- Desanka Beslic, Grade 9

The smoldering embers in his eyes still glow hot;
tattoed paws taught to dance by the sear of metal.
For the last time Misho is led by a sunglow ring and a pounding beat.
He is a street performer enchanting crowds.

Tattooed paws taught to dance by the sear of metal
in a centuries-old tradition,
he is a street performer enchanting crowds,
both he and his owner will feast tonight.

In a centuries-old tradition,
cascading coins gather in the well of a pocket,
both he and his owner will feast tonight.
When Misho sleeps, he again finds the wilderness he had lost.

Cascading coins gather in the well of a pocket,
these last tokens of his misfortune.
When Misho sleeps, he again finds the wilderness he lost
in the mountain sanctuary of black leaves.

These last tokens of his misfortune
will become but a memory of how paws were molded by flame.
In the mountain sanctuary of black leaves,
now Misho only will dance when it thunders.

This is the seventh runner-up in READ magazine's 2008 Ann Arlys Bowler Poetry Contest. Check back every day through May 1 to see 14 fabulous student poems. Did you enter? One of them could be yours!

--Nick Wiedman, Grade 8

'Twas the time of year and the bell had rung
Says Death to the man: Your time has come.

No, No! says the man, You've got me wrong,
I can't die now, I'm much too young!
There is some confusion, sorry for the bother,
But the one you want is my dear brother.

So he left the man and spared his head,
He went along and took his brother instead.

'Twas the second year, and the bell had rung,
Says Death to the man: Your time has come.

Oh, no! says the man, I'm still too young,
but surely my auntie's time has come.

So he left the man and spared his head,
he went along and took his auntie instead.

'Twas the third year and the bell had rung,
Says Death to the man: Your time has come.

You can't take me now, that would be bad
but surely it's time for my dear old dad!

So he left the man, and spared his head,
he went along, and took his dear old dad instead.

And that year Death was annoyed,
He was tired of being tricked, lied to, and toyed!

'Twas the fourth year, and the bell had rung
Says Death to the man: Your time has come!

No, no! says the man. But it was too late,
He could not escape his coming fate.

Enough! Says Death with a bellow,
To poor, frightened and dreadful fellow.

Growing short are my fuses,
I'm tired of your excuses!

And with that, Death raised his scythe,
Struck it down and took his life.

It was a sad sight, and the rain began to pour,
And the man who cheated death was sadly no more.

This is the sixth runner-up in READ magazine's 2008 Ann Arlys Bowler Poetry Contest. Check back every day through May 1 to see 14 fabulous student poems. Did you enter? One of them could be yours!

--Larissa Gula, Grade 12

I once picked up a violin
With a flimsy, cracking bow,
And I softly coaxed a tune, until
I recognized the whistle being thrown out.

It sounded like my old machine companions
With creaking pistons, and gears,
And proud smokestacks marking the trail taken
Until the message was lost in the clouds.

It sounded like the night
When I rode along to the next station
Watching fields of barley
And snail-ridden marshes
Flash by.

And the midnight train, with no destination,
Carried me on, on, on
And away from the demands
And requirements.
My only companion was peace.

And we bumped along, the motions
Soothing cracked fingers, and beyond them
Into a weary nack, nudging,
Opening constricted capillaries--

Until the whistle suddenly screamed
And pierced the quartet circle
And my eyes snapped open
With the dream echoing,

Echoing...

      Echoing...

Leaving me
Nowhere appreciated.

This is the fifth runner-up in READ magazine's 2008 Ann Arlys Bowler Poetry Contest. Check back every day through May 1 to see 14 fabulous student poems. Did you enter? One of them could be yours!

--Rory C. Dibley, Grade 11

It's the way your eyes twinkle
The way your teeth gleam
The way your cheeks dimple
When you smile at me

Or it might be how you kiss me
Is what makes me feel so right
Or it might be how you hug me
Holding me close and tight

But I know it's the way you love me
Is what makes my worries seem gone
It's when I see your smiling face
Makes my heart sing a song

This is the fourth runner-up in READ magazine's 2008 Ann Arlys Bowler Poetry Contest. Check back every day through May 1 to see 14 fabulous student poems. Did you enter? One of them could be yours!