Test Ipswich Poetry Feast 2013

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Test Ipswich Poetry Feast 2013 Page 2

by Ipswich Library

day

  And his skin felt like silk

  Over time he has grown

  He giggles, laughs and talks

  It took him a long time

  But now he even walks

  He is two years old already

  And not so little any more

  I’ve seen him grow every day

  Lucas will keep growing I’m sure!

  Highly Commended: No Grow by Jaxan Rackley from West Moreton Anglican College, Karrabin, Qld

  Grow is no to me,

  I say No!

  No grow fat

  No grow tall

  No grow skinny

  No grow small

  I Say No

  NO GROW,

  NO GROW,

  No grow strong

  No grow weak

  No grow smart

  No grow dumb

  I say No!

  I will not grow

  Plants may grow

  They don’t have a choice

  I don’t want to grow

  Wait, tall for rides?

  Grow!

  GROW!

  GROW!

  Highly Commended: Books by Sunny Thomas from Ipswich East State School, East Ipswich, Qld

  A book is a tool that everyone can use,

  For hours and hours they will keep you amused.

  From facts and figures to science and diggers,

  It is up to you what your mind triggers.

  They make you feel emotional, happy and sad,

  l love happy endings, that I am glad.

  Books can be recycled, hand them around,

  From op shops to garage sales they can be found.

  Favourite stories will never grow old,

  As to many children they can be retold.

  So when you are bored or want something to do

  Just pick up a book and read it through.

  Highly Commended: Barbie by Isabella Weise from Raceview State School, Raceview, Qld

  A sparkly new dress

  And some shiny big boots

  Plaiting and braiding

  There's so much to do

  Add some bright hairspray

  A glistening new coat

  Then meet all her friends

  On the pink Barbie boat

  Back to contents

  The Queensland Times Award - 11-13 Years

  1st Place: Evangeline by Grace Nakamura from St Peter and Paul’s Catholic School, Bulimba, Qld

  Where the moon floats through the star spangled sky,

  Where the crickets all croon a gentle lullaby,

  Where the brook chuckles on in a reassuring flow,

  Where the whole world is lit with a soft eerie glow.

  A child,

  Awake,

  In the dead,

  Of the night.

  She slips,

  Out of bed,

  Her footsteps,

  Are light.

  She’s poised

  Not to wake

  The other

  Orphaned girls.

  Her pale face

  Is framed

  By a mass

  Of dark curls.

  When the trees whisper songs to the stars so bright,

  When the wind swirls through the infinite night.

  When the flowers lay down their petals to rest,

  When the sun slumbers on in the land of the West.

  She reaches,

  The window

  Without making

  A sound.

  She presses,

  A hand

  Against the glass,

  And looks ‘round

  Her dark eyes

  Reflect

  The tranquil

  Moon-lit scene.

  And she wishes

  On a star

  This girl,

  Evangeline.

  If the universe is bigger than anyone ever thought,

  If within those stars dwell a species of another sort.

  If somewhere out there there’s a place to call home,

  Then perhaps, just perhaps, I am not quite all alone.

  Her eyes,

  Filled with stars,

  And her face,

  All alight.

  Evangeline

  Whispers

  Sweet dreams,

  To the night.

  She treads

  Back to bed

  And dreams

  Of this place.

  Evangeline

  Sleeps,

  A slight smile,

  On her face.

  There once was a girl who dreamed of the stars,

  Whose mind wandered far while her body was in bars.

  She dared to imagine, ventured to wonder,

  Inside she flew on her dreams to a place far yonder.

  2nd Place: Open Grave by Isabella Sheehan from Aspley, Qld

  Death, darkness, despair:

  War is a house of horrors

  My grave is waiting.

  3rd Place: The Bushfire Brumbies by Eva Marsh from Presbyterian Ladies College, Peppermint Grove, Perth, WA

  When the spiteful sun reaches its peak on the hottest hour,

  The dry wind riders mount their steed and they ascend to power.

  Distant trotting of the bushfire brumbies on the cracked earth plains,

  They are gathering momentum as the sun beats on their manes.

  The stallion’s nostrils dilate with smoke; a sign of what's to come

  As he calls for reinforcements and they answer, one by one.

  All residents evacuate as the brumbies gather speed,

  Fresh fire from the sun as fuel is all the food these ponies need.

  Their hooves kick up ash on baking plains with every single stride,

  Helpless lizards burrow for the core, trying in vain to hide.

  Bushfire brumbies halt, pawing the ground, awaiting direction,

  Dry wind riders build again, not needing any protection.

  Onwards and eastwards they travel, flames engulfing their fetlocks,

  Trampling eucalypts and saplings, cunning as a feral fox,

  The parched ground chokes as the hooves trample through; panic fills the air.

  Fire fighters muster the brumbies, hoping in vain to ensnare,

  Flightier than emus, stronger than gums, bolder than thunder,

  Dry wind riders are never harnessed and avoid a blunder.

  Onwards and eastwards, their tails streaming behind, fire at their hooves,

  Cantering, a trail of flames as a scar, breaths held, nothing moves.

  Free with the wind, out of control, like wedge-tail eagles they soar,

  Smoke blinds all creatures, but the ponies see like never before.

  Flightier than emus, stronger than gums, louder than thunder,

  They run with wind, never give mercy, watch eucalypts sunder.

  Surrounded at last with all exits covered, their end is nigh,

  Fire brumbies are forced to surrender, no sun left in the sky.

  Drowsy with defeat, they sink to the earth with their heavy hearts,

  Blaze is drenched with water; puff of smoke, the stallion departs.

  The dry wind riders have lost their strength and power with no steed,

  Bushfire brumbies have left their scars, and the bush is left to bleed.

  Amidst the carnage are banksia seedlings that the embers spilt,

  From these seeds hope sprouts, then homes and lives are gradually rebuilt.

  But on the hottest hour the dry wind riders again will call,

  The brumbies will gather momentum; the fragile bush will fall,

  Flightier than emus, stronger than gums, crueller than thunder.

  They run with wind, never give mercy, their purpose is plunder.

  Highly Commended: The Ode of a Ghost by Erin Burge from Blair State School, Sadliers Crossing, Qld

  Mother lies in the darkness waiting for her baby to rise

  She scrambles in the graveya
rd as her spirit dies

  Blind to the fact that her child has seen the light

  But when she sleeps the baby shall come at night

  Playing and dancing throughout the house

  Tip toeing in the corridor quiet as a mouse

  The ghost of a baby so bright.

  The ghost of a baby who’s seen the light.

  Highly Commended: War by Isabella Sheehan from Aspley, Qld

  The enemy advances forward.

  I am huddled in the cold,

  deep,

  dark

  trench.

  Footsteps,

  getting louder,

  Louder.

  The devil’s on my back

  "You can end it now’, he whispers,

  "just pull the trigger.

  it'll be quick,

  painless".

  My heart's hammering.

  Footsteps,

  getting closer,

  closer.

  I look around.

  Men

  bleeding,

  cursing,

  crying;

  but mostly

  with their eyes closed,

  some dead, some alive,

  the sense of defeat

  hanging ominously around us.

  Footsteps.

  The sound of gunshots.

  Screams.

  Then a deathly silence.

  That’s when I know

  that the war is over.

  A tear trickles down my face,

  and I too

  close my eyes.

  Highly Commended: Then Night by Munashe Mutambi from Ipswich Grammar School, Ipswich, Qld

  The sun is down

  The moon is up

  The wolves run howling

  The stars burn up

  The lights blink on

  The streets fall silent

  The night creatures slip out

  The birds bury in trees

  The moon is down

  The night creatures run hiding

  The birds swoop over

  The stars blink out

  The wind stops blowing

  The sun is up

  The wolves stop howling

  Highly Commended: I Pick Up the Stick by Eddie Newman from Raceview State School, Raceview, Qld

  I pick up the stick, welcoming its smooth light tan surface in my palm,

  Cobalt curls and spikes, twirl and glide across the surface,

  The painted symbol of an ancient majestic beast,

  Motionless, yet still moving.

  I hold it above the stretched taut skin of the drum

  And thrust it downwards.

  A loud sound emanates, simple and unfit,

  But continued with a multitude of its own kind

  All different yet the same,

  Creates a harmonious choir of raw sound.

  Supported by the dramatic flows and bountiful swings of the brass and woodwind

  It’s beauty undeniable.

  Together the sounds frolic and play on the plains of sound,

  A beautiful dance that continues until time takes its unpreventable toll.

  Forced to conclude, with one small tap -

  simple and unfit.

  Highly Commended: The Book of Forgotten Words by Samantha George from Collingwood Park State School, Collingwood Park, Qld

  I sit on a shelf, waiting to be

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