Wednesday, November 17, 2010

Contest winner.(Poem).

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One day a nurse came through the door holding a little kitten.
It was slimy, it was grimy, and wet and flea-bitten.
He was so very cute that all the patients and doctors
Made the decision to keep him and to name him Oscar.
He lives in a nursing home for those with Parkinson's disease,
But while the doctors do their thing Oscar's also busy.
Oscar checks up on patients, and he goes around the room,
But when he stays at one bed the docs know what to assume,
When he stays at one patient's bed, the patient's about to die.
The staff know he's reliable, but they don't know how or why.
Some people think he smells it and some people think he sees it,
Some people think he hears it by the sneezes or the wheezes.
Perhaps he can predict death 'cause in his heart he can feel it.
(I think he stays with them because he knows he can't heal it.)
John C, age 12, Pennsylvania
There once was a magazine, Muse,
That wrote a short quiz about shoes.
A young boy named Jeff
Took the quiz, got an F,
Then the poor kid blew a fuse.
Jeff H., California
Marathon Man Haiku
Faster than horses,
Tarahumara people,
running endlessly.
Aaron S., Oregon
There once was a rabbit called Malcolm
Who lived in a park out in Stockholm.
But a hunter called Jim
Caught, slew, and burned him,
Which warmed all the houses in Stockholm.
Chris T., age 12, New Jersey
Back Home Again
Footprints pad softly
Backward toward the sun
Making a pilgrimage to the past
Hands find ground again
Familiar; here is home
The earth--our mother
Sun shines down upon
Forgotten civilizations
Creations of foolish men
Leather hands, calloused toes
Roam over rock and through grass
Back to our heart, where we belong
Longing arms find
their fellow limbs--of trees
Finally, we are home
Kay B., age 14, Vermont
Is it time to renew?

A Frank Appraisal of the Muse Mail Page (and Psychoanalysis
of Those Therein)
In every issue without fail,
you print another page of mail.
Alas, it's always much the same,
unvaried form, of substance lame.
The letters fawn and compliment,
but by the end, their kindness spent,
They launch into a vile threat
with imagery I can't forget.
I do not blame you for the page,
you must not risk the writers' rage.
A militant and vengeful lot,
their malice puts you on the spot
And leaves you forced to print the note,
or have their monkeys slit your throat,
Or rodents mutilate your souls
or curses drive you into holes.
Oh, why does Muse attract such fans,
of selfish aims and spiteful plans?
Of course, the letters have some use.
I savor more the rest of Muse!
Stephen W., age 15, Kentucky
Dust clouds fill the horizon
Thunder is heard for miles
Flashes of feet
Dart out from underneath
The clouds settle
And the thundering feet

Gently coming to a stop.
The Running People are here
Isabella R., age 12, New Hampshire
The five little peppers, and how died,
This image so disturbing,
I very nearly cried.
The creepy, ugly vegetables,
With their mouths open wide,
So for open,
I could see right inside.
The dark green and red,
So frightening I had to hide.
In the dreaded FMP,
Where for many years I lied.
Until those peppers
were finally fried.
Elijah L., age 14, Marine
Battle of the Bards

Back in February, we asked you to write a poem about any subject in that month's Muse. Thanks to all the enthusiastic poets out there, we received poems about everything in February's magazine--from Tarahumara runners to ill-fated Swedish bunnies. Check out more winners at

Source Citation
"Contest winner." Muse July-Aug. 2010: 38+. General OneFile. Web. 17 Nov. 2010.
Document URL

Gale Document Number:A233126219
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