Text Box: Yuch-hsun Lo
Grade 12
Meridian School, Provo
Matthew Kennington, Teacher
First Place, Division E
 
Until You Notice Me
 
I will be the leaf—
            on your tree
I will change—
                        my clothes for you
When you are happy—
                        I will wear green
and sing you—
                        endless—
                                    round.
 
I will cover for you.
I will take the heat.
 
And when things cool off
I will hang out with you
watching the sun  go down
feeding you sweet talk
and swapping sap.
 
And when you grow bored
I will put on something bright;
I will babble and jabber and natter and prate
and rattle to make you laugh.
 
And if one day I talk my head off—
if I die of your love—
I will go down happy
turning back to see you
a dozen times down.
 
Where I land I will lie
and look at you a long, long time
until you wake—
until you open your arms and stretch
 
until you notice me
 
Text Box: Yuch-hsun Lo
Grade 12
Meridian School, Provo
Matthew Kennington, Teacher
First Place, Division E
 
Until You Notice Me
 
I will be the leaf—
            on your tree
I will change—
                        my clothes for you
When you are happy—
                        I will wear green
and sing you—
                        endless—
                                    round.
 
I will cover for you.
I will take the heat.
 
And when things cool off
I will hang out with you
watching the sun  go down
feeding you sweet talk
and swapping sap.
 
And when you grow bored
I will put on something bright;
I will babble and jabber and natter and prate
and rattle to make you laugh.
 
And if one day I talk my head off—
if I die of your love—
I will go down happy
turning back to see you
a dozen times down.
 
Where I land I will lie
and look at you a long, long time
until you wake—
until you open your arms and stretch
 
until you notice meText Box: Katie Sue Clark
Grade 12
Woods Cross High School, Woods Cross
Virginia Riley, Teacher
Third Place, Division E
 
The Moment Between
 
Before the sun streaks
Streaming its golden rays of light from the east
To vibrate the earth with its shining glory
There comes a moment
 
Only after the dark night has fled
When the shadows of mystery scatter
When  the stars have finally dissolved into the sky
There comes a moment
 
This is the point of perfection
Linking the ambushing sun and bitter night
It is the humble moment between
 
The moment when quiet stillness whispers over the land
And mist, hovers above the glassy ground
Giving the morn a fresh coolness to inhale
Frost gently sparkles, as it blankets over the pasture forever
 
Nothing can touch the moment
When the earth is caught in a soft slumber
The desperate trees silhouette against the lifeless horizon
It comes and it goes
 
The moment that brings a song of tender solitude
As hopeful ambitions wait to break at the first scene of light
Yet an assurance of comforting peace presides
At this, there is a moment
 
The priceless moment between


 
Text Box: Katie Sue Clark
Grade 12
Woods Cross High School, Woods Cross
Virginia Riley, Teacher
Third Place, Division E
 
The Moment Between
 
Before the sun streaks
Streaming its golden rays of light from the east
To vibrate the earth with its shining glory
There comes a moment
 
Only after the dark night has fled
When the shadows of mystery scatter
When  the stars have finally dissolved into the sky
There comes a moment
 
This is the point of perfection
Linking the ambushing sun and bitter night
It is the humble moment between
 
The moment when quiet stillness whispers over the land
And mist, hovers above the glassy ground
Giving the morn a fresh coolness to inhale
Frost gently sparkles, as it blankets over the pasture forever
 
Nothing can touch the moment
When the earth is caught in a soft slumber
The desperate trees silhouette against the lifeless horizon
It comes and it goes
 
The moment that brings a song of tender solitude
As hopeful ambitions wait to break at the first scene of light
Yet an assurance of comforting peace presides
At this, there is a moment
 
The priceless moment between


 Text Box: Wen Lei
Grade 12
Meridian School, Provo
Matthew Kennington, Teacher
C. Cameron Johns
 
Tea Dream
 
In Taiwan's winter night
when the air is wet enough to wash light,
cold enough to freeze time;
when the hour is late and the house breathes
with my little brother and sister
sleeping in the next room;
I hear the familiar footsteps from the hall,
the clear melody of three golden bracelets.
My mother opens the door
with a cup of hot green tea.
She slips the saucer next to my left hand,
turns the handle towards me.
 
"It's late, shouldn't you go to bed?"
"After I finish this chapter," I say.
 
She lies on my bed, so that when I finish my homework,
my cotton sheets will be warm.
She falls asleep.
I poke her leg
hard enough to leave a white circle—
gently enough to be part of her dream.
When she wakes up,
she will watch me cocoon myself in blankets.
She will wait until I close my eyes
and she will turn off the light.
 
On an American winter night,
dry-ice air settling around my ankles,
I study late, a cup of orange juice on my table.
If I go to bed now, it will be cold—
and when I wake up tomorrow
the light will still be on.
 
 
Text Box: Wen Lei
Grade 12
Meridian School, Provo
Matthew Kennington, Teacher
C. Cameron Johns
 
Tea Dream
 
In Taiwan's winter night
when the air is wet enough to wash light,
cold enough to freeze time;
when the hour is late and the house breathes
with my little brother and sister
sleeping in the next room;
I hear the familiar footsteps from the hall,
the clear melody of three golden bracelets.
My mother opens the door
with a cup of hot green tea.
She slips the saucer next to my left hand,
turns the handle towards me.
 
"It's late, shouldn't you go to bed?"
"After I finish this chapter," I say.
 
She lies on my bed, so that when I finish my homework,
my cotton sheets will be warm.
She falls asleep.
I poke her leg
hard enough to leave a white circle—
gently enough to be part of her dream.
When she wakes up,
she will watch me cocoon myself in blankets.
She will wait until I close my eyes
and she will turn off the light.
 
On an American winter night,
dry-ice air settling around my ankles,
I study late, a cup of orange juice on my table.
If I go to bed now, it will be cold—
and when I wake up tomorrow
the light will still be on.
 Text Box: Austin Ellis
Grade 9
Mt. Jordan Middle School, Sandy
Ann M. Cahoon, Teacher
Third Place, Division D
 
All That Has Been
 
The air is crisp, musky,
Dry cracked leaves blow in the wind
A solitary tree
Stands forlorn
Its bark withered from times past
Its very essence
Caked with its account
Of its surroundings
A superhighway of information
Unable to be tapped
Its expiration is shortly approaching
A vault
To be forgotten in time
Yet one out there 
Does not forget
All the things
That have been
And those that have not


 

 
 
 
 
Text Box: Austin Ellis
Grade 9
Mt. Jordan Middle School, Sandy
Ann M. Cahoon, Teacher
Third Place, Division D
 
All That Has Been
 
The air is crisp, musky,
Dry cracked leaves blow in the wind
A solitary tree
Stands forlorn
Its bark withered from times past
Its very essence
Caked with its account
Of its surroundings
A superhighway of information
Unable to be tapped
Its expiration is shortly approaching
A vault
To be forgotten in time
Yet one out there 
Does not forget
All the things
That have been
And those that have not


 

 
 
 
 Text Box: Hyuna Kim
Grade 11
Meridian School, Provo
Matthew Kennington, Teacher
Second Place, Division E
 
Mother Moon
 
I am three, and my mother is driving the car
at night.  I sit in the silent back seat falling
in and out of sleep but every time I surface
I see a silver eye staring at me.
It is the moon.
Thirty minutes, an hour, two hours, and still
she is there, a spot on my window, so close
I could hold her in my cupped hands
and not spill.
 
"Mother," I say, "why does the moon follow me?"
"Because she loves you."
 
I am five, and my mother is lying beside me
in my small bed in the awful dark.
"Sleep well, my baby," she sings in Korean;
"don't cry, you rooster
or my baby might wake."
But I am only half listening to the surface
of my mother's silver voice.
 
After she leaves, the moon outside
goes on humming the rest of her song.
 
Text Box: Hyuna Kim
Grade 11
Meridian School, Provo
Matthew Kennington, Teacher
Second Place, Division E
 
Mother Moon
 
I am three, and my mother is driving the car
at night.  I sit in the silent back seat falling
in and out of sleep but every time I surface
I see a silver eye staring at me.
It is the moon.
Thirty minutes, an hour, two hours, and still
she is there, a spot on my window, so close
I could hold her in my cupped hands
and not spill.
 
"Mother," I say, "why does the moon follow me?"
"Because she loves you."
 
I am five, and my mother is lying beside me
in my small bed in the awful dark.
"Sleep well, my baby," she sings in Korean;
"don't cry, you rooster
or my baby might wake."
But I am only half listening to the surface
of my mother's silver voice.
 
After she leaves, the moon outside
goes on humming the rest of her song.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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