Year of the Ox
Lunar New Year, the most important celebration for people observing the lunar calendar, embraces “family, community, harmony, and hope” as people come back home to be with families and friends, get refreshed, refill our hopes, and carry on the new year ahead.
In the shadow of the COVID-19 pandemic, the traditional celebrations the Wabash Chinese Club has hosted were impossible. The poetry contest for the Year of Ox was created to pass along the hope and joy of a new year without risking our health and safety. Poetic thoughts have no boundaries among people, nations, and cultures. What we cherish, and what we hope for are incredibly similar, so is the cheerful nature of the Lunar New Year itself. It has been a tough year, but from these poems, we see hope.
First Place:
“Haiku”
by Jonathan Schepers ’24
“Magnificent Sun,
gold as the freshest Fall leaves.
Have you known such love?”
Second place:
Spring Alas*
by Johnathan Thibodeau ’21
Whan that Aprill with his shoures soote,
The droghte of March hath perced to the roote,
An ox climbs the mountain of Wutai,
Up the sacred summit against all odds to defy,
Thus, the first journey of many thou will make,
And the cloven hooves of the ox surely ache,
The ox persists into the thin chilled spring air,
No creature amongst the earth could aye compare,
The weight of the horns heavy to the peak,
Yet once thou ox journey coda, he began to speak,
“My task is now finished, all yet done,
Me beseech perseverance this year for everyone.”
Second place:
The Lyfe of Spryng*
by Daniel Brewer ’21
Whan that Aprill with his shoures soote
The droghte of March hath perced to the roote.
The ice hath melted, gave forth the strem,
And wildelyf comen out againe.
The dirti hwit synks ynto the soile.
The grass drynks yts plentyful spoil.
The sunne’s warmth creeps the glen,
So we shed oure coats once agayn.
The felds reclaymed by bucs and dos
Whilst squyrelles climben out burrows.
Okes and mapuls growen theyr leefs.
The entere forest committee conceives. \
The pollen plumes prolific perfume,
The sesoun of sneezyng, asthma doom,
Yet blome’s swete stench with evry inhale
Grants us lyfe— Spryng regales.
Third place:
Nouveau Printemps
by Ian Gale ’22
Cardinal squeaks:
a red beacon
stealing berries
from Winter
Snowmelt pond
bittersweet bush
frost undisturbed
day shines a glass
unburdened by movement
chilled stillness
shakes a breath
tuned to Winter’s note
all regulated
a mere cold shell
cold air
expurgated from it
to the cold
a kiss.
Third place:
Spring Rejuvenation
by Amber King
Mother nature is shedding her winter coat
Letting down her beautiful luscious green hair
Showing off a new flowery dress
With the smell of her floral perfume in the air.
She encourages me to come outside
Wear my sandals instead of shoes
Let my face soak in the sunlight
And exhale those winter blues.
She whispers in my ear
Be ready to plant your garden soon
Flowers and vegetables
For all to enjoy their bloom.
Spring is a new beginning
Enjoy this time, a fresh year
Make plans, travel, go for a walk
Spend time with those who are dear.
I heed her words of wisdom
My soul aches for some fun
I shed these winter clothes and dark thoughts
As I walk out into the sun.
Third place:
A Puddle in Which to Spring
by Lucas Budler ’24
It was her first spring.
The wind had picked up early this year,
and she was separated from the grip of her mother’s strong arm.
Face down she sunk, her frame seemed a mold in the mud
just a foot outside the old apple orchard farm.
It was her second spring.
She found that she could breathe underwater
She was content here, but she grew tired of the din
She did the unthinkable and rose to the surface,
But the sun burnt her, and hardened her gentle skin
It was her tenth spring.
She had grown taller now, but not quite like the others
Her arms sagged sluggishly, and never did reach the highest ray
She was wider and broader, she heard all their whispers
But when the winter weather woke, unlike the others, she never did sway
It was her fiftieth & final spring.
The memory of her mother remained unclear
She was the only of her kind in the grove outside the apple orchard farm
The deer had grown fond of her and she knew them by name
The bugs built a home in her trunk, and the birds a nest upon her strong arm
The wind seemed to pick up later this year.
Honorable mention:
Canterbury, Ohio*
by Tomas Hidalgo ’21
Whan that Aprill with his shoures soote
The doughte of March hath perced to the roote
And yet the young birds would soon be confused
For to trick and lie makes Nature amused
Whan that Aprill with his snow drifts so deep
Utter bullshit that inside we must keep
Then the snow melts in one short afternoon
But followed by a gale, nay, a typhoon.
Whan that May finally brings out the sun
Don’t get your hopes up, don’t expect any fun,
The West Wind turns sour and coldly doth blow
And spring sports will be canceled don’t ya know?
Nature’s seasons will freeze, or they will burn
So, listen well to the lesson ye must learn:
The temperature fair doth sway and doth bend
Midwester Weather is nobody’s friend.
Honorable mention:
Cool and Crisp
by Alexander Goodnight ’22
Cool, crisp breeze
The beautiful flowers budding on trees
I cannot wait to be done
With this COVID disease
Cool, crisp breeze
Come outside and enjoy as you please
The air is not hot from the sun
It is busy waking the bees
Cool, crisp breeze
Time with you is when I’m at ease
Being alone is not any fun
So come with me to enjoy the peace
Cool, Crisp breeze