In February of this year, the BCA invited local youth ages 8 to 17 to write an original poem inspired by winter.
Thank you and congratulations to everyone who participated. We received 15 original entries from some seriously creative kids, which included a nice mix of styles, rhythm and perspective.
We are pleased to announce that the first place winner of the Winter Poetry Contest is Henry MacWha for his poem “A World Repainted”, which stood out for its extended metaphor of snow as paint, its vivid imagery, and its strong sense of progression through time. Henry will receive the top cash prize of $75. We are also pleased to announce the runners up, who will each collect cash prizes of $35: “My Forever Winter Memories” by Sakina Taylor, “Untitled” by Katherine Lovett Doust, “Winter in the Field” by Toru Miyashita, “L’hiver arrive…” by Clara Lachance and “It’s a Cold Day” by Stella Guindon.
(Winner)
A world repainted
By Henry MacWha
The morning opens, a sky silver and gold.
A lone sun shines, pale and cold.
The sky lays heavy, grey and low.
The world holds its breath, before the snow.
Then it all falls, bleak and white
Brushstrokes descending, soft and light.
The flakes are painters, small and frail
Covering everything, cold and pale.
The world surrenders, piece by piece,
All other colours slowly cease.
Black branches scratch against the sky,
Breaking the grey, as flurries fly by.
Holly holds its red berries light,
Small dots of red in a sea of white.
The only ones who dare remain,
When snowflakes come to paint again.
By afternoon, the sun hangs low,
And bleeds, orange, across the snow.
Pink, gold, and amber slowly spread
Across the white, a world re-read.
Then dusk arrives, stealing the hues,
The white fields deepen into blues,
Lavender shadows, a violet night,
As the paintbrush works, out of sight.
The world sleeps, and snow falls on
Covering all that wasn’t gone
Silent, slow, and steady white,
Repainting everything, through the night.
The morning stirs to silence, deep,
And soft, as though the world’s asleep,
A hush falls over field and stone,
A stillness, calm, vast, and lone
Each blemish gone, each colour erased
(Runners up)
MY FOREVER WINTER MEMORIES
By Sakina Tayor
As soon as the first snowfall fell from the sky, winter memories formed one after another, whether it was inside on a cold, snowy evening or outside on a crisp, bright morning.
With gentle snowflakes falling, I put on my snowshoes that go click click click as I tighten them to my boots, and then tunk tunk tunk as I take each heavy step, creating footprints that look like a yeti’s as they toss chunks of snow into the frosty air.
With ice so cold and smooth, I skate on the big rink in my backyard smooth and fast as I zip by in one huge circle, testing myself to see how fast I can go and how many laps I can pull off, pushing myself to see how long it will take as I race on the blades under my feet.
On chilly winter days, I jump into my coat and run into the forest with my sled dragging behind me, always able to navigate the trees decorated with snow, listening to the chickadees and the crunch of my boots as I make my way to my favourite hill.
With my heavy backpack and hat full of snow, I trudge over to the Blackburn library after school to play chess with friends, eat creamy, chocolatey donuts, and read by a big window as snow gently falls to the ground.
With every huff and puff, a thin cloud forms at my mouth. With every step and crunch, a trail forms at my feet. With every laugh and hug, a new memory tugs at my brain.
Untitled
By Katherine Lovett Doust
Piercing silence fills the expanse of soft, white snow.
Tiny, quiet paws leap and bounce lightly on top of the crisp layers of ice.
The cold wind swoops and swirls, singing a tune filled with joy.
Warm fires crackle inside of cozy homes, like a warm embrace.
A thoughtfully knitted scarf, uncomfortable but made with love.
Snowflakes fall sweetly, gone in an instant.
A calm winter surrounds the small, quiet town.
Winter in the Field
By Toru Miyashita
First morning light, snow is all white,
except for my footprints, patterns in snow.
Air crisp and cold, catching my nose,
and one blue jay, cheeping in a tree.
Its beak is black,
its back is blue and
…off it flew.
…Spring is coming.
L’hiver arrive
Par Clara Lachance
L’hiver arrive sans faire de bruit,
Il recouvre la ville de neige pendant la nuit.
Le vent froid traverse les rues,
Et les arbres ne bougent plus.
La neige tombe doucement du ciel,
Elle transforme le monde en quelque chose d’irréel.
Les toits deviennent blancs et brillants,
Comme un miroir sous le vent.
Les pas craquent dans la neige gelée,
Les rires flottent dans l’air glacé.
Les maisons brillent dans le noir,
Comme des chandelles allumées le soir
Les visages deviennent pâles
Et les mains deviennes froides
Sous la glace, les rivières attendent le printemps,
En cachant leurs fleurs un moment.
Alors le monde semble ralentir un peu,
Comme s’il voulait rêver sous le ciel bleu.
Et dans le calme, silencieux
On attends deja la fin de l’hiver.
It’s a cold day
By Stella Guindon
In a bland and old way,
It’s a cold day.
When I see kids play and pray,
It’s still a cold day,
As the snow falls gently
On the bay,
It’s still a cold day.
As each year can change and have every holiday,
It’s still a cold day.
Frozen hands, a white display,
It’s still a cold day.
Always just an okay even if there is pain,
It’s still a cold day.