Zoe is in the 8th grade at Hopkins North Junior High. She loves to write and took a writing class at an institute for gifted children. She also enjoys piano, trumpet, guitar, violin and is on her school track teams.
POETRY- 2008
Grades 7 - 9
First Place - Baila Elkin
Third Place - Immanuel Bier
Grades 10 - 12
First Place - Lillian Garber
Poetry, Grades 7 - 9: Second Place
Motion -
Zoe Goldstein
Noise.
Motion.
Energy reverberates through nerves of iron
Does the backstroke in boiling blood
Generates waves of power within every inch of tough skin
Descends and winds through a sturdy ladder of vertebrae
I am invincible.
Indestructible.
Solid.
Thoughts weave their way between one another
Over and under
In my quilted mind
Feelings conjure and trap themselves
In between the stitches
I pull through the tangled mess
Ripping little by little
Busting at the seams.
Sunlight pierces through black holes that are my pupils
Sending my irises into endless revolution
Turning white light into green
Churning vision to stone.
A glass timepiece ticks within my chest
Eternal with age
Seconds create stories of life
Come closer to its meaning
Yet so fragile…
Breakable.
Delicate.
Hailstorms rage through muscles and organs
Lightning fuels every action
Thunder brings life to my soul
Fierce wind takes it and soars
Never stopping to rest.
A continuum of beats, pulses, ticks
The music of existence
A sonata still being written,
Always being performed.
Rich with repeat signs and fermatas,
Deafeningly loud
But still so soft
Moving
At an ever-changing tempo.
Yet the pounding clutches of age
Pressurize weakened skin
Stone crumbles under a powerful force
Causing iron to melt into cooling blood.
Ladders break with heavy weight
Quilts fray and rip from overuse
…Or maybe no use at all.
Storms move on
Continue their journey elsewhere.
Lightning fades into gray clouds
Until rain ceases to fall.
An everlasting clock
That once raced against time,
Now waits for it to end.
A final throb
Punctures thin glass,
That shatters to become pieces of the past.
Music slows and softens,
Violins sigh a concluding measure,
One last breath,
And a double bar line is etched
Into history.
The last clap of thunder resounds
Echoing off in the distance…
Then stillness.
Quiet.
Motionless.