Earlier this year, the Frank X Walker Creative Arts Festival Contest announced its selected student winners for the categories of poetry, visual art, and visual poetry. The festival and contest were facilitated by the Danville Independent School District, Boyle County Public Library, Friends of the Arts and Centre College.
All students honored in the contest, including first place, runner-up, and honorable mentions, had their work showcased at the Boyle County Public Library for the month of February.
Below, you can see the works of the first-place and runner-up winners in the contest:
POETRY
First — On the Passing of Time
Written by Abigail Sears
And even in time long gone, my heart has an imprint of everything that has come before
The painting I imagined in my head
Broken needles and broken clavicles all caving in
Titled, “I am what I love and what I love is in my heart and my heart belongs to all of humanity”
I made careful when I stitched the memory of you in it
I stitched my forlorn arms and all of the faces milling into one in the upper left side of my heart
With bright red thread
I made careful to note that one day our red thread would dissolve into the gray translucence of my soul
Seething its way through my back and everywhere else my body feels it, where I so hate it too
Where my stomach and my heart twinged, I made careful to stitch in such faint memory
When the gray translucence emerging from my red string rises over the world, bound, tethered to the heavens
My soul will float slowly, tethered also to everything to have ever happened, collapsing all into one
And when it makes its way to you, like incense, aromatically I’ll weave my way around the world
A woolen sweater of tornadoes and sickly love
And in me, in us long gone, the red stitching of my heart will keep you
Like the red stitching long before me
But with my life bound beautifully to the world and set to venture to the heavens
Can I still save a bit of everything, of forever, and of all time in the emblem of my heart?
Second — Hand
Written by Georgie Farmer
Everyone in my family has different hands.
My grandpa Bob, who started working at seven had large rough hands
With deep olive skin that never lets you forget he’s italian.
My grandma Lucy has pale delicate hands that would have been perfect for a doctor if
they let her in medical school.
My other grandpa, Big has long nimble hands, rough and quick,
always covered in paint or pencil lead.
His hands make what he loves, Art.
My grandma we call Gi has small thick hands perfect for holding, comforting, and knitting.
The overworked and rough hands of Dominic and Thomasina who barely knew english but knew they needed to work to feed seven kids, dirt permanently under their nails.
Kenneth’s hands were used to design and engineer
Kathryn used hers to shop, nurture, and mend
Henry and Rachel cared for four kids, loggers and librarians
Raymond and Dolores looking after their only son using their hands to build a life for him.
Hands of people whose names I don’t know but impacts I do.
Strong hands pulling the trigger to fight in wars
Hardworking hands of a widow killed for being a witch since her petticoats stayed clean
Nimble and sly hands of the train robbers and thieves
Noble Rich hands never touching a day of labor
Holy hands of an archbishop showing praise to his god.
Hands of scholars, laborers, soldiers, teachers, loggers, miners, musicians and knights
Hands of people who loved me and people who never met me.
Hands tell stories and create new ones, creases in my palm making a map of their legacy
Hands hold the lives of someone new to life and those passing away
Their impact left on me like fingerprints in clay
Their touch showing in my skin, hair, eyes, nose, and mouth
Handprints of my ancestors still appear on me.
Third — Food is Poetry
Written by Azrail Knoll
rhymes kneaded into dough
lines sifted like flour
stanzas grilled and seasoned
recipe lyrics passed down
from mother to mother to mother
to son
food is poetry
the ode to breaking bread identical
to the one their mothers sang
thousands of years ago
food is poetry
there is a reason
bread is the body of christ
and wine is his blood
food is poetry
a hymn to the transformation
of honey to mead
of yeast to bread
magic or science
depending on how you look at it
food is poetry
culture shared and kept
the taste of home and of family
written into every meal
food is poetry
and oh,
do i love
to read.
VISUAL ARTS
Three pieces are in the photo gallery below.
VISUAL POETRY
