Skyline Summer Poetry Contest Winners 2007

1st

Joan Mazza

WHEN WE WERE STUDENTS

If we could return to those early days,

when we were strangers, shy to show,

unknown to ourselves. Back to that time

when kisses in the car developed

over weeks, got deeper. A year of foreplay,

each caress more potent than whiskey, hotter

than the logs we burned while your parents drank

coffee upstairs and thought we studied for college.

We opened the books of each others

bodies, smoothed our pages with open hands,

read between the lines, felt our way toward spines.

Too young too soon too fast, our parents said.

If we could go back to those choices

made in the rush of young chemicals

when my hair was long and dark,

and you had just discovered the lure

of cigarettes and beer, when death seemed

farther than the last stars you saw

from your hospital bed.

Joan Mazza has worked as a medical microbiologist, psychotherapist, certified sex therapist, writing coach and seminar leader. She is the author of six books, including Dreaming Your Real Self (Perigee/Penguin). Her work has appeared in Potomac Review, Möbius, Permafrost, Writers Digest Magazine, Slipstream, Voices in Italian Americana, Playgirl, The Writer, and Writers Journal. She grew up in NYC and is now a full-time poet in rural central Virginia. www.JoanMazza.com

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2nd

Joe Quinn

HERE

here there are no suburbs
no desperate housewives sentenced to death by lawn
chair
no cloned eight year olds behind lemonade stands on
homogenous streets
no reformed hippies with power ties for spines
a castrated peace sign atop the hood of their mercedes
benz

here when a child smiles its found art
broken glass strewn in gravel
that catches the sunlight 
from whatever angle it is youre falling

here we lean on the crutches of our rusted guns
awaiting a messenger who never comes
to tell us
the war is over

here the lottery is our only hope
weve all gone and gathered our stones
glass houses so dirty you cant see in
and I cant see out

here we live in a vacuum of held in breath
yet the dust never forms a star
but oh if you could just see my heart
well you'd go blind all the same

Joe Quinn is a 27 year old poet living in Kentucky,

the heart of Appalachia and the backdrop of a

collection in progress called "Welcome Home, Iron Lung".

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3rd

Carl Palmer

HER FELLA

she rubs my head runs her fingers across my face and she cries she holds me tight her head next to mine and she cries I tell her that nothing has changed I try to explain but she doesn’t understand she hasn’t understood anything I’ve said for the past five years we’ve been together since she was a little girl we understood each other then she’d talk with me for hours she’d look into my eyes tell me all her secrets evenings on the porch swing or in the yard, laughing and playing or in her room, lying on her bed watching her every move I learned so much from her she taught me what she liked, what she didn’t like she’d ruffle my hair. Give me a hug and a kiss speak to me in her special way she called me her Fella she’d say, “Come here, Fella” and I’d be right there by her side ready for anything she wanted to do that was then as she grew older, became a teenager became busy, became popular she had less time for our long walks together our talks were what I missed the most I was still her Fella, still there for her but she was out growing me soon she didn’t talk with me at all sometimes at me but never a conversation and sometime during that time she stopped hearing my words altogether now barely out of her teenage years time seems to have gone by so quickly our fifteen years together her, so full of life so vibrant, so youthful but me, I feel so old as if I have aged seven years for each one of hers some days I feel at least a hundred years old and now she treats me like that too lately she’s spending more time with me I love that she’s doing that it’s just the crying I wish she wasn’t so sad she holds me close rocks me and she cries she carries me everywhere won’t let me do a thing does everything for me and she cries we get into her car, I love to watch her drive she used to look my way and smile today she stops several times takes me in her arms and cries and cries and cries we enter the cold, bright room, yet I feel peace I feel her tremble as the doctor shaves my wrist just above my paw the needle is withdrawn I feel warmth and am happy we romp and play in the yard her and I laughing and shouting in words we both understand just like before before she began to cry

Carl Palmer, professional hobbyist, full time Papa and hospice volunteer, spends his spare moments submitting flash fiction stories and poetry to magazines around the world. Carl has works published in Scotland, England, Germany, Algeria, India, Australia, Canada and the United States, with selected poetry translated into Arabic, Hindi and French.

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4th

Pamela MacBean

ICU

Crowned "bad ass",
a daddy dearest
of the "greatest generation"
cries "Im such a sissy!"
as tears flow
in front of his wife and daughters.

We leave as a grim faced nurse
on bed-pan duty
pushes back her shoulders,
nose hanging on her halo
into his I See You cubicle
while the button beeps
loss of dignity under
glowing N.D.E. tunnels
with see-through people
hovering near ceilings
like helium filled
birthday balloons
hoping to pop---

Pamela MacBean was scorched in spirit as a child and has come out the other side, stronger. She is a mental health consumer and also a breast cancer survivor. Pam has been writing poems since she was a very young girl in her "island", her room. She feels the sufferings she has been through has given her a greater depth to her poetry. She wants to touch peoples spirits with her canvas of words.

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Katie Uva

CAGED

Joyful as the tortured smile

Of a ventriloquists dummy

Laughing, teeth flapping uncontrollably

Drinking water while singing a lonesome

Spiritual of pain and fields, and Warsaw

What would my European ancestors say

If confronted with a mountain of

Forsaken banjos? Sawdust, you are

The soul of laughter, brevity

The language, time the malevolent

Grin of a clown with a cattle prod.

Ive tilted, I've whirled, I've scrambled,

I've tried to beat the calliope music

Out of my mind, and you, with your

Skirt over your head in the freest

Moment of 1909, it's no wonder

That hysteria and uterus come from

The same beginnings. Like a bull in

A Chinese toy shop, the doctors shake

Their heads and threaten to get in

Bed with you if you don't improve.

Six weeks of pablum, darkness, numb rotting

Light looks different then.

A wooden cross, strings, limbs, flying at

Grotesque angles, your steps are not your

Own, your smile hideous, bones reduced to

Shavings curling in a dying flame.

Katie Uva is originally from New York City, but is currently living in Boston, where she is attending Boston University and studying Classics and American Studies. She spends her spare time reading, going to museums, and playing guitar. Her favorite poets are Frank O'Hara, Catullus, and Wislawa Szymborska. Her personal heroes are Eleanor Roosevelt and Idgie Threadgoode. Some of her writing has previously been published in Bellowing Ark, Burn, and Fence magazines, as well as the ezine Shampoo.

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Michael Frey

WAITING IN FRONT OF AN EMPEROR'S VIEW

Music turned off too soon as the smell of

cinnamon and pizza wafts upward from

the street far below, like a crack racing

through a pane of glass.

Neon blue lights swirl in circles in my apartment

and my loyal dog sleeps before I do.

The less traveled path is beaten by my tread

and I forgot how to get off it.

It has been caustic to me.

My white scars blaze in the white moonlight.

Easy to see and lonely as a believing liar.

I can hear forks click plates through the wall.

Wine bottles empty and worthless like

used up souls who have no present future.

Sitting in darkness waiting for future.

I drink beer from a wine glass. Waiting.

Michael Frey is a doctor of medicine and an associate professor at Albert Einstein College of Medicine of Yeshiva University in New York City. He grew up on Long Island and graduated from Brandeis University where he was taught/ greatly influenced by Allen Ginsberg. Michael currently lives in Manhattan with his kindred spirit/ muse/dog Monty. Recently, his poetry has been published or forthcoming in WestWard Quarterly, Illogical Muse, Always Looking Magazine and Foliate Oak.

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Joyce Pittman Taylor

CURRENTS

Suddenly you entered my life.
I had been content,
sitting on the beach
watching inconsiderate gulls
crying like old hinges

The tide pushed itself up beside me
then retreated as if afraid...
but returned to see what it might have missed.

The currents pulled the water back
to the sea, leaving tide pools at my feet.

Then you were there.
You created currents in my soul
Changed the tide of my life.

DANGER: RIPTIDE.

Joyce Pittman Taylor was born in southern Illinois, one of nine brothers and sisters. Joyce attended Southern Illinois University, has worked as a secretary, a paralegal and a teacher. She is currently coadministrator of an online support group for Alpha 1 Antitrypsin, a rare genetic disease. Joyce's published work includes, poetry, fiction, and articles in various publications. Two of her poems were published in the recently issued summer edition of Skyline Magazine. She is a recent winner of the poetry tag slam contest, and a past fusion slam contest winner.

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June Brautigan

A GREY HAND

Pink ink with floral scent

rests on the page with poppy edge

somehow the words I choose in script

no longer flow like years ago

although I think and breathe the same

so sure that love is deep with years

the page stays blank of cupid heart

and flowing rose escapes my print

instead, upon the wrinkled page

with border poppy spray and sprig

my thin, still hand lays there within

once I’d thought all grey was cast

somewhere else outside my skin

like that which paints the crowded clouds

and drops cool rain on poppy page

to stay the words still in my pen

June Brautigan (jusajourney) lives in the Finger Lakes region of upstate New York. She has been publishing poetry and short stories for many years in various magazines and literary journals. She’s an artist with works in charcoal, oil, acrylic, reverse glass, pastel, and clay. She lives happily with her husband, Tom, 2 dogs and a cat. She has 4 children, and three grandchildren.

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Angela Rizza

I AM AN ARTIST

I am a creator forming life and existence out of emptiness; I am a destroyer discarding what I birth
I am curious about color, line, texture and shape; curious about what visually defines life
I hear pigment, every sound becomes a sharp image in my mind
I see the world from a different perspective
I want to be recognized
I am an artist

I pretend I am a sunflower, painted thick with oil, clumps of yellow surrounding a dark brown center
I feel like I'm only a single raindrop falling to earth during a storm, bursting before absorption
I touch the heavens as easily as I hold my brush before my canvas
I worry I will only be within my own memories
I cry over passionate colors
I am an artist

I understand everything living and non has its own unparalleled quality that gives them beauty
I say when we all are born our lives are predestined by fate
I dream about Death who is my muse, inspiring me
I try to focus my emotions into my works
I hope to find absolute meaning
I am an artist

Angela Rizza currently lives in Mahopac, NY and will be attending the Fashion Institute of Technology where she will major in illustration. She was voted most artistic in her graduating class and was art editor of her >school magazine, Drumbeat, for three years. Her favorite medium to use are >ball point pens and she enjoys drawing intricate details and adding lots of texture. Her favorite subjects are reptiles, aquatic life, birds, and medical studies. http://Rieoko.DeviantArt.com.

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Prizes Awarded

First: $100.00

Second: $75.00

Third: $50.00

Fourth: $25.00

All Poets listed on this page will receive a copy of A Hudson View Poetry Digest containing their poetry.

Meet our Judges

Skyline Home | Contest Home

First Place	Joan Mazza	WHEN WE WERE STUDENTS
Second Place	Joe Quinn	HERE
Third Place	Carl Palmer	HER FELLA
Fourth Place	Pamela MacBean	ICU

Katie Uva	CAGED
Michael Frey	WALKING IN FRONT OF AN EMPEROR'S VIEW
Joyce Pittman Taylor	CURRENTS
June Brautigan	A GREY HAND
Angela Rizza	I AM AN ARTIST