BEST IN SHOW

Emery Guadian

Mayfield High School, 10th

The Low Tide in Twilight

The ocean doesn’t close its eyes at night.

It just grows quieter,

like someone thinking too much

It stretches its long blue body

toward the edge of the world

and longs.

Above it, the night sky unfolds

slow, deliberate,

buttoning itself with stars.

They’ve done this before,

this careful dance of distance.

The horizon is their meeting place,

a thin line of almost.

The waves lift their hands first,

silvered by the moon,

reaching higher than they mean to.

They fall back, sheepish,

then try again.

The sky watches,

pretending indifference.

But it spills starlight anyway

small confessions

scattered across the dark.

The moon drifts between them

like a quiet translator,

pressing light into the ocean’s skin.

And the water shivers,

not from the cold

but from being seen.

Clouds wander through

like passing thoughts.

The ocean wears their shadows

without complaint.

It knows how it is

to carry weight.

On calmer nights,

the vastness becomes a mirror.

The stars slip down into it,

doubling themselves

without fear of drowning.

It’s hard then 

to tell which one is deeper

the sky with its endless black,

or the ocean

with its hidden worlds.

They hold each other

without touching.

They speak in tides

and quiet glimmers.

In pull and patience.

And when dawn begins to rise,

spilling pale gold

between them,

the ocean sighs

like someone reluctant to let go.

The sky gathers its stars

like folded letters

and fades.

But the promise lingers

in the salty air

The night will come again,

and they will find each other,

the low tide in twilight.

~

BEST 9th Grade Poem

JAYDEN BURCH

Las Cruces High School

The Girl Under 

The Cherry Blossom Tree

She sits there quaintly

Keeping to herself

Not saying a word

Like a doll on a shelf

I see her from afar

Rubbing my eyes in disbelief

Could I have possibly found

A girl prettier than a Cherry Blossom Leaf

I muster my courage

Setting all my fears free

To face the girl

Under the Cherry Blossom Tree

She looks down from the sky

Linking her eyes to mine

My heart skips a beat

There are no words to define

When I attempt to speak

My throat tightens, and my forehead sweats

Overthinking  every word, fearing one of them a threat

Fighting the hardest battle to muster  a simple “Hi”

Her eyes leave mine and return to the golden sky

As I relinquish hope

And turn the other way

She calls to me softly

“Won’t you join me on this lovely day?”

Pinching my arm dreading a dream

I sit next to her softly

My mind turns tranquil as the sea

As I spend my days

With the Girl under the Cherry Blossom

~

Best 10th Grade Poem

Jaime Velasco

Organ Mountain HIgh School

Finding My Way Home

I’m tripping tripping tripping 

Trying to find my way home

My shit’s spinning spinning, 

Like a calling fan

I almost ended myself, 

I wasn’t ready

Standing on that edge, 

the edge of my 16th year, the 

Edge of my last breath, 

the twisted edge of Lake Michigan. I’m talking heavy 

Finger on a trigger 

Might just POP that round 

Hoping I find my way home

They say I’m too selfish, for a real connection 

She’s my star, and I’m like a moth

This isn’t a game

Trying to let her talk

Baby just get it off your chest 

Hoping I find my way home

To my mom, I’m sorry 

I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you more

I’m sorry that taking care of me felt like

taking out the trash or mopping the kitchen.

You did everything you could

I’m sorry it went this way

Hoping I find my way home 

I’m sorry to my close friends 

‘Cause the stories we could have wrote

If I didn’t let my ego take me over the edge 

Hoping I find my way home;

~

Best 11th Grade Poem

Uyen Dang

Centennial High School

It Is Much Too Late To Be Up

Waiting for mourning doves 

to chastise me

I sit barefoot

crossed-legged

on the cold terracotta tile

Meanwhile

the Dyson fan

insists

on smelling

slightly burnt

as if it is

working too hard

to save me

from myself

In the dark

with the small pink lamp

I draw

scritch-scratching away

quite pleased

with my rebellion

against socks

~

Best 12th Grade Poem

Jose Lozoya

Las Cruces High School

Lovers Dinner

He loved her

She was perfect

He took a bite

It was ready

The meat

He cut it clean

Her hand

He held

The knife close

Red on his face

Her eyes glossed 

He loved her

Now read from bottom to top.

~

Honorable Mention 1

Jillian Horton

Mayfield High School, 10th

Proof That Hope Still Breathes

The way he convinces me

all hope isn’t lost

in the present moment of today.

In a world heavy with evil,

he’s what people call the little hope—

the light that doesn’t blind,

just bright enough

to guide you through the dark.

It’s in the little moments:

every goodnight text

that makes sleep come easier,

every compliment that feels real,

not forced.

The way he holds the door,

yes ma’am, no ma’am,

respect spoken so naturally

it feels rare.

It’s how he notices when my voice changes,

asks if I’m okay before I ask myself.

How silence with him

doesn’t feel awkward—

it feels safe.

His attention to the smallest details

shows the kind of love

fairytales spend chapters chasing—

the kind that almost scares you

if you’ve never known gentleness before.

He’s so full of hope

it makes you wonder,

Am I even worthy of this?

But he never lets the question linger.

He proves it—

with consistency,

with patience,

with staying.

Every fear once planted

softens in his presence,

like he knows exactly

how to quiet the storm

without ever raising his voice.

He’s the quote—

“there’s still hope for humanity.”

The dream you didn’t expect to come true,

the proof that chivalry

still exists.

In every song about heartbreak,

he’s the answered prayer.

The one moms want for their daughters,

the one dads don’t feel

the need to armor up against.

~

Honorable Mention 2

Misha Pando

Organ Mountain High School, 12th

Cuckoo Clock Patter

A silence so stifled 

Not even the car can breathe,

With the rackety heater whispering 

Through the vents.

Embracing one another’s beating heart with a thump and a patter

It echos through both of us

With intense pressure, as if the car was laying on us instead.

Each gear relaxing and the decompressing of the tired engine finally put to rest.

Another gear so tiny as if my heart was a clicking clock

Kickstarting from the proximity, might just explode

Into miniscule pieces from the simple brush

Of tulips breezing against each other, stems wavering

From an internal blowing wind, bringing us flush.

Turning till it’s tight, my cuckoo clock heart restarts its dial

With a mere touch, its factory-like beating could bust the coils inside.

Spinning uncontrollably in need of a horologist 

the hands to my heart race with excitement.

The curve of the crescent moon hugged by the million constellations 

Shining through the window of fog,

Physically I rest in his arms that hugs like the stars, 

and fiddles with the cuckoo bird tweeting out of my chest

Feeling like a loose pinion rolling down the grin of the moon, 

the curve keeps from launching off into oblivion 

Detaching from one another, eardrums bumping loud

as if a physical heart was pounding in the palm of my hand.

Watching the time tick to lock the padlock of my ribcage

So my cuckoo clock heart wont sabotage me again.

~

Honorable Mention 3

Valeria Delgado

Mayfield High School, 11th

Love’s Old Art

I don’t want love that fades by dawn, 

A spark that’s there then quickly gone.

Not texts that vanish, half-meant calls,

But something that lingers, that never falls.

I dream of love that feels like stone,

A vow that stays when I’m alone.

A story written fierce and deep,

The kind of promise hearts still keep.

I want someone to write of me,

The way Poe wrote Annabel Lee-

Not just with sweetness, but with pain,

A love eternal through loss and rain.

Press me in pages, a rose, a rhyme,

A secret that lives beyond its time.

Look at me once like Im hard to replace,

Like forever is burning in just one face.

I dream of ballrooms, candlelight skies,

Of whispered confessions, unbroken ties.

A gaze that tells me, without a word, 

that I am the song they’ve always heard.

Not shallow glances, not fleeting desire,

But something that steadies,

Something on fire.

A love that aches, yet refuses to bend,

The kind of love with no true end.

Sometimes I think I was born to late,

For letters sealed and twists of fate.

For shadows, lace, and loves old art,

For vows that lived in a beating heart.

So if love should find me, let it be 

A haunting echo, a melody.

A fairytale dark, yet tender too,

A love both endless and strange and true.

And maybe one day, without a sign,

Someone will know these words 

Are mine.

~

Honorable Mention 4

Annabelle Wood

Mayfield High School, 10th

Inherited Hate

The devil couldn’t reach me

so he filled my father up with hate.

Sent him down to raise me the same.

Teach me his ways and teach me his pain.

“I won’t give in,” I say

as I learn his ways.

I try not to grow under his shade,

but at last that’s the only place.

No sunshine, no rain,

just shade, shade, shade.

“I love him,” I say,

trying to make him change,

but he’s too far gone,

he’s too far away.

In his final moments,

his final breath,

continued with hate flowing through the air,

trying to corrupt me once again.

And so I give in.

No fight.

No scream.

No not one word.

I realize I’ve grown

exactly as they agreed I would.

Right under the devil,

listening to my every move,

laughing at my every mistake.

Ready to pounce and make his way,

just like he did

when he filled my father up with hate.