Hey Whitby writers! Thanks to you, our first annual poetry contest was a tremendous success. Our panel of judges was incredibly impressed by the scope of work that arrived in our submission boxes. It made it exceptionally difficult to choose finalists in our two categories!
Congratulations to our winners and runner-ups. A shout out to all of you who were brave enough to share your poetry. Thank you for all your wonderful contributions. We're already looking forward to next year!
Winner in Adult Category
[Eco]systems
Breanna Hall
The city is all a human needs.
It is false to believe
the forest nourishes my soul
and that
I am part of a larger ecosystem.
I know
concrete paths solid and unyielding.
Much preferable underfoot to
meandering trails, soft and springy.
I am captivated by
the percussive beats of wheels drumming road.
These familiar rhythms I seek over
the chorus of birdsong and susurrus of leaves.
My path is lit with
streetlights, porch lights and neon signs;
guiding my way more clearly than
dappled sunlight through trees.
I am enveloped by
strangers bustling on the sidewalk.
More comforting than
wild neighbours scurrying through the brush.
I long to see
crisp edged lawns bordering orderly asphalt.
Pleasing the eye over
tall towering trees with crown-shy limbs.
I am drawn to
formal gardens with exotic plants ornately arrayed.
Never pining for
ephemeral flowers blooming chaotic.
I seek out
freedom in the city.
There is no
order in chaos
in the wild woods.
But my heart aches for connection
in the wild woods.
Order in chaos.
There is no
freedom in the city.
I seek out
ephemeral flowers blooming chaotic.
Never pining for
formal gardens with exotic plants ornately arrayed.
I am drawn to
tall towering trees with crown-shy limbs.
Pleasing the eye over
crisp edged lawns bordering orderly asphalt.
I long to see
wild neighbours scurrying through the brush.
More comforting than
strangers bustling on the sidewalk.
I am enveloped by
dappled sunlight through trees;
guiding my way more clearly than
streetlights, porch lights and neon signs.
My path is lit with
the chorus of birdsong and susurrus of leaves.
These familiar rhythms I seek over
the percussive beats of wheels drumming road.
I am captivated by
meandering trails, soft and springy.
Much preferable underfoot to
concrete paths solid and unyielding.
I know
I am part of a larger ecosystem.
and that
the forest nourishes my soul.
It is false to believe
the city is all a human needs.
Runner-up in Adult Category
Connection
Jessica Berlette
The thin, twisted branch reaches out
slowly, and cautiously, towards its neighbour.
It can’t connect, not just yet.
But as time goes on,
and as the wind blows through,
there are brief moments -
Brief moments when the drying leaves brush each other.
Gently, softly, quickly.
An instant of contact
so fleeting it almost didn’t happen.
But it did.
It happened.
It mattered.
And then, the wind blows again, harder now.
The trees let go, the branches let go, releasing their leaves
for the season.
To the ground.
Where they now lay together,
In a pile,
on top of each other, connected.
With purpose anew.
Winner in Under 18 Category
An Unforgiving Ache.
Mishti Patel, Grade 7
The clay in the ground is murky, murky like the rivers, the streams. Murky like my thoughts.
“This is where we collect. Collect to knead, to sculpt, to cherish,” she tells me. “You have to cherish each one.”
“But auntie, there are a hundred pots on those shelves. How do you make room to cherish each and
every one?”
“There are a billion people here on this land. You learn to make room to cherish each one.”
The clay is soft in my hands, soft like a baby’s skin. Soft like my heart.
“The good, and the bad. I love these people,” she says.
“I love the people too,” Spoken under my breath, barely a whisper.
My soft heart aches.
The seat of the taxi is hot from the sun, hot like a fire stove, in my grandma’s kitchen. Hot like my
cheeks, too dark to dust pink like it says they should in books.
“Up down that road, take a right,” he says. “The second temple down that lane.”
“Why do we have so many temples, masi?”
“One for each bad thought a person can have. One for each, to chase them away.”
The roads are bumpy and rough. Rough like pebbles littered in fine sand from the beach. Rough like
my heart.
“The signs and the stands and the road are cheap. But the temples are not. The temple is where the soul
lingers. I love these temples.”
“I love these temples too.” Spoken under my breath, hardly a squeak.
My rough heart aches.
The hem of my shirt is torn, torn like the leaves of the mulberry tree, crawling with caterpillars and
aphids. Torn like my fingernails, from opening up plastic without metal tools.
‘They’re dirty,’ it says. ‘They refuse to act civilized.’
“Why does the world hate our people?” I ask him.
“They cannot tell apart pure culture from shattered society.”
The clock still hanging on the wall is broken, broken like my old watch. Broken like my heart.
“Our culture is to love, our culture is to give, our culture is to nurture. Yet, people find peace in
inflicting pain. Nonetheless, it doesn’t matter what the internet says. I love this world.”
“I wish I loved this world too.” A wisp of a plea, gone too fast to be a thought.
Me and my broken, aching heart.
Runner-up in Under 18 category
Half a Woman
Samantha Robin Cameron, Grade 12
I live only in half measures
Half a life and half a plan
I’m a broken plastic bucket
Slowly sinking in the sand
Half my foot stuck in the doorway
Wave goodbye to all my friends
I am only half a woman
And a failure of a man
And this room’s so big and empty
As it fills, my heart expands
And I watch the door, just waiting
For someone to hold my hand
As I stare across in longing
My head is not where I am
And I’ll never be just like them
But I hope they understand
And I know that I am broken
I don’t understand their pain
And it always goes unspoken
But I feel them pull away
And I’ll try and laugh about it
And they’ll say that it’s okay
But I’ll never be completed
No, I’ll never be the same
So I step out of the doorframe
And the door, it swings and slams
So I turn and duck and cover
Plug my ears with both my hands
I try not to think about it
‘Cause I’m doing all I can
But I’m only half a woman
And a failure of a man