This fall, I entered a poetry contest that was posted on the writing board outside of Ms. Raeder’s room. Worthy verse would be published in a poetry anthology, "A Celebration of Young Poets." After reading about the contest, I discovered that it wasn’t too competitive. Only students from Delaware, Maryland, DC and Virginia would be featured. Forty-five percent would be published. Thirty fourth through twelfth grade students would receive coveted "top poet" status, meaning that they would be awarded a whopping twenty-five bucks and a free copy of said anthology. If I entered, I certainly wouldn’t be in it for the money. I didn’t see any compelling reason to do so.

For some reason though, I did. My twenty-five dollar check and the free "book" (no ISBN number) arrived in the mail last week. I was a paid poetess, and at that I was making about as much money as most highly trained professionals. For a moment, I was also pleased my poem had been selected as a winner. That is, until I glanced at a couple of stanzas of a "Love at First Sight," a poem composed by a fellow twelfth grade winner. They read:

I entered a world of 
Nothing but me and her
I can call it a trance, 
If you prefer?
Earth kinda just 
Faded away, 
Sort of like
Life was just some delay. 

It turned out this poet was fanaticizing about a television starlet. The tenth through twelfth grade runner up poems ranged from hopelessly cutesy ("Sweets and treats just for you/ and baby calves, that say moo/ Cuddly, cute, fluffy kittens/ Warm, pink, thick wooly mittens") to reflections on first love ("Love/ the undefined bliss/ the essence of the wind"). There were also much rhymed verse about September 11^th and the American flag which just didn’t work ("As the planes were flying by/ The passengers knew they were going to die/As the highjackers took over the plane/the passengers thought them insane"). No, these would not be up for Pulitzers any time soon.

So why print so many young writers’ poems? In this case, the publisher, Creative Communications, wanted to rake in the dough. Most of the students published had to pay $25 for the hardbound, yearbook quality volume. These capital-driven motives aren’t especially appealing. Published students should have had a chance to view their work in print for free. However, glancing beyond the finances, there are deeper benefits to including almost half the submissions in the anthology. 

Although being published in "A Celebration of Young Poets" has no significance in the literary or publishing worlds, to the average fourth grade poet, for example, it might hold much personal meaning. Seeing the poem in the book and receiving praise from family and friends would encourage kids to keep writing. I know that I would have been thrilled. After I wrote my very first story in second grade, a friend's mother, a novelist, praised the story for my use of dialogue. A "real writer" liked my work! I sat at my desk, determined to write one that was just as good, if not better. There was no turning back. I loved words. 

Even older students, who realize that they’re not Whitman, Dickinson or Frost, can benefit. They might compare their poems with other students’, examining their metaphors and arrangements. They might attempt to improve their writing, or seek out ways to improve it.

Poetry, though, is not all form and syntax. It’s entertaining sometimes but is also meant to reveal the pent up emotions and secret moments of life. Poetry is the human condition. I rarely write poems when everything is going normally. Most of my poems are products of jubilation, sadness, fear or stress. They have a cathartic effect.

I would guess that the contest prompted many students who would not otherwise write to do so. A list in the front of "A Celebration of Young Poets" honored teachers who had five or more students published, indicating that for many students the competition had been a class assignment. Poetry was probably a surprising emotional release for the majority of these unexpected writers, regardless of whether the poem was published or not. September 11^th was clearly the most common theme in the anthology. In the forward the president of Creative Communications remarked that the organization received thousands of "Day of Infamy" poems this fall. They are the products of lingering sadness, anger and pain.

Even if student poets never penned their emotions onto paper again, they were all fortunate enough to try it once. Hopefully, they learned to love it as much as one Camp Springs, Maryland eighth grader, whose contest entry was titled "I am a Poet":

When I write, 
I put my soul on paper
My words describe not just my mind, but my heart
I can feel anything I want, say anything and do anything I want in my work.
Everything that was once locked up is now unleashed in my hands,
That hold the ordinary pen, which writes down what my heart tells it.
I can be what I want, and imagine what I want. 
Sometimes I feel happy, sad or mad, but on paper, I feel free. 
Every gland and pore of my body opens up and lets the artist of my heart go.
I don’t need TV, I don’t need a radio, 
I need pen, paper, and my mind, heart and soul to guide me,
I am a poet.