DeLux Student Poetry Competition: A Triumph for Our School

Dear ACS Students and Faculty,

In a rare show of unanimity last Thursday during the Delux Poetry competition at the Anglo-American School of Sofia, judges at our sister school awarded all three top prizes to ACS students!  It is with great pleasure that I share their names and the titles of their poems:

Winners: 

1. Nikol Boyadzhieva - Pomegranates
2. Dimana Velcheva - Wolves and Sheep
3. Andrea Krumova - Invisible; Sensed

Finalists:

Yoana Dimitrova & Ivayla Kopoeva 

I would like to extend special thanks to teachers Silas Jones, who was an in-house ACS judge, Jessica Coates, who helped with our judging and took the lead organizing the event, and the many teachers, including Mallory Tarses, who find time to nurture and encourage students' creative writing at our school.

Congratulations to all students who entered the contest and made it such a close competition. We had a huge number of entries which is a testament to the creative writing talents of our students.

Additional thanks go to the AAS teachers, students and administrators who were such gracious hosts. 

The spring DeLux Short Fiction competition is mere months away so students are encouraged to begin writing their new stories as soon as possible!

We leave you with the awarded pieces:

Pomegranates

by Nikol Boaydzhieva

Is sweetness worth the mess of gorgeous chaos?

The allure of carmine illusions, so rich, so red,

provokes us to reach, to trust the gleam of what’s offered—

though sweetness often leaves its stain, a mark that won’t fade,

trailing beauty into something darker, hidden in its depths.

In the supramundane world

When Persephone tasted the pomegranate shrub,

It did not split in ruby splendor,

but wilted, mottled and wounded under her touch.

Where crimson juice should have spilled,

A poison traced along ghostly veins,

Like an unseen hand pulling her toward the underworld’s depths.

She, Persephone, the goddess of spring’s realm,

Who should have ruled over the pomegranate’s bloom,

Now held only its shriveled husk.

Dull seeds, drained of beauty and swollen with dark intent,

Mocking the power she once had.

He, Hades, the invisible god, bound her with a disguised sweetness,

Each seed a thread, tying her fate to the shadows of his enclave.

He knew that beauty fades and sweetness can betray.

He knew that even the richest fruit can deceive,

And sweetness, in truth, is seldom worth the mess.

For chaos, at its core, is rarely ever gorgeous.

Wolves and Sheep

by Dimana Velcheva

I don’t know why I act

distant when you are around,

or why my temper flares to stay

at every word that comes out of your mouth.

But I do know, deep inside,

it’s in my nature to stand against you and

not next to you.

You don't choose your nature.

Wolves are born predators, and

sheep are born prey.

They are enemies by nature, and this

code goes without questioning;

it’s just the way it is,

the way it’s always been.

It rolls in like a storm;

it turns on like a switch.

I don’t want it to be like this,

but a hungry wolf

can't deny its rumbling belly;

it has to go back

to killing sheep.

However, once in a while, the storm doesn’t roll in;

the sun shines bright,

and the wolf finds something else to eat.

Then, finally, I see myself in you,

and the sheep and the wolf are able to lay

on the same field and be undisturbed by

each other's presence.

But eventually, nature calls, and

they have to go back to the code.

The truth is that the wolf can’t survive without the sheep.

When separated, the savage beast lives a futile existence,

for what is a predator without its prey—just a pointless aggressor?

So, without further questioning, the wolf goes back to killing,

and the sheep goes back to running.

Invisible; Sensed

By Andrea Krumova

I move around like wind, 

Like a shaky whisper in your ear.

I travel like the smoke 

from a low and steady fire, 

reaching through your nose

and mouth and ears,

making my nest in your brain. 

And I fill you, possess your thoughts.

You cannot breathe, think, feel

anything that is not me. 

And even though you know

that I am somewhere there beside you,

you fail to touch me, 

for your eyes know noth about me. 

They can trace from where I begin 

and where I stop, 

but they see through me, not within. 

They cannot catch the place 

where my soul is. 

They are blind to my desires, 

to my needs, my dreams, my fears. 

Yes, they see my shape,

but I am just an empty frame to them. 

You can touch my skin, 

but even with no clothes 

I will be no less covered. 

You only feel me, 

you do not see me. 

It’s not because you can’t, 

for I know that I can be an open book, 

you simply do not want to.