SIXTH ANNUAL YULE LOVE IT LAVENDER FARM POETRY CONTEST WINNERS 2021
THEME:
THE COLOR OF SUMMER
JUDGE:
LINDA SIENKIEWICZ
FIRST PLACE: JACK D. FERGUSON,
AUBURN HILLS
To Draw a Rainbow
Pink
florescence unfurls.
The
tight loop, freed by arthritic hands
blue
with cold, tickles the tannin-stained stream.
An
old man imagines his grandson alongside, and together,
by
his hand, teaches him to read the tributary waters they wade.
He
watches. Gazes upon the opposite bank
awash
in saffron nettles that sting exposed wrists and sees…
beyond
the cattails, below the hemlock,
the
cherry red of wake robin planted
beside
a root beer float river
ripe
with browns, brookies, coasters
and
once, not so long ago, grayling.
In
the dappled splash of apricot sun
an
olive deceiver disappears. The tightness
of
line revives the essence within.
Hand
over hand, his rosary recited in solitude.
Here,
in a place sacred to no-see-ums,
swarms
of bronze mosquitos and cobalt dragonflies,
he
bows, net in hand, amidst a jubilee tabernacle
of
plum and purple shadows and vows:
The boy will learn to draw a
rainbow from the river.
SECOND PLACE: CHRISTIAN BELZ,
PONTIAC
The Fun Season
In
youth, I thought of summer
as a 3-D kaleidoscope
filled with colored, scented
gemstones reflected six ways.
Emerald
green cartwheels across the lawn,
fresh-cut grass tickled our
noses
and stuck to bare feet.
Orange
push-ups, freeze tag, we giggled
mad dash around the yard,
while tongues strained to
un-stick
lips and fingers.
Sapphire
blue pool, we swam circles,
splashed chlorine tinged water
as lips turned purple ‘til mom
wrapped
us in beach towels, poured sweet
lemonade.
Tin-copper
sips from the garden hose,
moonstone grey days, fickle
rain,
sitting in faded jeans on damp
wicker chairs by the smoky fire.
A
slight turn of Michigan’s kaleidoscope,
the gems that were our summer
days
would reset to another prismatic
slice
of rainbow joy.
True North
Do
we have a language for the world of green
A
synesthesia of the scent of pine
The
gossip of poplars
Or
fresh mown grass
The
deep beauty of ferns giving depth
To
the dusk of a forest’s edge
Every
morning I watch
The
fire of the Sun
Rise
from his bed in a cobalt lake
Scattering
diamonds across the waters
A
gift, the heat of a summer day
The
forever blue of the sky
Each
August and usually in July
I
paint my toes
That
particular shade of tangerine
It
glows against my summer tan
Framed
by the shreds of faded jeans
Last
year’s white sandals
Is
there a word for purple
Where
the sunset fades to dusk
Where
berries stain our fingertips
Is
magenta an electric name for hibiscus
Faces
raised to the Sun
Bursting
yellow at their hearts
Does
the chorus of insects
Sing
me to sleep
As
the coals of my campfire
Glow
red
Beneath
a gentle blanket of smoke
