C  O  M  M  E  N  D  E  D     P  O  E  T  S

This commendation recognizes the poet whose work speaks most powerfully to the Ransom Everglades campus and community. This poet's work is thematically substantive and technically advanced. The poet demonstrates a beyond-impressive ability to express themselves in verse.

Winner: Eve Zhou ‘24 for “First Snow” 

up north

the sun was watery pale

on snow days,

weak rays splitting

clouds for moments, moments

before they were swallowed

by the flurries of white, white, white.

I would wake

to a window dusted

in crystal powder,

soft bubbles of wonder

flying, flying upward against

the snow falling, falling, falling.

there are no perfect

white flakes against my palm,

no icicles hanging from

the eaves of our old red-roofed house.

it's tuesday.

it's april.

it's down here,

down south, down in

my new life.

sunny, temperature

that kind of radiant warm

that I could never identify

because I'm still a northeasterner

at heart, I guess. still new.

all I feel

is the sun, golden strong

like a warm hand on my back,

light falling over me in

a thousand little greetings

"welcome, welcome, welcome."

and yet

despite the warm

cloak around my shoulders,

before me

it is snowing.

it snows gold, down here.

maybe they were right

money does grow on trees

or at least

gold does, flurries of gold

falling onto the green, green grass

stopping just short

of the pavement I stand on,

as if heeding the will

of an invisible ward.

if I were

more audacious

I would

reach out

to touch

a single perfect leaf.

I want to

ask this little wonder,

ask "do you

have the answers to my questions?"

why do I stand here

watching the trees weep gold,

the golden glint

of sunlight on every

fluttering leaf

making me see things in the dull noon light?

why do I

peer past the falling snow,

looking for someone

who isn't there?

would this leaf,

with wisdom of the earth

brought to it

through arcane things

like "roots"

and "stems"

with wisdom of the sky

brought to it

by a never-extinguished dream to fly,

have the answers

to my ordinary, human questions?

the snow falls,

a riot of gold.

I stand,

silent and unmoving

as if I could

become something greater than myself

if I just stood still

for long enough. 

This commendation recognizes a poet in grade 9 or 10 whose work demonstrates impressive ability with theme, aesthetic, and technique.

Winner: Lael Sanders ‘26 for “Feels like Home”

Rays of golden light filter through the wide mangroves, casting a shadow on the world below 

I wonder how the sun must feel to the leaves

I think it feels like home.

Like a hug from your best friend

Like light cascading down your back

It sounds like crashing waves

And a flock of seagulls in song

I wonder what it is like to be one of those leaves

To sit on its tree and observe our world 

To feel the pleasantries of life

To feel the gentle breeze and soft sunlight

To feel the rough winds and unrelenting storms

I think it feels like lemonade on a hot day

Like sticky hands coated with sugar from too many mangoes

Like the smell of morning dew on bright grass

I think it feels like a sun-kissed face and salty hair

I think it feels like home. 

This commendation recognizes the member of faculty, staff, or leadership whose work is thematically substantive and technically advanced. The poet demonstrates a beyond-impressive ability to express themselves in verse.

Winner: Ariel Mandel for "Ode to the Fake Plant in the Window"

I have to admit, I admire your indifference;

I too wish I could stop listening to my mother.

Her heat doesn’t bother you, nor do her tears.

You have all of her green and gloss

without the temperament

or tenderness that comes with time,

seasons passing by your window as easily

as the years show in my mother’s face,

in the way she is at once mother and stranger,

mother and the star I’m following, hoping

I’m headed North. You, fake plant,

are rootless and without need

for nutrient, for nitrogen,

love, or understanding;

You will never know neglect,

fall out of season,

outgrow your surroundings,

or be late to bloom.

Seedless, you have nothing

to pass on, no curse or legacy

to bear fruit. I cannot eat you;

you smell of godlessness,

which is the sweet perfume

my mother doesn’t wear. 

This commendation recognizes a poet whose work draws on a historic understanding of place and/or speaks to the 120th anniversary of Ransom Everglades School.

Winner: Chloe Alfonso ‘24 for “Ghosts” 

It is not the wind who whispers these tales,

though she carries her own from far away trails;

it is not the sea who screams these pains,

though she hides other secrets beneath her waves;

nor is it the storm which echoes these hollow vows,

though an ancient evil his thunder shrouds;

this flutter in your soul,

the promise of stories untold,

is the past reaching for you, vesselless,

its limbs burned long ago

for once, where you stand,

stood sweet acacia trees and honeysuckle flowers-- land

now there are bricks and statues,

and ghosts who demand

to tell their stories,

if only you would listen

This commendation recognizes a poet whose work, in the spirit of esteemed author W.S. Merwin, acts as a call to cherish and preserve the natural environment against the forces of human impact and climate change. This poet's work embraces Merwin's signature wonder and spirituality. It embodies the idea that nature has value beyond what man can extract from it. Learn more about W.S. Merwin and his writing here.

Winner: Rogelio Munoz-Franco ‘23 for “Biscayne’s Mother” 

Waves whisper elegantly amid the rocks,

pouring words into their porous openings,

natural ridges like nests cradling water,

ears that listen to stories of expeditions all over.

Was it the bay who gifted us our colloquial laridae?

--or was it not our mother--

that mother who birthed those loquacious

nautical oscillations.

Mother knows best, the mangroves abreast

would mingle on whimsical days.

With children and laughter she blessed this cay,

Not knowing her casket was on the way.

When looking outside she tried not to cry

for slain were her offspring.

The waves, no longer whispering,

lifelessly thrashed against the rocks.

A mother without her children,

what else could be done?

Her gifts we carelessly wasted.

In our reverie

we dishonored her noboility

now eutrophied, Biscayne remains.

This commendation recognizes a poet who embraces non-western poetic forms or approaches, treating nature as a subject that unites people across time and cultures.

Winner: Sander Joeveer ‘24 for “The Afternoon Rain” 

This commendation recognizes a poet whose work most compellingly engages with the non-human animal.

Winner: June Frankel '23 for "Lizard with No Tail"

a lizard with no tail.

all hail!

the lizard with no tail

This commendation recognizes a poet whose work most powerfully considers the degree to which the natural world transforms itself--and us--through the seasons.

Winner: Eve Zhou ‘24 for “First Snow” 

up north

the sun was watery pale

on snow days,

weak rays splitting

clouds for moments, moments

before they were swallowed

by the flurries of white, white, white.

I would wake

to a window dusted

in crystal powder,

soft bubbles of wonder

flying, flying upward against

the snow falling, falling, falling.

there are no perfect

white flakes against my palm,

no icicles hanging from

the eaves of our old red-roofed house.

it's tuesday.

it's april.

it's down here,

down south, down in

my new life.

sunny, temperature

that kind of radiant warm

that I could never identify

because I'm still a northeasterner

at heart, I guess. still new.

all I feel

is the sun, golden strong

like a warm hand on my back,

light falling over me in

a thousand little greetings

"welcome, welcome, welcome."

and yet

despite the warm

cloak around my shoulders,

before me

it is snowing.

it snows gold, down here.

maybe they were right

money does grow on trees

or at least

gold does, flurries of gold

falling onto the green, green grass

stopping just short

of the pavement I stand on,

as if heeding the will

of an invisible ward.

if I were

more audacious

I would

reach out

to touch

a single perfect leaf.

I want to

ask this little wonder,

ask "do you

have the answers to my questions?"

why do I stand here

watching the trees weep gold,

the golden glint

of sunlight on every

fluttering leaf

making me see things in the dull noon light?

why do I

peer past the falling snow,

looking for someone

who isn't there?

would this leaf,

with wisdom of the earth

brought to it

through arcane things

like "roots"

and "stems"

with wisdom of the sky

brought to it

by a never-extinguished dream to fly,

have the answers

to my ordinary, human questions?

the snow falls,

a riot of gold.

I stand,

silent and unmoving

as if I could

become something greater than myself

if I just stood still

for long enough. 

This commendation recognizes a poet whose work engages meaningfully with the power nature has to spellbind and awe us. The sublime as a literary concept originates in Romanticism, where it refers to the grand and extraordinary as found in the natural world.

Winner: Ana Lourdes Gonzalez ‘26 for “Untitled”