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Lovers on Ground Zero
by Keith Antar Mason
1st Place

we drugged ourselves through human history to glow in the dark in the shadow box of this
nation's terror we blew up on shore and sit on the front porches getting our heads dredded we still die poor hunger gripping our stomachs when the launch would occur we would have never have had a say about the pushed button the choice would have been made at 1600 and we would be wondering if the trash was gonna get picked up if mama would get off crack cause another baby was on the way or would we have swept clean the brown dirt in front of our houses down near the delta our skin darkened from our days in the sun eating a slice of watermelon listening to the tinny radio making the announcement the greens would have been good --good for a last meal we would go out back and look at the sky one last time there would be nowhere we could hide again from the night riders streaking against the wind's belly now in the sky we would have swallowed peace-blinked like the banger in the drive-by not wanting to kill anybody who then goes home wondering if it was his gun that killed that little girl playing in the yard mcdonalds would still have made a profit over burger king the rush for lunch and to get back to the office would have been an ironic twist on the west coast that second mocha for the extra push would not be needed and maybe being one of those unemployable brothers who would have given up on ever finding a job would be one of the most blessed cause while he was slipping off his clothes and laying in bed next to her in the late afternoon they would burn to death from being on ground zero lovers and maybe the color of their skin would not matter if as they fell back down like ash like that man who remembered after they cremated the man in the glass booth how small was the amount of his ashes that were left that much evil that little amount of ashes but at last there would be peace on this planet now a dirty snow ball with a strange orbit this is not what I want to dream about in my sleep this is not the excuse why black gangs seem so anxious for extinction this is not what I want peaceout to mean when I say it to end a phone conversation I am mindful these days of how I speak of peace as a black man and why I want it to fill the streets and the homes where I live I want jazz music to be the only explosion of my thoughts acted upon my optic nerve intact my vision of deserts and rocks so red that you want to lay naked in the earth's arms and hum for me to want this may seem strange for me to know that I like the heat of deserts on my bare feet listening to the earth's seeing the green river flow a field of gerbera daisies in full bloom and swimming naked in the gulf of mexico to hear drowned slaves speak their names I want a clear peace a peace on purpose with no threat and don't I have a say in this matter this new moon.

Arboretum
by Gary J. Whitehead
Honorable Mention

Then you will have held something beautiful--
the hand of the old one dying by degrees,
the bloom of the almost undone season--
and you will have seen that, even now,
the scars--dark rivers, overgrown cities
of light--might heal still in the way
the aging and the broken have sometimes
of rising suddenly despite whatever sores
or the atrophy of the body might bear
upon a soul--and maybe you'll see it
in some place so ordinary as a public garden
and its most private space, late one afternoon,
leaning against a fence, taking the last
bright bell of morning glory like your great-
grandmother's open hand, and you'll hold it
as if it's the last bloom left on earth,
and you'll hold it as if to empty into it
the ringing in your ears that evens out
suddenly to birdsong and the buzz of bees
there in the garden's remotest place,
late one summer, late in the millennia,
safe with the company you keep, safe as the earth,
and the blue, silent bell closing into sleep.

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Peace
by Naveen Sunkavally
1st Place

Peace does not come on glorious wings
with dappled feathers that dazzle the eyes,
only to head north in the winter for bluer skies.
It does not bloom in the thick green springs
when the land is rich and brown with rain,
only to wilt and drop on exhausted terrain.

It is not worn for the fashion of the times
or a cool summer soiree near bay,
only to be stowed in patterned safes at close of the day.
It is not a fancy French word that rhymes
or the latest current in thought that flows,
only to be discarded as society grows .

Peace cannot hear the beating of it's heart,
nor can it distinguish gold from tin,
black from white, and skullcap from turban.
It is not smart or pretty or even pretty smart
but stupid and ugly, hard and crystalline
as the stone-cased night that it bore it blind.

It has no vision because it is the vision

What is Peace
by Kett Murphy
Honorable Mention

One day I met peace for the first time
and I asked her what she was
and she said to me,
"Peace is both sight and sound
and feeling and idea
Peace is happiness and joy
but tranquillity and calm at the same time
Peace is what you feel after you do something that you know is right
and peace is lying on your back in the sweet grass looking up at
big white clouds that roll by
in a picture perfect blue sky
Peace is when nothing seems to go wrong for you
and all you can do is smile"
Peace said this to me and then
she told me to tell everyone I knew
so I'm telling you

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I Want to Touch the World
by Sasha G. Hamdani
1st Place

I want to be as free as a wild horse
trampling through the forest brush. I want to
grow as graceful as a fawn, fur as soft as it's
eyes. I want to sing like the whale sings on it's
midnight escapade . I want to be as a mystifying
as a glassy pond hidden deep in the forest. I
want to be as beautiful as a young cardinal
learning to fly. I want to be colored a
heartwarming pink, like an ever-blooming rose
outside a frosted window. I want to be the
breeze between the trees, and the water after
a pulsing comes. I want to be stars falling
through the sky, jumping through the clouds,
and waiting for the sunlight to dim. I want to
be as cunning as a fox. I want to be the eyes of
the tiger burning through the grass, camouflaged
until it feels captivity. I can help you. I can
help you like I help the sun go to sleep, and the
moon arise, and the nature be born. I want to
reach out and touch the world with the delicate
fingers, releasing the peace through my
fingertips. I want to bind the wound between
love and hate.

Dreaming Peace
by Kristen Bishop
Honorable Mention

Whenever I dream, I dream Peace.
Somehow it just comes naturally to me.
Sometimes I dream about my horse
running freely through the pale white flowers in the meadow.
I can tell when someone is dreaming peace
because they have a large sparkle in their eye.
But when people dream about war
their eyes are red with fury.
When I dream peace I see a feather,
light as a grain of sand,
and soft as silk.
I know peace yet not many people do.

The Peace of the Night
by Cara Rubinstein
Honorable Mention

As the night's moon gives it's light
children feel the warmth of peace
as their dreams go in their heads
of the howling wolf
cuddling them in her fur.
As the stars float down on their cheeks.

The wind blows through
the daisy's petals .
As the fairies in the roses
wish for people to solve their problems
in a peaceful way.

War is like an ugly face
laughing and making fun of you
as you stand lost in the cold and all
you hear are woodpeckers pecking
the trees.

The magic of the night's peace
comes when everyone is sleeping.
Don't you wish it came out more often?