Lisa Schroeder Wishlist: Poetry Writing Contest Winners

To celebrate the release of Lisa Schroeder’s The Day Before, we invited you to write your own poem about love or loss. The winners will each receive a copy of Lisa’s newest book, The Day Before, and one additional book of their choice from Lisa’s other YA titles: Chasing Brooklyn, Far From You and I Heart You, You Haunt Me.

Just click after the jump to read all the winning poems (listed in no particular order).

Brittany H.:

I remember your smile your eyes
Those are my favorite things about you
A part of me starts to cry as I realize
I’ll never forget those things that you do
You were my prince in disguise
A perfect picture in my life

Some days I lie awake reliving us
My mind and heart hold on to these memories
I’m glad I had you in my life
I curse the day I was forced to say goodbye
Life goes on I must move on
But how can I?
When the memories still haunt me at night

Amy C.:

(i)
Effacement: gone. Faded girl, shadow walking
down the streets. Disappearing into walls. Blown
away by wind. Wisp of smoke in moonlight
gone the next day. Deliberate erasing. Forgotten. Three
words in a book. Corner of scarf in a photograph. There
but not there.

(ii)
evanesced promises written
in faded ink on faded paper. love
letters fall, slip
through his hands
out the warped glass window
onto

cracked pavement, cracked
like broken hearts and discarded
crockery. snow glistens, a white
blanket smothering memories, a
smooth canvas swallowing lies.

laughter drifts up, like
laughter he used to share
with her while walking
arm in arm down the boulevard,
children dancing around them
like fairies.

a striped scarf, green and
blue, like horizons on repeat,
sits on the sill, half hanging out
the window.

he picks it up
and sets it down,
indecision warring
as murky memories surface.
finally he picks it up

and with one violent
motion
flings it out the window,

giving color to a snowy canvas.

Ria B.:

If people lived forever,
Would suicide have a higher rate?
Would war be on every country’s mind?
Would you still be on mine?
Would people stop believing,
Stop wasting Sundays in a dry dim house of the dead?
Would love be more meaningful,
Or a means of passing time?
Would people devote more time to cure, help, give,
Or would we become even colder, heartless?

Maybe there is a reason we live short lives.
Were there people before us who took forever for granted?
Could they see enough of their futures to save themselves?
Can we?

Shelby B.:

You give her roses
Pink is the color you choose
Unknowing that I—

In fourth grade in an
Untidy cubby I hid
A pink rose for you

And seeing it there
To make yourself so cool, you
Crushed it with your hands

Her pink roses make
The day feel heavy, as if
I am crushed petals

Hikari B.:

I hear it in my head,
Memories coming back,
Whispering under my bed,
Haunting me.

I can still see,
You against the night,
Hands wide apart,
About to take flight.

Did you think,
That you could really fly,
Reality’s one step off,
Gone, without a cry.

Alone is dark,
You were light,
Fade out,
Without a fight.