Winner--

Nostalgia Poetry Award ($150.00)

Prize poem by

Sandy McPherson Carrubba

Buffalo, New York

My grandmother's mantel clock, a 1915 wedding present, always fascinated me. I loved looking at its shiny white face, covered by a glass door that hid a secret. Behind a wooden door in the back, a pendulum swung. A tiny hammer dropped onto a metal coil each half hour and again on the hour, producing a lovely chime.

As I waited for the clock to "sing," grandma read me poems for children. The sweeping pendulum taught me about rhythm while the various textures of the clock's components (the wood, metal, and painted parts) reminded me that poetry appeals to our senses. After my grandfather's death, she gave me the clock. It became my most prized possession. I wind it faithfully every eight days. Listening to its melodic chime remind me of my musically-inclined grandmother.

Now, as grandma did for me, I encourage children to enjoy poetry in workshops I conduct in local elementary schools. I read them some of my published work and will share my pride at winning Nostalgia's poetry contest!

Poetry is a wonderful way to express our feelings.

MARKING TIME ©

Grandmother's clock grows
silent when not wound.
Every eight days, the key
reminds it of its
mission to start
the pendulum
sweeping, swinging,
back and forth,
one way
then another and
back again.
Keeping the rhythm,
a heartbeat tune
telling of life's up
and down moments.
Hammer on bell
chimes hours of
sadness and joy,
important times 
in grandmother's life
passing, running their course,
swept away by
the measure of the
rising of the sun and moon,
her life set to
a celestial time piece.
My grandmother's life
winds down like
a clock, never to
tick again, with
no key to
start her up.
Her chime stilled.
How I hate the silence.