1st Place — The Lion’s Tooth by Esthezia Andel
I sing praise to that most despised of flowers:
the lion’s tooth, la dent-de-lion — invader of lawns,
despoiler of suburbia’s dream of perfectly manicured turf.
Bright yellow sunbursts explode atop taproots
sunk deep into the nurturing earth.
They do not ask your permission. They do not beg your pardon.
They grow where they will. They do not need your protection or care.
Young people appreciate their brash, aggressive beauty,
gathering blossoms for necklaces, crowns, and bouquets.
Tiny seeds, borne on the breath of children,
set out to conquer new fields of uniform green.
In the cellar of my grandfather’s house,
we found old bottles of dandelion wine —
dusty, forgotten relics of a summer long past.
We sipped the stored-up sunlight, imbibed the spirit of the lion’s tooth.
I sing praise to this happiest of flowers,
the little yellow warrior, that comes every spring
to slay our too-narrow visions of beauty.
About Esthezia
Jonquil Gal (a.k.a. Esthezia Andel) first set foot in Second Life® in 2008, and was immediately captivated by the quirky creativity displayed in this virtual world. She has explored and wandered across the grid, admiring the works of musicians, artists, dancers, photographers, and poets. Two years ago she joined a weekly poetry group at the Perfect Paradise Community, which reignited her dormant impulse to write poems herself. Jonquil is playful, sometimes even silly, but also keenly interested in the deeper questions of life, science, and philosophy.
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2nd Place — Charmer by Coraline Wyatt (Coraline017)
Heartthumps spread cool as scales rope nearer
my neck this noose and these loops of your lovers
slink where you like, the glare gleaming clearer,
hug with the weight of the lead your gold covers.
You are enough. It could be enough.
Hypnotic hand
reaches for the other
you endear,
knowing well I can’t afford what’s under
diamondbacks dizzying me to your covers.
Fingers crashland,
slithering lips smother
the past here
within, and I suppose it’s no wonder
you kiss your mirrors deeper than your lovers
who made more and
yours are not the monsters
I should fear:
You are enough. It could be enough
I’m not enough. You don’t know what this means,
so you’ve never had to bank where it careens
alone, phone cord coiling serpentine
around the hours since we turned seventeen.
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3rd Place — Jojutsu by Blitz
A tree branch snapping in the stiff wind,
heard throughout centuries.
A whip on the horse’s rear,
the lashing on the captive’s skin,
the spirit cry of warriors who
grip the branch in their bloody palms,
the crutch,
the crucifix,
the toy sword,
for centuries the stick
a tool and a weapon.
I find a tree branching to the sky,
its leafy top shivers with sunlight,
I make my way through the winding trail
of the mountain,
a walking stick guides me on
the uneven ground,
and I’m listening
to the sound of branching,
the sound of snapping,
heard throughout centuries.
About Blitz
Blitz (AutumnBlitz Xenobuilder) was born to teachers of language, and is a child of immigrant culture. He studied fine arts (painting, drawing, sculpture), and has exhibited locally in the US and abroad, notably in Spain where he traveled via an Artist In Residence stipend in his search for Lorca’s duende. Blitz came to poetry later in his life on discovering open mics and workshops in Second Life®. He lives and works in Los Angeles, USA.
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Honourable Mention — Mornings With Dad by Skye Galileo
My father sat at the dining room table, the sun barely over the horizon. Still in his work clothes, he would lift his combination radio/cassette player onto the table next to him as my mother brought cereal and milk and tea from our tiny kitchen. I would sit and watch him, waiting for my bowl of breakfast flakes or crispies, waiting to hear what wonders would rush forth from his night’s recordings. His job was taking tickets, making change, giving directions—but the night held so much more for him. It was filled with music and comedy and ideas, embodied in the voices he so devotedly recorded and brought home to share with me. Every song, every sketch, every interview was a new strand that bound us together as lovers of all things deeply creative.
Listen to this—
A note so pure,
Held for what seemed like eternity,
To end a song that struck the heart.
This guy is great—
The words strung together,
To create gales of laughter,
And leave us breathless and gasping for air.
You have to hear this—
He talks about stars so far away,
She talks about traveling in Europe by train,
Every idea filled with fascination.
Laughing and listening and humming along,
Sharing the beauty and brilliance,
Filling our souls with light,
Time with my dad.
About Skye
Skye Galileo started writing poetry at age twelve when she was assigned to write about the Cambodian War. Her teacher cried when she read the poem, entitled The Spring of Tears, and Skye was hooked. She has written over 300 poems and along the way, she began writing prose as well. Skye now spends much of her time writing short stories with adult and erotic content as Skye Leroux and she is currently working on a new novel. Her work can be found on Medium.com, Lushstories.com, and her website, www.themoonlitpillow.com
