2026 Winter Poetry Contest: First Place

 
Photo by Sandy Millar on Unsplash

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Katy L.

Did you know, my love, in the attic high,

The queen looks out beneath the sky

O’er a kingdom vast and green

With asphalt stripes–a magazine

At every step, and did you know

She see the wind who’s come to blow

The newsie’s cap off from his head

The old orange cat back to his bed.

Besides, my dear, in the attic high,

A pirate sails with just one eye.

A velvet patch where his other was

A peg leg and a map because

His dying father gave it him

(after he taught him how to swim)

So he could find the hidden gold

That all your storybooks have told

He holds on tight so’s not to slip

From the crow’s nest of his bonny ship.

That ship is in the attic, darling,

Up there’s too a tiger snarling

And a hunter, stooping low.

One of them has got to go

Or we’ll go up on day and see 

A sight that makes us both to flee:

Orange and black fur five feet thick

The hunter killed him by some trick

And left the mess upon the floor

For me to clean–and what a chore!

When I’ve you and your sis to raise

And food to boil and cook and braise.

But still, the fur could make a rug

Thick to keep our feet all snug

In front of the gold-red fire bright

On a chilly winter night.

And dearest, in the attic up

Above the table where we sup

At night, yes, while you, pa, and I

Eat our stew and bread and Brie

An old French chef makes wondrous things:

Sugar bears that dance and sing

Chocolate rivers with gingerbread rocks

And ticking, tocking candy clocks

With honey birds that strike the day…

O, and there are games to play!

Because up at the house’s top

A rabbit likes to hop and hop

“Come!” he cries. “Come hop with me!”

“We’ll race from here to the China Sea

And back again, with utmost glee

In time for Mother’s cakes and tea.”

So in the attic up the stairs

The Hunter’s now a-hunting Bears

That chased the Pirate to the room

Where the chef sautes the moon.

The rabbit and the wise orange cat

a-race around the footman’s hat

Which tumbled off when bowed he down

To the Queen, who wears her golden crown.

While me and you and you and I

Gather tiger-fur like rye

We bow and shout and sew the rug

We race and cook and then we’re snug

Home (and rich) from the China Sea,

In time for Mother’s Cakes and Tea.

About the Author

If Katy L. was sensible, she wouldn't be overloading her already crazy-busy high school schedule by writing. However, for better or worse, she donated her common sense to her local bookstore long ago, so here she is, writing fanciful and occasionally sarcastic poetry (as well as trope-flipping novels), while trying to also balance a very busy homeschool schedule, a maddening number of random projects, and still find time to read in-between. Against all expectations, Katy is in fact still sane, but that’s only because of Jesus Christ, who is her Savior, Lord, and Best Friend.

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