Mason Arts 250 Poetry Contest

Mason Arts 250, a project of the Mason District Arts Council, is a community-wide commemoration of the United States Semiquincentennial aimed at engaging the public through the arts, based on the ideas at the heart of the American Revolution.

As part of this effort, we invited adults and high school students with a connection to Fairfax County, Virginia to submit to our poetry contest to be judged by local poets, Lorena Saavedra Smith and Shalini Rana with the prompt: “In 1883 Emma Lazarus wrote The New Colossus to support the efforts to build the foundation for the Statue of Liberty. The famous lines of her poem read: “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free” and use it as a spark for your own poem.”

Two poems were selected as Honorable Mention winners, “Confession” by Mary Mateer and “The Colossus’ Back” by Joe Tilton and one poem, “How to Grieve for Strangers” by PJ Gross was selected as the First Place award. All three poems were read by the authors at our event “America the beautiful at 250: Reimagining the Future Through Music and Poetry” hosted by John Calvin Presbyterian Church, 6531 Columbia Pike, Annandale, VA 22003 on Saturday, June 13, 2026.

Photos by Jay Townsend

The New Colossus

written by Emma Lazarus and read by Lisa Lowry

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

Confession

by Mary Mateer

Oh, “Mother of Exiles,”
standing there beside the “golden door,”
do we see you anymore?
Your torch, once lifted as a beacon,
now beats back all who dare to step ashore.
Oh, “Mother of Exiles,” do we hear you anymore?
our welcome is drowned out with angry shouts:
“Alien! Foreigner! Go back!”
Those who dream of peace, struggling to survive,
are turned away. Your words are falling on deaf ears;
our eyes are blinded by false gold.
Oh, “Mother of Exiles,” it seems we have forgotten you.
But there are some who still remember.
Faint echoes of your words still linger
in our memories of days gone by.
Hope flickers – not yet extinguished – awaiting the spirit’s breath,
fanning the embers to new life.
And some still dare to come —
seeking help and hope – seeking a home.
Oh God, we confess we’re seeking, too.
We need your help – renew our hope – to make this land a better home for all.

Copyright by Mary Mateer 2026, reproduced with permission from the author

Mary Mateer is a resident of Falls Church, VA and a former Director of Music Ministries at Dulin Methodist Church (Falls Church).

The Colossus’ Back

by Joe Tilton

Sailing from the Mediterranean,
         Rhodes abdicated and far aft, some would
see her torch aloft reflecting sunlight
         like signal-fire and pass beneath her gray
dispassionate eyes, to Ellis Island
         as nonna’s mother and father once had.

Nonna’s mom announced she had to get ready
         to go into town. The gathered couples;
her children, their spouses; including three
         or four sons and son-in-laws home on leave,
back from War Two (as my grandad called it);
         young, vibrant, grateful, relieved, vigilant.

All turned, beaming smiles at the statement. Town?
         What for? Do you have errands? Can I help?
Beyond the small midwestern city’s edge,
         the house was so close to the fairgrounds, when
the circus set up its tents, performers
         would come by asking for water from the well.

No. Every week I go to city hall
         and report my movements. In accented
English she explains, the government has
         labeled me an enemy alien.
Tight lips and clenched jaws replace the bright smiles,
         like ashes concealing smoldering coals.

For those who venerate liberty; but
         never faced her: symbol, savior, sentry;
do not make her turn from seething waters,
         eyes blazing, her torch a club, advancing
like three or four War Two soldiers,
         shouting in city hall “you called Ma ‘enemy!’”

Copyright by Joe Tilton 2026, reproduced with permission from the author

Joe Tilton is an officer worker and part-time antiquary who resides in Fairfax County.

How To Grieve for Strangers

for the victims of Pulse

by PJ Gross

It’s mandatory, part of the American
curriculum. File one by one past security
— you may be detained — through the metal
detectors and gather round the flagpole.
This course is public. Bring cardboard,

magic markers, outrage, shrieking that frays
the throat, and gravel for your hair. A supply
list can be found in the overstuffed aisles
of every whitewashed budget store selling
ammunition and carnations to the mourning.

Attendance will be taken. We will see you.
(we see you we hear you we see you)
Your tears will salt the flowerbeds, and over
your head, cruelly, beautifully, snapping
in the breeze, the half-raised field
of fifty shining stars.

Copyright by PJ Gross 2026, reproduced with permission from the author

PJ Gross is a poet, performer, and theatre-maker, currently based in Washington, D.C. Metropolitan Area.