New Poem: The Grand Colleen

The Grand Colleen parade is a public celebration, but its story often begins in private moments of care and intention. This poem reflects on two students who chose history, stone, and lasting beauty over flash, and how those choices ripple outward into a city tradition.

In Holyoke where brick and river meet,

Where echoes of the mills still line the street,

A classroom desk becomes a starting line,

Where simple pencil marks begin to shine.

Not bright balloons or colors loud and fast,

But stone and towers reaching from the past.

They turned away from shapes that fade too soon

And built with weight, with patience, not a tune.

Celtic curves like footprints set in time,

Each careful line a gesture, not a rhyme

For noise or flash, but homage deep and true

To hands that built, to craft that still comes through.

One hundred fifty-three dreams took their turn,

Each hopeful sketch with something left to learn.

Again reduced, again the choice made tight,

Until two visions held the truest light.

The prize is modest, framed in glass and name,

A hundred dollars, brief parade-time fame.

But greater still, the honor earned that day

To help a city carry pride its way.

When down the street the Grand Colleen rolls on,

With music, flags, and crowds from dusk to dawn,

That float will bear more than a chosen queen,

It bears the love of those who shaped the scene.