.
We too are reborn with each new sprout ; we are evergreen.
Companions and strangers carve teachings into our soul like an arborglyph.
And we, like the trees,
mature and develop with the scars of our environment.
We shall cherish our engravings as they make us different,
not unlovable or undesirable.
The body will fail us, the mind will become incompetent, and we too will become snags.
And when the bark of our bodies disintegrates into ground matter,
all that will remain is the impact of our existence.
Note: I have recently been reminded that it is not about what we obtain in life, but how we impact the world around us. Living amongst nature and watching the seasons change is what empowers me to continue life throughout the year. I believe humans too, change with the seasons.
Dawn by Kate O’Phelan
Tell me, why do I prefer the dark side of dawn
when the morning light shines so hopeful,
it's amber beams slipping through the blinds
of my window, why do I still miss the comfort of the dark-
ness, shrinking the world so it’s just me and the moon and the stars?
I remember the stinging numbness,
my fingernails never cutting deep enough
to soothe the pain, as I sat in my seat with no expression–
to the world I was scratching an itch, some trivial motion
hidden under my sleeve–but the scars on my forearm remember
the drop of blood they wept, and how they thanked the school
for painting the tabletops black when it was wiped away–
maybe it's hard to see myself with such a genuine smile as of late
like watching the sky creep lighter in the morning, I can't help but wish
time would slow down, that I could have a little more time to adjust
to the brightness around the corner–
it hurts sometimes, when my jaw aches from joy, and my heart
seems to stretch, opening to emotion it hasn't felt in too long,
it's tempting to fall back into the darkness, pull down the blinds, go back
to sleep, but as the dawn does not turn back when the clouds obscure its light,
I embrace the light, and let it transform me, one morning at a time.
Churched by Steven Granados
I was churched by your love.
You were my sanctuary—
My holy place.
Even though I was persecuted,
I worshiped you.
In my darkest of days
And in the brightest nights,
I came to you.
You were my light.
You gave me hope.
You glow like the burning bush.
I sacrifice myself for your pleasure,
Because like Lazerus,
You rose me from the dead.