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I’ts been another long year for Golden Star Poetry, and this tired author has decided to try out her poetic skills in another attempt to grab a national gold medal in the Scholastic Art and Writing Awards. WE ARE SENDING THE ENVELOPE QUITE QUITE SOON!

wish me good luck! (And while you’re at it, you might want to check out their website. It is wicked awesome)

all the best,



Scholastic Art and Writing Awards 2014–SECOND ATTEMPT!


Goddamn you

I feel sick to my stomach when I see you

I feel sick to my stomach when you leave

you stare at the my dialating pupils

wondering which one is telling the truth

and which one lies as it speaks:

knowing your sides

is memorized rote

and the act of getting by

marres my bones.

oh, the chill

it’s chilly

on the sea of my hands

and it’s warm

on the island;

unbalanced unsurity

and a twinge of doubt–

come again,
and go back out

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry




dear readers: “not your average day police claim” is NOT a true story, despite the fact that the places i mention do exist.

Kirsten had always dreamed of working at the post office or the county jail. Daily living and house chores were her bread and butter, and she craved it with a passion. Everything that was banal seemed to sing to her with an effervescent joy, and even the prospect of brushing her teeth filled her with a strange sort of wonder. Today was a Monday, and her school was having a taste of danger.
Wanted serial killer number twelve had just escaped from the Terre Haute Federal Correctional Complex and was passing through the small town. Kirsten did not like the sound of it at all- and not because she was afraid of menacing criminals, but simply because it was disrupting her average Monday drone.At the moment, she was fumbling around in the dark, musty classroom of Mr. Bingler’s English class, trying vainly to whisper a conversation to her friend, Nora.  Nora suffered from over twelve different illnesses, none of which Kirsten could pronounce or differentiate from one another, and all of which seemed perfectly plausible at any given moment. Nora’s favorite of the twelve was the piercingly white hair she acquired from living with Waardenburg syndrome.

Unfortunately, this ailment also left Nora with a very bad left ear, and blurry vision, which bore Kirsten’s whispering attempts quite fruitless. As mentioned previously, Kirsten also had the inability to remember all of the diseases Nora suffered from, and so she carried on whispering, unfazed by her friend’s lack of response. Andrew Klein, who sat next to Kirsten, was enjoying the awkward exchange between his fellow pupils. Most of the school knew of this unusual friendship, but had failed to communicate this knowledge to their peers, for fear that it would be considered unthinkable to speak of such lowly peasants, or-as they were affectionately called by the rest of the student body -“nerds”. This label, oddly enough, was not quite accurate in this case, despite The girls’ nebbishy outward appearances. Kirsten was failing three of her classes, and Nora was quite unable to work in the school environment at all. The disabled program at the school was unable to find a suitable category in which to place her, and had no option but to file her under the title of “hopeless case”.
Of course, in order to resume this saga of unusual proportions, one must be reminded of the horrors awaiting Kirsten and Nora’s hometown. As the students sat cramped and sweaty in the dank unlit classrooms of Alpine Mountain high school, the Wanted serial Killer (whose name was Artie) was sweeping across the city in a frantic rage. Fortunately, the townsfolk knew how to carry out the mandated precautions like the backs of their hands. They had all been trained at early ages on how to prepare for all types of disasters, due to the hard work and effort of the late Martha James Brawn (1875-1960), a nurse and educator at St. Mary-Of-The-woods College, and the pride and Joy of Terre Haute city.
Artie the serial killer was not that surprised to see that the place was in a state of great angst. He had escaped from prison on a dare. He spoke in a strange dialect not known to most city dwellers and was having a hard time communicating his situation to people. In reality, Artie was not trying to pose as a threat to anyone. The act of looting and thieving was second nature to him, almost the same as an impulsive reflex. No, on the contrary, he had been forced into most of his earlier gang activity and found it quite unfair for the government to rule him out as a real danger to anyone.
Or, as Artie would have put it “I had more friends nutted up than me most times. The whole thing is just a load of bum beef. All I got was a case of broke weak when they called me a cracker. They just made me do shit cause all I had was drag and they said they heard it a thousand times already. I put it on my skin!” The killer took the rest of the day committing crimes until he was captured fisherman named Gregory Ipswich, and was sent back to the Terre Haute Federal Correctional Complex, safe and sound. Kirsten could have sworn she had never been so happy.
Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry

Not your average day, Police Claim — a fictional story by me, golden star poetry


Hello all blogging friends:

In the weeks that follow, I have decided to start a little assignment for myself, based upon my intense love for rhyme, rhythm, and structure in poetry! Thus, it will be called “the sonnet project”, and new sonnets (or the occasional other sort of metered poem) will be posted regularly. I hope it gives you as much pleasure to read as it is for me to write!

your dear friend,

-Golden Star Poetry

Quick Announcement!


so: a quick note on how i have been feeling lately-

After a long long process of sifting through poetry, typing it up, looking at the thousand and one directions of what and what not to do in this actually very easy process, mailing it out, and then WAITING AND WAITING FOR A MONTH AND A HALF BEFORE FINDING OUT THAT I HAVE WON ABSOLUTELY NOTHING ON THE SCHOLASTIC ART AND WRITING AWARDS, FOR WHICH I AM NOW SUFFERING SERIOUS WITHDRAWAL!!!

Do you know how painful this feels? It’s not like my life has been dedicated to writing for this, but it still feels like someone has just given me the biggest slap in the face and said “KARMA!” a thousand billion times.

The entire waiting period, I was CROSSING OFF DAYS FROM MY CALENDAR FOR A MONTH AND A HALF, FOR PETE’S SAKE!!!!!!!!!! I genuinely believed that I was going to win the regional gold medal for poetry in the 8th grade division, and now my nicely planned dream school year is not going to end up being so dreamy! I was checking the work of past winners from the awards, thinking that my work was just as good, if not BETTER! oh, what on earth was I thinking?….

yeah………my cocky attitude has completely failed on me. I just wanted the universe of blog to see my feelings vented out like a senile old man who doesn’t know what day of the week it is (hopefully that is not  the actual impression you got..)

Thank you for reading this entire boring blog.

your welcome

–Golden Star Poetry

scholastic art and writing awards results