Mary ElizaBeth Peters's Blog

Thank you all for your patience while the judges and I carefully considered each of the poems submitted to this season of the Patient Press poetry contest regarding Cystic Fibrosis. A special thanks to our judges, Layne Simpson and Piper Beatty, who gave their time during a very busy season.

A congratulations, as well, to all that submitted. All of the entries were moving and it was an honor to read them.  In the coming posts, we will be sharing all of the poems submitted so that you can all benefit. If you submitted, please send me an email at patientpress@gmail.com with any info you want me to post. I recommend a short bio and your blog address, if you have one.

Thanks! Without further ado . . .

First Place Poem: He’s Not Gaining Weight by Lydia Samad Second Place Poem: Four Poems by Katelyn Bush Third Place Poem: All I Ask by Katelyn Malene Sims

The text of the three winning poems is below. The finalists will be posted soon! Thank you all for submitting. Truly, it was an honor.

First Place: He's Not Gaining Weight by Lydia Samad

Lydia Samad is the mother of a 7 year old boy with Cystic Fibrosis. She lives in Texas, and her website can be found at A zersCFWebsite.com

He’s not gaining weight. Feed him more frequently, more calories, more glasses of milk. I’m sick of this. What do they expect me to? Watching him sit at the table. Chewing each bite for ages. Frustration. Why can’t he eat faster! He’s not gaining weight. Husband comes home. Here YOU feed him. Pushing, forcing, coaxing, convincing, lectures. Just one more bite. He’s not gaining weight. Try these milkshakes. Lots of fat. Surely this will work. Blenders running all day long. Countless tubs of ice cream. Millions of gallons of milk. He’s not gaining weight. Doctors and dieticians. We’ve tried these options, you’re not a failure. He’s not gaining weight. Facing surgery. Feel like blaming my child. Feel like blaming myself. Pointing fingers at husband. Pointing fingers at self. If only I had given him two more bites. Just forced and prodded a bite more. No, it wouldn’t have worked. He’s just never hungry. Doctors and surgeons talk to me. Day of surgery. Feeling like this is my fault. My heart is in my throat. Trying not to throw up. What will my life be like next week. My son is mad at me. “I don’t need a G-tube.” “Please Mommy. I’ll drink my milkshakes faster. I don’t want this thing in my body.” He’s being sedated. Try to be strong for him. Tell him things will get better. It’s my son’s turn. The sedation medication is going through his veins. He’s not nervous anymore. One more sweet kiss with my son before he’s wheeled through green double doors. Telling myself not to break down. It’s a minor procedure. Waiting, pacing, nervous. Clinging to husband with sweaty hands. Texting family and friends. Finally the surgeon comes out. Everything was fine. He was in capable hands. Feeling grateful. Time to see him. Nurse warns us it will be noisy. What does that mean? Walking through strange hallways. Bracing myself for what I will see. Curtains hanging around each child. Countless children waking. They are crying and moaning. Are they in pain? One child is crying and trying to get out of the bed. One girl moans, and looks like she had surgery on her head. God, why must these children suffer? My ears are filled with the sounds of children crying. Oh God, what will my son look like? Will he be crying? Will he be in tremendous pain? Nurse points, there he is. The familiar face I know and love. His stomach is covered with blankets. I want to see what it looks like. Husband says to leave him alone. Maybe he’s afraid too? My son’s eyes meet mine and he starts to cry. What’s wrong, honey? Does it hurt? More morphine. It still hurts. His cries join with the cries of the children in the room like a chorus. Be strong for him. “I’ve done this to him. I’ve caused him to suffer.” Back to our hospital room. He’s sleeping, moaning. The day goes by at an agonizing pace. Too slow. Afraid to touch him, to move him, afraid of hurting him. Nurse explains information. Too much information. My head is spinning. It’s too overwhelming. I don’t understand what she’s saying. Giving me phone numbers, numbers of sizes, numbers of milliliters per hour. Why is she talking so fast? “Call me if anything goes wrong”. What? Fear. Trying to hold back tears. A sleepless night. He’s crying in his sleep. I finally drift off. Metal clangs in our room and I startle awake. A nurse is removing tubes from his stomach. I can see the button now. It’s not so bad. Shouldn’t there be bleeding? That looks pretty clean. My son looks down at the button. He looks up at me and smiles. “Wait till my buddies see this! They will think it’s cool!” Making jokes. “You have a balloon inside of you. I knew you were always full of hot air.” Time goes by faster. He’s walking across the room. Another day and it’s time to go home. New fears. Can I do this myself? A metal pole with a machine in my child’s bedroom. That doesn’t belong here. More medical equipment to decorate our home. Cans of formula, plastic tubes and syringes. I can’t do this. It’s too difficult to manage. I sleep on the floor next to him. Afraid to leave his side. I drift off to sleep. Morning sun hurts my eyes. I look at my son’s bed. He’s not there. The metal pole is missing. I hear noises coming from the kitchen. My son is rolling on the metal pole like a scooter. He is happy. The next week rolls by as fast as his new scooter. Doctors and dieticians, waiting to find out the news. He has gained weight.

SECOND PLACE – Four Poems by Katelyn Bush

4.1 Life with Lung Disease

Always changing day after day. What to expect? Whats coming my way? Something I hate; feeling like this. To breathe easy, that is my wish. Coughing and drowning, I choke and I gasp. All the while knowing my life is ending too fast. Nebulizers and oxygen, pills and vests. Total chaos, I cant take it, My life is a mess. What would I give to have a normal life. To survive long enough to be called someone's wife. Although its not possible, there is no cure in sight. And I'm getting weaker, I dont know how much longer I can keep up the fight. The things I would trade to just take a breath. Insted of constantly running, trying to escape my own death. 4.2 My Jail I feel imprisioned. No trial was I given. No chance to present my case. Why was this punishment thrown in my face? I never commited a crime. So why am I doing time? Thrown in jail, Everytime I try to inhale. My lungs have betrayed me once more. They're working for the devil, rotted to the core. I try to act like I dont care. But the truth is, I'm really scared. At night when I go to bed I'm never sure if I'll wake again. 4.3 Trapped in These Lungs Trapped in a place I cannot breathe. Wishing for a chance, I long to be free. Spending my life in a hospital bed. No wonder sometimes I wish I were dead. But no, This is the path God has chosen for me. So I make my world of lung disease the best it can be.   4.4 Please Breathe Easy Years and years she waited. for a chance to breathe. Life was slowly ending. Pain, Misery. Still she seemed to smile. Nothing got her down. Even as the air grew thinner, and her time was running out. Her lungs were slowly failing. But still she hoped and prayed. Time and time again good news would come, only to be snached away. She'd been let down so many times she didn't know how much more she could take. Shes my guardian angel and I am hers. Some things will never change. I'd give my life to save her, I'd give my everything. I live for her, she gives me strength. She reminds me that God is real. When finally that great day came and she could live again. She learned what it was like to truely breathe. She filled her new lungs with air. She was reborn. A new woman inside. Life and hope had been restored. Now she lies, motionless and still as the joy gets yanked away. I refuse to accept that this is happening. Not after all we've done. Theres got to be a way to save her. If I could I'd take her place in an instant. But she is gone now, Please, Breathe Easy. THIRD PLACE POEM: All I Ask by Katelyn Malene Sims

Katelyn Malene Sims is a CF Patient who lives in Florida.

There will be a day when I leave, I will leave this painful world behind. At the moment when you start to grieve, Read through my poems each and every line. -- A celebration of her life is what it shall be called, Not  funeral or remembrance. Allow the hurt and tears to be stalled, Take in the breathless indulgence. -- At the door on a table. Place my most memorable accomplishments. With every story and every fable, Showcase my significant achievements. -- Play the songs that I adored, And live that moment for me. Never allow the memory of me to be ignored, And know that I am free. -- Talk about the stories that I shared, From friend to friend. How there wasn’t one moment that I didn’t care, About how it felt in the end. -- Tell about my tribulations and my trials, When I was alone in the dark. All those times I had to be full of smiles, When there was a fearful journey I had to embark. -- Distribute his words that lifted my spirit, His words that became my desire. Read it out loud and let the world hear it, John 16:33 the verse that raised me higher. -- Recite a poem or two which I had written, That focused on joyous times and laughter. Tell about my personality and how I was driven, And that I wanted to live happily ever after. -- Listen to the silence when there is a break, Know at that moment I am with you. Take a deep breath for my sake, Because our separation shall be no issue. -- All I ask of you in return, Is that you bury me in the sunshine on a rainy day. The memory of me you may yearn, Never forget the words you heard me say. -- Only allow a single tear drop to fall, If you start to break and let go. Know that I would want you to stop, And remember that I love you so. -- I have been damaged, Throughout my fulfilling years. Torn into dispersing pieces of wreckage, Without shedding any tears. -- Remember how I tried to fix, What I could not change. There were not any tricks, To this life that is called a game. -- The life I lived was remarkable, This is a memoir of my legacy that I have left for you to share. The opportunities given to me were impeccable, Our memories will always be there.

--

Once again, our great congratulations and appreciation to all entrants. The 4 additional finalists will be posted next week, and the week following, we will post the rest of the submissions. Thank you so!

Beth

I am very sorry that the winners have not yet been announced. We have had an unexpected delay, and are waiting patiently for all of the judges scores to come in. My greatest apologies,
Beth

The winners will be announced soon!!! Sorry for the delay!!! Please stay tuned in the coming days!

Beth

As many of you know, we are nearing the end of the 2nd installment of the Patient Press Poetry Contest about Cystic Fibrosis. Complete guidelines are below but you should know that the . . .

Deadline is extended through January 15th!

It's not too late to enter!

Prizes!

All winning poems (First, Second and Third place, and all Honorable Mentions) will be posted here on the Patient Press blog. If there are enough entrants, poems will be published in written form along with the entrants from the last poetry contest. So excited about that!

First prize: $20

 

Second prize:  A copy of The Power of Two: A Twin Triumph over Cystic Fibrosis by Isabel Stenzel Byrnes & Anabel Stenzel:

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Third prize: A "Cystic Gal" or Guy T-Shirt:

     

Yay! Email me with any questions at patientpress@gmail.com

Yours in blogging,

Beth Peters

P.S. Do you or yours have an  item to donate as a prize for our poetry contest? Please contact me! We can offer sponsorship recognition on this blog, CysticGal.blogspot.com, and through other New-Media outlets.

bp

The second Patient Press Poetry Contest about Cystic Fibrosis: "Putting It In Words," is still open to submissions.

DEADLINE EXTENDED TO JANUARY 15TH!!!

"Putting It In Words:
Poems About Cystic Fibrosis"

– WINTER EDITION! --

NOVEMBER 1 – JANUARY 15TH!!!

Wanna win $20 and other prizes (TBD)*? You better write a poem!!!

Prizes will be announced tomorrow! (Dec. 31st!)

Don't ya wanna submit? Don't ya? Don't ya?!!

See below for full guidelines and to enter!

Email me at PatientPress@gmail.com if you have any questions!

The second Patient Press Poetry Contest about Cystic Fibrosis: "Putting It In Words," is now open to submissions. Winner will be announced here and on CysticLife on January 15th!

"Putting It In Words:
Poems About Cystic Fibrosis"– WINTER EDITION! --

NOVEMBER 1 - DECEMBER 31

Wanna win $20 and other prizes (TBD)*? You better write a poem!!!

Who Should Submit: The contest is open to all ages, Kindergarten through 110 years old!
CF patients and loved ones are all welcome to submit!

WINNERS will be announced on the Patient Press Blog and other internets on Dec. 15th!!!

WINNING POEMS will be posted for December and January!

WINNERS will each win a non-cash prize and $20*!

HONORABLE MENTIONS in each category will also win a non-cash prize!

ALL POEMS WILL BE POSTED ON PATIENT PRESS *You may choose for your poem to be posted anonymously. If there are enough entries, poems will be published with the winners of the summer contest.

What You Should Submit: We like funny poems. We like sad poems. We like goofy poems. We like angry poems. We like poems.

How To Submit :
1. Please email patientpress@gmail.com with your name and address.
2. Copy your poem into the body of the email, with a subject SUBMISSION and your last name.
3. Pay a small submission fee of $2 per poem by clicking on the PayPal button below. This small fee will help offset the costs of running the contest, such as mailing the poems between judges and possibly publishing the works submitted! - WOOT WOOT



Number of Poems 1 Poem $2.00 2 Poems $4.00 3 Poems $6.00 Optional Donation to Patient Press, LLC $0 $5 $10 $20


When You Should Submit: The contest is open November 1st through Dec. 31st, 2010

Why You Should Submit: Obviously, the CF community has a story to tell. More people should hear it! Let's express ourselves.

Rules: 1. Family members of the judges are not eligible to win the contest, but may submit and win an Honorable Mention.^
2. Work submitted must be original, and previously unpublished other than self-publishing.
3. The judges are:

Mary ElizaBeth Peters , Founding Director, Patient Press, CF patient and poet. Her personal blog can be found at cysticgal.blogspot.com

Layne Simpson, Honorable Mention in the Summer Patient Press Poetry Contest, and an aunt to two CF patients. She work at the Washington University in St. Louis, Missourri.

Piper Beatty , CF patient and double lung transplant recipient. Ms. Beatty chronicles her experience on amatteroflifeandbreath.blogspot.com . Otherwise, Ms. Beatty is a lawyer, avid volunteer, and dog-lover.


*****NOTE: All entries will be judges anonymously by Ms. Simpson and Ms. Beatty.*****
Don't you wanna submit? Don't ya? Don't ya?!!

Email me at PatientPress@gmail.com if you have any questions!
Other notes:Alternative poetry forms (odd spacing, font or text break) can be submitting via USPS. Please email for more info.
You retain all rights to your work. Poetry will be posted for a limited time and removed upon your request.
Thanks for submitting!
*Prizes are subject to participation. Tell your friends to enter, too!

The second Patient Press Poetry Contest about Cystic Fibrosis: "Putting It In Words," is now open to submissions. Winner will be announced here and on CysticLife on January 15th!
"Putting It In Words:
Poems About Cystic Fibrosis" – WINTER EDITION! --

NOVEMBER 1 - DECEMBER 31

Wanna win $20 and other prizes (TBD)*? You better write a poem!!!

Who Should Submit: The contest is open to all ages, Kindergarten through 110 years old!
CF patients and loved ones are all welcome to submit!

WINNERS will be announced on the Patient Press Blog and other internets on Dec. 15th!!!

WINNING POEMS will be posted for December and January!

WINNERS will each win a non-cash prize and $20*!

HONORABLE MENTIONS in each category will also win a non-cash prize!

ALL POEMS WILL BE POSTED ON PATIENT PRESS *You may choose for your poem to be posted anonymously. If there are enough entries, poems will be published with the winners of the summer contest.

What You Should Submit: We like funny poems. We like sad poems. We like goofy poems. We like angry poems. We like poems.

How To Submit :
1. Please email patientpress@gmail.com with your name and address.
2. Copy your poem into the body of the email, with a subject SUBMISSION and your last name.
3. Pay a small submission fee of $2 per poem by clicking on the PayPal button below. This small fee will help offset the costs of running the contest, such as mailing the poems between judges and possibly publishing the works submitted.
Number of Poems 1 Poem $2.00 2 Poems $4.00 3 Poems $6.00 Optional Donation to Patient Press, LLC $5 $10 $20 <><><><><> </></></></></>








When You Should Submit: The contest is open November 1st through Dec. 31st, 2010

Why You Should Submit: Obviously, the CF community has a story to tell. More people should hear it! Let's express ourselves.

Rules: 1. Family members of the judges are not eligible to win the contest, but may submit and win an Honorable Mention.^
2. Work submitted must be original, and previously unpublished other than self-publishing.
3. The judges are:

Mary ElizaBeth Peters , Founding Director, Patient Press, CF patient and poet. Her personal blog can be found at cysticgal.blogspot.com

Layne Simpson, Honorable Mention in the Summer Patient Press Poetry Contest, and an aunt to two CF patients. She work at the Washington University in St. Louis, Missourri.

Piper Beatty , CF patient and double lung transplant recipient. Ms. Beatty chronicles her experience on amatteroflifeandbreath.blogspot.com . Otherwise, Ms. Beatty is a lawyer, avid volunteer, and dog-lover.

*****NOTE: All entries will be judges anonymously by Ms. Simpson and Ms. Beatty.*****
Don't you wanna submit? Don't ya? Don't ya?!!

Email me at PatientPress@gmail.com if you have any questions!
Other notes:Alternative poetry forms (odd spacing, font or text break) can be submitting via USPS. Please email for more info.
You retain all rights to your work. Poetry will be posted for a limited time and removed upon your request.
Thanks for submitting!
*Prizes are subject to participation. Tell your friends to enter, too!

If you are checking this page because you received the wonderful CF Newswire from the CF Clinic at Children’s Hospital, Boston, let me be the first to say,

Hello and Welcome!!

I will be posting more thoroughly this evening, but I wanted to let you know that the poetry contest listed in the Newswire is currently closed – HOWEVER, tonight I’m going to open a new one!

Thanks for visiting, and see you later tonight.

Announcing the Winners

of the First Annual

Patient Press Poetry Contest

for Cystic Fibrosis

"Putting it in Words"

First, on behalf of Kathleen Rooney, Theresa Peters and myself, I would like to offer a great congratulation to each of the contest entries.

The judges had great difficulty deciding on the winners of the contest, and found all of the entries to be unique, honest and brave in their telling of the CF story. I sincerely hope that you each keep writing, and submitting to Patient Press and other publications, as well as publishing your amazing work on your blogs, on CysticLife, and your personal web-pages.

With great thanks,

Mary ElizaBeth Peters

Founding Director, Patient Press

HONORABLE MENTION: Layne Simpson* **

Petitions, Prayers, & Meditations on Euclid Avenue

(Beneath the Mammoth Monolith of Miracles)

WINNER, ADULT ENTRIES: Emily Alston-Follansbee**

I Knew and I Did Not

WINNER, YOUTH ENTRIES: Michael Riddle***

Untitled

JUDGE'S FAVORITE (ROONEY): Eliza Callard

Sestina

JUDGE'S FAVORITE (M.E. PETERS): Chelsea Allaart

Breathe

(Sierra's Gift)

JUDGE'S FAVORITE (T. PETERS): Spencer Riddle

Treatment or Two

Please read the winning poems, below:

HONORABLE MENTION: Layne Simpson* **

Ms. Simpson is the aunt to two CF patients, Theresa and Beth Peters . She works for Washington University in St. Louis , Missouri .

Petitions, Prayers, & Meditations on Euclid Avenue

(Beneath the Mammoth Monolith of Miracles)

“Lo...Lo...Lo...Lo”

“Lo...Lo...Lo...Lo”

Palms up, fingers stretched, vision closed,

My mantra through the summer, “Lo...Lo...Lo...Lo.”

Called as if a nun, monk, priest, rabbi, a country preacher,

Surrendered to prayer, petition... petition... petition!

Breathe...

Breathe...

Breathe...

BREATHE... for Lauren!

Breathe for Lo...Lo...Lo...Lo!

Sweaty, sweltering, summer days in St. Louis,

My breath, my energies, to your second set of failed lungs.

You, in an induced coma for the summer.

I, faithfully, hopefully, whisper/chant your nickname,

“Lo...Lo...Lo...Lo,” while waiting,

Pressing two fingers to my lips

With every shoop, shoop, shoop of the helicopters.

I am not part of your world-wide prayer chain,

Which covers you twenty-four hours a day.

But I have geography on my side!

I stroll directly beneath the mammoth monolith of western science,

Deliberately stopping on the corner of McKinley,

Turning to face the temple, repeating...repeating...

“Bring those waiting, their organs.

All deaths be peaceful.

All caregivers have a nice day.”

I still mourn the spring death, the year before,

Of the daughter of John and Mary Tucker,

John, Jr. preceding Kelly.

Feeling their grief, sadness,

Every Mother's Day, every Father's Day.

I can not have Lo go that way too.

At summer's end, her gift arrives!

I sometimes curse my connection to cystic fibrosis,

Two nieces – one gifted, one waiting!

Waiting...waiting...waiting.

While I walk to work under the mammoth monolith of miracles.

WINNER, ADULT ENTRIES: Emily Alston-Follansbee**

Mrs. Alston-Follansbee does not have a family history of CF, but has a friend with CF who is awaiting transplant. She works as an elementary school teacher in Boston, Massachusetts.

I Knew and I Did Not

I met a girl.

My brother died on hot Chicago pavement.

This girl taught at my school, but she was out sometimes.

I picked up his bloody ring in a plastic bag at the morgue.

The girl had cystic fibrosis, someone at school thought.

I have organ donor on my license, but I don't know if my brother did.

Cystic fibrosis, I said, doesn't that mean you die when you're 35?

My brother died when he was 35.

Oh, the girl seemed fine. Kids in line, school lunch.

Travel to trial for the freak who killed my brother, like a tendon torn from my neck.

Winter-to-spring, the girl turned into a person, a funny person with a faint squeak in her voice.

She was from Chicago, and my belly lurched. Had she read the story in the papers?

On her porch, she grabbed at her oxygen tube, bending it, as if to cut off

her own oxygen – mocking the mobsters on tv.

Cars hummed by, and we pondered romance and pizza.

Someday my friend would need new lungs.

What ever happened to my brother's lungs?

I do not recall what the medical examiner said, although he reported that the heart burst.

My friend got sicker and she visited the hospital.

In between she had her cats and her funny jokes.

She had had to follow a routine strict and bottled - military medical.

Suddenly slowly into the hospital one bad bad time and she was trying to be alive.

I knew and I did not, like my own lungs, my impotent hands, my baby brother's dead heart, and lungs.

Sorry to my dear friend that the timing was not right,

and sorry but he was so torn up his lungs may not have been intact

and he would have given them, like the pickled-salty food he shared from his plate,

and the old Simpsons videos.

I knew and I did not, why some lungs go and some stop. Hers are waiting, living, and shiny-bright.

WINNER, YOUTH ENTRIES: Michael Riddle***

Michael is an active teenager with Cystic Fibrosis.

Untitled

My weight goes up and down

In which i hate

My doctors watch it to see if i need a g-tube

i lose pounds that fits the doctors criteria for a g-tube

so i have one and its ok but its my second one ‘cause the first one fell out

when i was asleep so to the present

i was in the hospital ‘cause i was sick and lost 6 pounds so i got admitted

at Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore, MD is my hospital

the nurses are like my friends ‘cause they always say hi to me in the halls

My favorite nurses are Shannon, Jeff

So im at home and i miss my friends Shannon and Jeff

Oh and by the way Help Kick CF Forever every little bit helps

JUDGE'S FAVORITE (ROONEY): Eliza Callard

Ms. Callard is an active adult with CF.

Sestina

I can’t imagine the feel of the weight

of the news told my parents, their eyes red;

outside the hospital a verdant June green.

Then the shifting, adjusting, trying to find comfort in friends—

they suddenly young, my parents suddenly old.

Trying to understand the motives of nature.

Deciding there are no motives in nature,

and learning to bear more easily the weight.

Coming to hope and believe their child would get old.

So we were surprised seventeen years later to see a stream of red

when I coughed—sitting on the floor watching the news with my parents’ friends—

when my lungs had only ever yielded yellow and green.

I felt hopelessly inexperienced and green.

A friend told me to imagine nature,

to imagine a beach, the sand and waves my friends,

the way the ocean moved, the way it

pulled. In the bathroom, liquid red

still rumbling from me to the old

sink, the mirror lying to me, saying I was still seventeen years old.

We drove through the humid green

spring day, but soon I was in a bed, willing a line of red

to come into the IV needle from my arm, nature

far away. Breathing was effort. “You’ve lost weight,”

they said, (these friendly doctors and nurses who were not my friends).

In matters of the heart, it was my friends

who were mature; in matters of death, I who was old.

I could feel the air conditioning seeping through the light weight

of my blankets, and the automatic swelling of the green

blood pressure cuff. All this was the ‘nature

of the disease,’ to be expected, I’d read.

I still flush red

with embarrassment when friends

grasp the nature

of a disease that might not let me get old

with them, rocking in green

willow rocking chairs, the porch floorboards creaking under our weight.

Red blood has flowed many times since I was seventeen years old.

I wish I knew, could tell my friends, how many times I will see the green

of spring, but it’s the nature of life’s beast to have to wait.

JUDGE'S FAVORITE (M.E. PETERS): Chelsea Allaart

Ms. Allaart writes to us from Colorado, and she is the sister to a CF patient

Breathe (Sierra's Gift)

Breathe In

papers rustle fingers type eyes squint

sobs break the mundane night

fifteen year old chokes out

“they found lungs for me”

Breathe Out

heart blips oxygen wheezes anesthesia drips

wait until she is under

to muffle my fears

against an understanding shoulder

Breathe In

phone calls startled friends stunned family

joy/pain wrestle

the pastor arrives

just in case

Breathe Out

flat pillows breaking chairs no floor space

tempered glass throws shadows

on those fighting to sleep

and I who can't succumb

Breathe In

busy laptops search Google find Her

I shouldn't have looked

sacrificed child

Sierra

Breathe Out

half eaten pizza opened soda cans forgotton fries

nauseous with wait

none can eat

until we know the outcome

Breathe In

suffocation lost air found pints of blood

green clothed messenger comes out

little sister holds strong

one more to go

Breathe Out

bouncing feet jittery hands pacing

mother tells me to calm

words that have no effect

I quicken

Breathe In

half asleep half awake caffeine

cell phones continuously ring

with those not present

calling for unknown updates

Breathe Out

hesitation guilt clicking search

against better judgement

I read the Kansas City News

Sierra was fourteen

Breathe In

twitchy cousins sympathetic aunts nervous uncles

hoping for information

half jumping at each new face

waiting not daring to hope

Breathe Out

nine hours two lungs many tears

little trouble

a doctors pride

Sierra's gift accepted

Breathe

JUDGE'S FAVORITE (T. PETERS): Spencer Riddle

Mr. Riddle is a previously unpublished CF patient.

Treatment or Two

Oh crap! What do I do?

I forgot to do a treatment or two.

I'm going to the doctors later today;

I wonder what they're gonna say.

I could always tell them that I'm dying,

But then they'd think my brain is frying.

OH CRAP!!! What do I do!?

I forgot to do a treatment or two.

I didn't wake up until 6:30,

I didn't shower, I'm still dirty!!

There wasn't enough time to do my vest,

The doctors just won't be happy without my best.

Oh crap........what do I do?

I forgot to do a treatment or two.

From now on no more sleeping late!

That just might change my fate.

They’re gonna make such a fuss,

And bite their tongues as not to cuss.

Oh crap what do I do.........?

I forgot to do a treatment or two.....

Well, it’s more like fifteen or eight,

But who's counting, it's too late.....

Notes:

*As a family member of the contest judges, Ms. Simpson was not eligible to win, but is congratulated on her entry!

**Entrants are reminded that judging was “blind” for two of the three judges (T. Peters and K. Rooney), and that judges were not aware of the names or duplicate entries of any one poet

***Entrants are reminded that poems submitted by those under the age of 18 were judged separately from those over the age of 18.

Additionally:

Scoring of the poems was completed without regard to entrants’ payment of the contest entry fee, family or personal history of Cystic Fibrosis or transplant, or their disclosure of this information.

Winners in each age category (Ms. Alston-Follansbee and Michael Riddle) win a small cash prize and a free “Cystic Gal” or guy t-shirt!

Please stay tuned tomorrow! Contest winners will be announced at 5PM!!

Thank you to all who entered!!