Short Story Gold Medal, NYL Scholarship
Ants Go Marching (Short Story)
Drawing Silver Medal
Poetry Silver Medal
"My Autumn, Pristine and Fertile", "Bodhisattva Talk", "I Question Your Faith, Mister White", "Screw Gun Sarabande", "The Great Machaut is Dead"
my autumn, pristine and fertile.
Charon, i'll keep my Ducats
but i'll help you with your ferry
i know this river all too well
each hydraulic, each wave
pulsating over millions of years
in an arc
that only Euclid can appreciate.
this river that flows
(No, it never flowed,
it has always jumped
is your chasm.
Sir, that's too personal.
but if i could stand with you,
on the banks for a while
and lazily watch
the Devonian driftwood
just float on by,
i would not beg
to be a caelocanth.
Charon, I'll Keep My Ducats,
because all i seek is
all your bodhisattva talk
sounds so specious
when you have your hands
in the dragon’s
no PBS archaeologist could
do you think
what, you with your
sticking straight out,
for every pore?
is your skin as golden as Bukansan?
Do you carry the thirty-two
or are you just lying to me?
i Question your Spirituality, mister White.
who saved you from the inferno?
who gave flesh of her flesh
(Seed Of Her Seed?)
to free you from the
fingers of death?
who was it that used her resources
(The American Dream, You Say?)
to spare you the effort of being consumed by
(Did It Feel Good, Pig?)
or was it a happy family of four?
was it a happy family of four?
(Are You A Dirty Little Piggie?)
was it as happy for you,
Who is Like You, Charlotte?
screw gun sarabande
screw gun, plugged into the outlet near the couch.
you are building a home for
ezra (of the Book). i might say that IKEA took a
pound of flesh.
you squeeze the trigger. the refreshing sounds of screeching metal-on-wood friction
are your take on the cello suites.
an instruction booklet lies discarded by the construction. It must have something about coveting an
i am sipping on a Diet Coke and I sincerely
hope you won't notice the fact
that i'm not really helping.
my bookshelf better get done fast. i wanna get back to
is it really too much to ask not to lose the washers under the couch?
nothing beats the sound of a screw penetrating
like a poem that i wish were as good as
The Great Machaut is Dead.
Guillame de Machaut is dead. (sound the vielles!)
The amorous fountain runs with copper water
and there are wolves in the streets of Paris.
Inside, Beatritz throws the pan on the stove (ç'est tous de merde!)
because Maria is late. Beatritz frets
because their relationship might be cliché.
Beatritz (as always, absentmindedly coy) (LHOOQ!)
tosses in the eggs,
then the oregano, then the spinach,
because she is running low on cash. (give her a break!)
because Maria is late, Beatritz frets.
the Seine runs with Black Bile.
But what Beatritz does not know (anachronism!)
is that Maria is a born victim;
birdfaced doctors bless her black-tinged body.
The Pope in Avignon has one year left to go. (sound the vielles!)
But The Great Machaut is dead.
The lark has no more songs to sing.
Note: The scholastic Art & Writing Awards are the longest- running, most prestigious recognition program for creative teens in the United States and the largest source of scholarships for young artists and writers. Of the 185,000 submissions, 1,500 teens received national medals. Winners are invited to the National Awards Ceremony which is held at Carnegie Hall in New York at the end of May.