Poetry Competition
In conjunction with the special exhibition Dead Sea Scrolls and the Bible: Ancient Artifacts, Timeless Treasures, and the hosting of the AIA-MPM Archaeology Fair on March 5 and 6, 2010 the Milwaukee Public Museum sponsored a poetry competition for Wisconsin elementary and high school students from grades 3 through 12. The winners were invited to read their poems at the Museum during the AIA fair on Saturday, March 6, 2010.
Winning Poems
- Winners: Grades 3 - 5 Category
- Riley Houlihan
Grade 4
Golda Meir School, Milwaukee - Laura Richmond
Grade 5
Valley View Elementary School, Menomonee Falls - Emma Cayen
Grade 4
Golda Meir School, Milwaukee - Winners: Grades 6 - 8 Category
- John Matteicci
Grade 6
St. Joseph Junior High School, Kenosha - Max Welvang
Grade 6
Heyer Elementary School, Waukesha - Bailey Pleva
Grade 8
Forest Park Middle School, Franklin - Winners: Grades 9 - 12 Category
- Em dahm
Grade 11
Hartford Union High School, Hartford - Maya Her
Grade 9
Milwaukee School of Languages, Milwaukee
Winning Poems, Grades 3 - 5
The Nasca Monkey
Starting with the spiraling tail
Like an everlasting whirlpool
Drawing down to the snake-looking
Legs, grasping frogs,
Clinging to a vine
Back to the skinny banana-shaped body
Releasing the arms
Like round-abouts
With the flicking of tips of
A lion’s tail at the very end
Last the head
Drinking a coconut,
The stubby nose like straw
Escaping the jaguar,
Up the vine over the endless
Jungle, moving like a dart up the vine
Into the air
Envying a bird
But still thinking its good
Enough to be a monkey
In the air
By Riley Houlihan
Grade 4
Golda Meir School, Milwaukee
Pets Digging What?
One of my dogs named Sandy
Was digging in the yard
Dug up a little ancient bowl
It wasn't very hard
To tell it was special
I ought to call someone
So I went to the phone
And dialed 911
They said to me they would
Send an archaeologist
So he came because he could
He took away my little dish
I was kinda sad
But he gave me money
Now, I am glad
Hey, this is kinda funny.
My dog named Catherine
Was digging in the lawn
She brought me a skull
It was the break of dawn
Again I dialed 911
And the archaeologist came
And dug up the rest of the body
This story is no game
Again I got some money
Which is cool
But this a little less funny
Yet this story is cool.
My dog named Daisy
Was digging in the flowers,
When she found an arrowhead
Daisy and I are not cowards
We found a bow and arrow
As we were digging
Daisy started barking
While she was sitting
It wasn't fun, as we dug
Because we couldn't find anything
Not even a bug
I called 911
An archaeologist cam
And took my bow and arrow
This is not lame
He took away my arrowhead
I then went to bed
In my purple house
I rested my head
And didn't hear a mouse
I woke up my head hurting
There was a spinning in my mind
As I kept wondering
What my hippo, Bubbles, would find.
By Laura Richmond
Grade 5
Valley View Elementary School, Menomonee Falls
The Pyramid
A red sand stone pyramid,
white sand blowing about.
The sun ablaze, making the tip of the pyramid
Gleam a blinding white.
The sky an earthly turquoise.
One small cavern of sand.
Crumbling rock looking like a pyramid itself.
One missing its gleaming tip,
stolen.
For the millionth time, they cast their shadows.
By Emma Cayen
Grade 4
Golda Meir School, Milwaukee
Winning Poems, Grades 6 - 8
Mummies
Well-preserved and on their way, the afterlife was where they’d stay.
Ancient Egyptians felt this to be so—their dead were bandaged from head to toe.
Every mummy was wrapped just right, each strip of cloth placed around them tight.
These mummies all would be soon carried and placed in tombs, their bodies buried.
Some with wealth and jewels galore, the afterlife would open its door.
The mummy now, wrapped up real neat, the passage is done, the process complete.
John Matteicci
Grade 6
St. Joseph Junior High School, Kenosha
Crummy Mummy
Oh dear, sure is dark in here
It seems like I've been in here a year
Bones feel dry
Hey where's my eye
It's no fun
That I can't
I'm stuck in this crate
Without a mate
How's that for fate
The afterlife I've gotta travel
But I'm stuck beneath this gravel
If this pyramid should collapse
They'd only find my linen wraps
If I get to the afterlife
Maybe I'd find my pretty wife
I've got this wound in my side
Must've happened after I died
I've looked everywhere
Found my heart-it's still there
I used to rule a lot of land
Now I can't even find my hand
Lyin' by the river Nile
I got style
By Max Welvang
Grade 6
Heyer Elementary School, Waukesha
Terracotta Warriors
Their eyes are waiting,
Watching,
Ready to make a move.
Cold hearts,
Un-beating for an eternity,
Showing no sign of any emotion in the internal exterior.
With motionless bodies breathless,
As if they can feel the Earth pulsing around them,
Looking to spring up and attack from their positions beneath the yellow dust.
Their emperor shall sleep undisturbed,
As if for any reason not,
Ready to command his terracotta, military tsunami.
But now,
He sleeps under the still, artificial sky with stars of diamonds,
By the river, flowing with quicksilver, carrying the most exotic golden birds,
Lazily floating along in the glowing, sparkling tomb interior.
The tomb,
The small space of endless time,
Nothing can escape its grasp,
Nothing can move forward,
Nothing can move beyond its surface,
Keeping everything in its cage,
Everything isolated from the rest of the world,
Guarded by warriors of terracotta.
Bailey Pleva
Grade 8
Forest Park Middle School, Franklin
Winning Poems, Grades 9 - 12
Archaeology
Digging, scraping, dusting, scratching, chipping
The sun baking our backs to a golden crisp
Digging, scraping, dusting old clues
Piecing together mysteries of life
Old, ancient, past a mystery to modern life
The mysteries of life before Plymouth
Life that built Stonehenge
Life that still is mysterious
Digging, scraping, dusting
The clues to the mysteries
Some very small
And others extremely large
These clues are kept by Mother Earth
In her earthly womb
From which they came from
And from which they returned to
We are the mid-wives of the mother earth
Digging, chipping carefully, dusting, scrapping
We are here to give birth
To the mysteries and clues of past life
This child birth is much harder than that of a baby
The labor is hard digging, dusting, chipping, and scratching
The sun blazing our backs like red lobsters
The fruits of our labor maybe a grain of sand or a bone
No matter what we give birth to from the earth
She has given us a peek from our past
Em dahm
Grade 11
Hartford Union High School, Hartford
Before the Century
The ancient King of Babylon passed the Hammurabi code of laws.
It was carved on black diorite 3700 years ago.
You stand aside, quietly looking at the display with intent
I stand aside, quietly admiring your face, which I deeply adore
Offerings, alter, bow, arrow, and war...
Whose past do they belong to?
I love how you belong to only me in the midst of this crowd.
We pass the Sumerian Goddess
And I wish in the name of the Goddess
That our love goes on like the Tigris River
My love for you has been written before this century
And has been buried in the flatlands of Mesopotamia
Even after many years, it is still clear and intelligible.
The promise of forever carved into black diorite.
The promise that had been eroded for thousands of years
will be uncovered now.
The ancient astrologists of Babylon predicted the coming of the solstice.
Recorded in cuneiform before the time of times...
You stand before me, quietly crying.
I walk away, a silent tear falls.
Hate, resentment, tears, smiles, and fear...
It's the past we both belong to.
You no longer belong to me in the midst of this crowd.
I pass the Sumerian Goddess,
And I wonder why my wish, our love,
couldn't be.
My love for you has been written before this century.
And has been buried in the flatlands of Mesopotamia.
Even after many years, it is still clear and intelligible.
The promise of forever carved in black diorite.
That promise that had been eroded for thousands of years
will be buried now.
Maya Her
Grade 9
Milwaukee School of Languages, Milwaukee