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For the second time in its long, illustrious career, the 2024 version of the 糖心vlog官网鈥� Project Poet finale ended in a tie for first place.

This year鈥檚 title of Poet Laureate of the Sprada Valley was shared by Seria S. Cash, a senior psychology major from The Bahamas; and Jorge Mendoza, a senior media production and psychology major from El Salvador.

It was the second tie in the history of the annual competition that began in 2006 as the brainchild of Professor of English Dr. David Strain. Each fall, students from all disciplines across campus test their wit and creative writing and poetry skills in weekly challenges against fellow classmates with large cash prizes and the title of Poet Laureate of the Sprada Valley on the line.

Rounding out the top five in this year鈥檚 Project Poet were Catasia Ferguson in third, Melissa Coronado in fourth and Tad Pshigoda finishing fifth.

For Mendoza, who wore his lucky fur trapper hat throughout the competition, his third attempt in Project Poet proved to be the charm.

鈥淲inning project poet for me was a dream come true since this is the third year I have participated,鈥� he said. 鈥淚t felt like finally achieving a goal that I have been working on for so long. On top of that, this is my senior year, so it was my last chance of making it. Something that feels special for me about this is that counting the final, I managed to win three rounds in a row, one per each year I have participated, a funny little coincidence.鈥�

He said waiting for the judges to announce their decision was gut-wrenching.

鈥淚 was running around the auditorium thanking the people who had come to kind of ease my mind,鈥� Mendoza said. 鈥淲hen the time to announce the winners came, I was shaking in my seat clutching my so called 鈥榣ucky hat鈥� that I wore that night. One by one they revealed the places until Dr. Amy Oatis said that we had both won. I literally jumped out of my seat and started dancing due to how happy I was, because it meant that I had finally made it.鈥�

Cash, who will graduate from Ozarks this month, said winning the competition was a validation of sorts.

鈥淲inning Project Poet means that I ought to see and hear myself the way others do 鈥� as worthy and deserving,鈥� she said. 鈥淭hey say you are your biggest critic, and worst enemy to yourself. For me, that saying holds truth. On the final night of Project Poet, I too was a judge. I judged myself and my competitors, but I was nowhere near first on my rubric 鈥� I was third or second at best.  I didn鈥檛 expect to win because I had told myself that I wasn鈥檛 going to. Imaginably so, when it was revealed that I had won, I was taken aback.鈥�

Cash, competing in her first Project Poet, said one of the most difficult aspects of the contest was going against her fellow classmates and friends.

鈥淚t was the utmost and undeniable act of betrayal 鈥� at least that鈥檚 what it felt like,鈥� she said. 鈥淏ut aside from the theatrics, some of the people I competed with were not just my classmates, but friends, and to see them being eliminated round after round truly left me hurt.鈥�

Mendoza said his approach to writing poetry involved what he called 鈥減rocesses.鈥�

鈥淭hey are my way of keeping track of things that I need to do in my mind, so things like classes, assignments, or just generally thinking about something, are processes that my mind runs,鈥� he said. 鈥淚 essentially mulled over the prompt for about a week, 鈥榬unning鈥� a process in the background of my mind, constantly trying to get an idea. Once I reached an idea that I liked, I would sit down and start thinking about it. What do I want to say about this idea? How do I feel about this? Is there something different I can show? And then I would just write and edit as I move through the poem, always making sure to follow the rules given to us.鈥�

Cash said she based her poetry writing on the concept of 鈥渢ruth.鈥�

鈥淚 also like to play around with words and the stories I tell, and how I do it; it makes it not only fun for me, but for my audience,鈥� she said. 鈥淚t also shows the witty and playful side of myself. But if I鈥檓 being honest, aside from the constrictions of form, I don鈥檛 have a grand methodical way of writing poetry. I rely on my foundation of truth and the stories life has given me.鈥�

Cash said the challenge of writing sonnets was her most challenging, and also favorite, format.

鈥淢y favorite type of poetry was the sonnet; more specifically, it was listening to Jorge鈥檚 sonnets. They were absolutely beautiful,鈥� she said. 鈥淚ronically, the most challenging for me was the sonnet. It had almost pushed me to drop out of the competition. Overall, all forms of poetry are challenging, and the rhyme scheme of sonnets, in my opinion, is the most difficult to master, especially as it relates to connections and what you鈥檙e trying to express in 14 lines.鈥�

Cash said competing in Project Poet made a significant impact on her.

鈥淚f you鈥檙e not careful, a creative mind will get crushed by the weight and pressures of others,鈥� she said. 鈥淔or a long time, my mind was burdened down with that weight. Competing in Project Poet, I must say, freed me. It reminded me of why I began or was given the gift of writing and performing. When I write and perform, I do all those things and more for 鈥� me.鈥�

Mendoza found Project Poet liberating as well.

鈥淚t has been a nice reminder that there people that are not only willing but also want to listen to you,鈥� he said. 鈥淧oems are inherently sentimental, so it can be a bit embarrassing to show certain sides of yourself. But having people I haven鈥檛 talked to before approach me after the winning poems were posted, to say how much they liked mine and congratulate me has been eye-opening.鈥�

Seria Cash

Independence for Sale (Nature)

I didn’t know that my kind were cannibals: They’ll peel the skin off each other with their teeth, rip limbs apart with their hands, eat them, then serve it to their children.

I didn’t know that women were flowers and men-gardeners: My father told me, 鈥渉oney, that’s the way it’s supposed to be鈥�. But all I ever see, is men taking their sons into gardens to plough the ground and destroy them.

I didn’t know that my eyes were broken: My kind don鈥檛 look like me no more, and I feel like I’m the only one who sees the color Black. Am I? A lot of my sisters and brothers prefer to see the color White.

I didn’t know criminals dressed up as policemen: I saw one rob a man who looked like him, but spoke a different language. We鈥檙e afraid, so tell me, who are we supposed to go to for help?

I didn鈥檛 know that pullin, pushin, and poverty was the holy trinity of my country: Sometimes, God don鈥檛 exist here.

I didn’t know that this rock is still a slave to the hands who throw money at it: Thank you sir, are you enjoying your stay mam? Will that be all?

I didn’t know that a leader became a mother during election: Now, he has to take care of his home and his children-who, will put him to death without trial, when water begins to drip from roof tops.

I didn鈥檛 know my island was a prostitute: While her voyeur children watch, moguls spread her legs open and plant seeds of capitalism inside of her.

I didn鈥檛 know what it meant to be Bahamian: The colors Yellow, Black, and Aquamarine have been washed dry into Red, White and Blue.

I didn鈥檛 know my society was segregated: Why does the West bleed money and power when the East bleeds blood and poverty? I rarely see a white man or woman, but when I do, I always wonder if they breathe the same air that I do. 

I didn’t know polygamy was my country鈥檚 鈥渟weetheart鈥�: I don’t want God to punish me for not having a sweet heart.

I didn鈥檛 know the older generation depended so much on the younger generation: I鈥檓 sorry, there hasn鈥檛 been any sign of a black Moses who will lead us to freedom again.

I didn’t know that you鈥檇 be interested: The government said people 17 and under have no sense, no voice, but at 16 are able to give consent, when that makes no sense.

I didn’t know I lived in a jungle.

I thought my home was supposed to be paradise.

I thought I was supposed to have a better life.

I thought I was free.

At least now

I know how much my independence is worth.

God You are Hope (Cinquain Poem)

You are

Hope鈥揳 calling

For people far greater

Than the nature of their sins鈥揋od

You鈥檙e Hope

Love Switches

Walk away, how can I? Leave everything

Years love, granted love under conditions

God promises, Love switches on and off

Hate reflections of my design

I鈥檒l stay, I stayed, I鈥檓 staying

I鈥檒l leave, I left, I鈥檓 leaving

I鈥檓 back

Addiction yeah you feed me

Sustain me, under promises

I need you to keep

Is it all or hole?

You鈥檙e angry and you鈥檙e empty

No one understands, you鈥檙e unheard of

You鈥檙e invisible, no one listens

The ones you want to listen don鈥檛

Listen such a naive girl

Forgive me, Forgive you, forgive I

Forgive the love switches

That are a part of my design

They鈥檙e by design

By default it is my design

Break myself then rewind

Repeat all over again

Jorge Mendoza

Prayers

I remember how I used to pray

Hands clasped together, down on my knees

鈥淗ey God! How are you?

Can I get a puppy for Christmas please?鈥�

It was childish, it was naive

But it was pure and sincere

I would talk to you, share with you

Tell you about my life

鈥淗ey God! So鈥� there is this person I like鈥︹��

It was all so beneath you

But you didn鈥檛 seem to mind

Even as I got older, it was just like Father and child

Then something changed

It was different, strange

Like a numbing pain

Down on my knees, hands clasped

Fearful of the answer I asked

鈥淕od, you love me right?鈥�

I was confused, alone

Felt tainted and impure

Aware of my nature

Unworthy of attention

鈥淎re you even there?

Why not spare me the pain

Answer me

why was I made this way?鈥�

Steeped in frustration

Driven by hurt

I hardened my heart and ceased to talk

Yes I felt hatred but not towards you

It was myself I disdained

A truth misunderstood

Down on my knees and my hands clasped

I come back to you and in prayer I ask

鈥淗ey God, are you there?

I鈥檓 sorry I left, I made a mistake

I鈥檒l open my heart and I鈥檒l forgive myself

Can we somehow start again?

I hope you can hear me, here I will wait

Please forgive me, amen鈥�

Love

I鈥檝e spent many nights staring at the ceiling

Trying to understand it, that stupid feeling,

That four-lettered word, That beautiful bastard

the one we call love

Love is the wine that makes fools of the wise

That Burning emotion

That sets stories in motion

The one that makes great speakers, tongue-tied

And the bravest of warriors, out of nowhere feel shy

Love is the reason we ignore thorns on roses

That blinding light that hearts exposes

Love is the water from which we all drink

It is also the reason why we forget to think

Love is the thread from which bonds are woven

That turns strangers to friends and friends into brothers

It is the fire that burns in the oven

It is the bread we share, with one another

Love is painful, deceiving and cruel

It is comforting and healing,

Of our engine, the fuel

Love is the reason there was a war in Troy

Why The Redeemer was put on the cross

A great celebration, a source of joy

Powerful, nurturing, beautiful and pure

Nature

driving over man made concrete structure

over the river valley the sun sets

colors and light paint a divine picture

lazy flowing water the cliffs besets

the sky and water reflect each other

two halves opposing yet one and the same

trees, birds, water, and rocks calm, unbothered

great majestic beauty truly untamed

as I keep driving I am reminded

nature is the one that holds the power

I witness creation, mind enlightened

Truly, before it鈥檚 might I should cower

All-encompassing, perfect designer

In the grand scheme of things I am minor

Topics: Campus Life