Each fall, NEHS’ Fall Creative Challenge invites student writers to push beyond the familiar, challenging them to explore voice, perspective, and poetic imagination. This fall’s challenge was inspired by the work of Carol Ann Duffy, a celebrated contemporary poet. Duffy, best known for her collection The World’s Wife, reimagines history, myth, and literature by giving voice to figures often left on the margins, inviting readers to rethink familiar stories from unexpected viewpoints.
This year’s winners embrace that spirit of innovation and empathy, crafting original poems and performances that step into the shoes of the unseen and unheard: partners, companions, and other figures who challenge us to see the world anew. Join us in celebrating these talented students whose work demonstrates the powerful ways poetry can reframe experience, spark connection, and transform perspective.
Hyacinthus
by Luana Soares
St. Nicholas School, Brazil
The Sun casts its glowing rays over the green meadow,
Turning the darkness into Earth’s greatest foe.
It unknowingly warms the backs of two young men,
Two of which act as if the star is not to rise again.
Yet the Sun’s warm beams are not what offer me consolation,
But rather the way they twinkle within his eyes, a testimony to my admiration.
What a privilege it must be to call the eyes of poetry and music your home,
Boundless possibilities in them in which the mind can roam.
A physique that could solely belong to a god,
Golden locks seemingly carved by the finest of sculptors, chiseled with Zeus’ lightning rod.
A face deprived of wrinkles, despite the millennia of living,
Irises harboring the color of molten gold, ever so scorching.
However, that is not entirely true.
An attentive, tender look can reveal the lew.
In the midst of the night, cloaked by the moonlight’s silver glimmer,
Emerging eye bags and weak smiles, the daylight’s arrogance grows dimmer.
Yes, there it is! The true appearance of a man who resides in the skies!
Oh, if only I could forever shelter his beauty from others, save it only for my eyes.
It is a sight that engulfs you in delightful wallow,
The pulchritude of Apollo. My Apollo
Now, as if overwhelmed by this love, my heart sinks at the thought of him.
I am not his first lover, nor the last to whom he sings his hymn.
A divine figure who will outlive me for thousands of years.
It’s a reality so grim, a situation deserving of cruel sneers.
The love I will devote the rest of my mortal years to
Is but an air bubble in the ocean shore of his life, a mere piece in the scope of his woo.
To bask in his long-established glory,
Why is it deemed such a stage of purgatory?
If my dear Apollo knew what was to come, the fate I’d inevitably face,
Would he have offered me the gift of immortality, or knowingly accepted our last embrace?
If he were to have proposed it, I’d have accepted the prize affectionately,
Hence, the agony of my loss would not have pierced his heart so greatly.
As I surrender to my final slumber, my mind twists its latchkey.
My body rests on his lap, his arms wrapped around me,
My senses begin to dissipate; his melancholic howls slowly fade in my ears.
I shut my eyelids, glad to take my last breath without possessing any fears.
Farewell, dear Apollo
The true god of my adoration, a driving need to follow.
The flower I have now become represents much more than your sorrow,
It is concrete evidence of love, how it shall continue regardless of what comes tomorrow.
Luana Soares is a student at St. Nicholas School Alphaville, in São Paulo, Brazil. Having been elected President of the English Language Arts Honor Society (ELA) the year prior, when her school first introduced the English Honor Societies, she gained copious amounts of experience conducting Book Week events, activities within the school community, and engaged even more profoundly in her passion for the English literature.
Now, having moved up to the National English Honor Society, she has found herself excitedly immersed within the challenging opportunities, particularly those that engage creative writing and analysis of pieces with large cultural significance. Luana is running for the position of NEHS Treasurer and hopes to be successfully elected to represent the role. With the submission of her first Creative Challenge for NEHS, she is unfathomably thrilled to participate in more, encouraging her fellow peers as well.
The Great Fool
by Mayowa Funmilayo
Klein Cain High School, Texas
“I hope she’ll be a fool—that’s the best thing a girl
can be in this world—a beautiful little fool.”
My own words—spoken in hushed voices from so long
ago—words choking me, my throat hung
by a rope, bound with threads of truth. The irrefutable and indisputable
fact that ignorance is an answered prayer, a blessing for any woman,
any Daisy, beaming white with angel light, gleaming with purity,
shining, so clean and bright. Not in mind, but in sight.
My daughter had no foolishness, but I was bursting with it,
like money bursting out of the pockets of every man I ever knew.
I was the idiot who stalled. I never called.
I let Gatsby take the blame rather me taking his name,
and then I let Wilson take Gatsby’s life.
My cousin called me careless. Said I smashed things up and then retreated behind
the fluttering white curtains of my husband’s riches.
I didn’t deserve Gatsby, for he was worth more than us all.
Well, if Gatsby was so great, and Nick was so innocent,
and Tom was so evil, then what does that make me?
Something in-between? Glossy on the outside, charming and ethereal,
but fickle and temporary, like the green light off a foolish dream?
Or simply just a woman who made the mistake
of choosing the wrong lover’s hand to take? I almost ran
with Gatsby, utterly willing to leave behind with that infidel.
But Gatsby was a criminal; he could not keep my daughter or I or even himself safe.
So, I chose the infidel. I chose Tom. I chose to stay—Oh!
The woman who stayed! A tale as old as time. Mothers will speak of me
like an old folk legend as they warn their daughters not to walk the road I tread.
Don’t be a Daisy. Don’t be weak. Don’t be selfish. Use your head.
No woman chooses to be a Daisy. I am no Queen Herod. I can’t
command the murder of every man who might harm my precious girl.
I’m not a little red cap; I can’t chop up my wolf and leave singing alone.
I am a Daisy. I have no thorns. Only soft petals and thin roots that grow
into the ground which feeds me. I grew into Tom because he fed me.
Both of us. My daughter and I. Gatsby couldn’t do that. For he was a fool,
and I was one too. Yes, if Gatsby was so great, and Nick was so innocent,
and Tom was so evil, then I guess that makes me a fool.
The Great Fool. A beautiful little fool.
Mayowa Funmilayo is a 12th grader at Klein Cain High School who loves to write poetry and fiction in her free time. She is currently working on revising the first draft of her original dystopian fiction novel. Her novel is set in a futuristic society where young adults are forced to take a deadly exam to prove they are worthy of life and happiness. When Mayowa is not working on her book, she is hanging out with her family, reading romance novels, and binge-watching shows from the 2010s.
Mrs. Cupid
by Claire Liotta
Glen Ridge High School, New Jersey
I spent the night in purgatory: sitting
down, swirling Merlot, checking the oven,
circling the couch, then sitting back down.
The kitchen: littered with pink cards. And I
stacked them, like each lonely night upon the other,
until I made an entire week of bridal showers,
wedding invites, pregnancy announcements, and valentines.
I picked up a card. Tower teetered, then fell.
Horrible Jenga.
The cartoon cherub spat in my face.
At 17, I had written my personal thesis on men:
They were great poets, all of them, speaking words
that aimed at meaning, but never struck it
dead-center, right at the belly.
Not my man. I met him on the sidewalk,
coming from a party, streetlight haloing him like
a god—only then, I didn’t know.
He was all big muscle, brooding eyes, half
naked—which I liked. And he told me all about his work:
another day, another two strangers, their breath soured
from the wine, practically knocking heads,
pulling each other into an alleyway or a pathetic apartment.
By night’s end, quiver empty,
romance was just a ruse.
The city was ours—he did his shooting, I watched.
Did you shoot me? No answer. In fact—
No words at all, until most nights went
like this: Door shut. Bow down. His eyes glazed over,
long plume of perfume trailing from door to bedroom.
Tonight, the arrow peeks out from
behind the cushion. I catch my eyes in the metal head,
bloodshot. I press down on both ends,
waiting to hear the wood splinter.
Snap.
Claire Liotta is a senior at Glen Ridge High School in New Jersey, where she serves as Editor-in-Chief of both the school newspaper and literary magazine. A writer and performer, she founded and leads her school’s first Poetry Out Loud chapter. Her creative and dramatic work has been recognized in regional and national competitions, including the English-Speaking Union’s National Shakespeare Competition, where she was a national Top 10 finalist, and the Scholastic Art & Writing Awards, where she earned a Regional Gold Key. Claire is also active in her community theater, performing in plays and musicals and mentoring younger actors. When she’s not on stage or writing, she can often be found exploring independent bookstores and expanding her collection of bookstore tote bags. Claire is currently applying to college, where she plans to study English and media studies.
Mrs. Frankenstein
by Grace Menjivar
Jose Marti STEM Academy, New Jersey
Silently, he made me—
wove me together with rags,
a patchwork bride to a man
who feared his own heart.
I woke in the night of candlelight,
the air thick with laboratory spirits.
He called me a miracle, a monster,
a muse, and fled at the sound of my breath.
What sort of god makes a woman,
and runs from her touch.
I learned to call my seams by name—
Shoulder, heart, soul.
Now, when the villagers whisper
in the hills of terror,
They mean a woman who learned
to kindle her own torch.
Often I visit his grave—
not for love, but thanks to the dead.
Even lightning can be a sort of birth,
and I have been born enough.
A student at Jose Marti STEM Academy, Grace Menjivar studies the overlap of science, literature, and artistic expression. A passionate writer and leader, she draws inspiration from historical, mythological, and contemporary narratives that center women’s voices and image their position in society. Her poetry weaves classical images with modern themes of identity, independence, and endurance. In addition to her literary endeavors, Grace is active in student leadership, choir, and women’s empowerment issues, where she champions creativity and self-expression as empowerment. Through her writing, she seeks to challenge traditional perspectives and to celebrate the power of storytelling to be transformational. Mrs. Frankenstein was inspired by Carol Ann Duffy’s The World’s Wife, in which she reflects how women recover their narratives and recreate in their own voices of creation, love, and self-discovery.
The Night’s Shadow
by Rose Blackman
The Woodlands College Park High School, Texas
Every night, he goes out,
and I follow
I take my place as the night’s shadow,
watching, waiting,
placing measured steps in line,
bombs ticking,
Their echoes passing the time.
Vengeance need not summon me,
I choose my burden, this honor:
to stand behind his side,
to fight,
To bear the mantle of the bird who has died.
Yes,
a replacement, I must be
when the rooftops reek of oil,
I shall fill the empty graves.
I wear the twice-worn skin,
the mask of expectation
a necessity,
for without his wings,
Vengeance falls to the dark starvation.
So, when the sun rises
behind the gray city clouds,
The knight polishes his mask of mourning
and I vanish into place, into silence,
Til death.
Rose Blackman is a student at the Academy of Science and Technology at The Woodlands College Park High School with a passion for poetry, music, and the environment. As an active member of her school’s choir, Boni’s Dance and Performing Arts Studio, and Girl Scouts, she is dedicated to both the arts and her community. She is an officer for her high school National English Honor Society program and spends time helping the program in any way she can. Beyond the arts, Rose volunteers regularly and is pursuing academic interests in environmental science, where she hopes to combine her love of nature with advocacy and research. Rose sees poetry and writing as an opportunity for self-expression and emotional exploration, and she hopes to continue developing her voice as a writer in college and beyond.
This year’s Winter Creative Challenge invites students to write and perform a 3-minute Monologue inspired by the prompt: “I Refuse to Be Invisible.” This prompt encourages exploration of moments when students have stood up for themselves or others, claimed their identity, or shared a story that demands attention. Submissions are open until 11:59 p.m. on January 12, 2026.
National English Honor Society
The National English Honor Society (NEHS), founded and sponsored by Sigma Tau Delta, is the only international organization exclusively for secondary students and faculty who, in the field of English, merit special note for past and current accomplishments. Individual secondary schools are invited to petition for a local chapter, through which individuals may be inducted into Society membership. Immediate benefits of affiliation include academic recognition, scholarship and award eligibility, and opportunities for networking with others who share enthusiasm for, and accomplishment in, the language arts.
America’s first honor society was founded in 1776, but high school students didn’t have access to such organizations for another 150 years. Since then, high school honor societies have been developed in leadership, drama, journalism, French, Spanish, mathematics, the sciences, and in various other fields, but not in English. In 2005, National English Honor Society launched and has been growing steadily since, becoming one of the largest academic societies for secondary schools.
As Joyce Carol Oates writes, “This is the time for which we have been waiting.” Or perhaps it was Shakespeare: “Now is the winter of our discontent made glorious summer . . .” we celebrate English studies through NEHS.
National English Honor Society accepts submissions to our blog, NEHS Museletter, from all membership categories (students, Advisors, and alumni). If you are interested in submitting a blog, please read the Suggested Guidelines on our website. Email any questions and all submissions to: submit@nehsmuseletter.us.
