The Wordsmiths Book 2021

Wordsmiths Book 2021

To See the World in a Grain of Sand And Heaven in a Wild Flower Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand And Eternity in an hour (Auguries of Innocence – William Blake)

First published in 2021 Published by Somerset College Wordsmith Creative Writing Club Copyright © @2021 Somerset Wordsmiths All rights reserved. No part of this book of poetry may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the publisher. Printed on the Gold Coast, Australia.

2

Special thanks to Dr Michael Brohier for all that he has done to foster and grow this club. On behalf of the Wordsmiths Leadership Team, thank you! This all would not be possible without the endless support, effort, time and dedication from Dr Brohier. We thank him especially for his support of the Wordsmiths Class of 2021 over the past years and we will all remember our time with the Wordsmiths fondly as we move on to become Wordsmiths Alumni. Sincerely, WLT

3

About this book The contents of this book represent the reflections, vulnerabilities, musings, relationships, joys, sadness, and anxieties of the largest club in the College – The Wordsmiths Creative Writing Group. All 170 of them in the Senior School and another 20 in the Junior School (years 5 and 6). The Wordsmith Club is 26 years young in 2021! 26 years of poetry, prose, song and reflection, looking outwards on life and inwards on personal emotions. This book is simply one year of creative endeavour. And what a year this has been! The world has been turned upside down and all expectations of life have been revisited and revised. Will the world ever be normal again? Perhaps, but this will be a ‘new normal’ and one hopes, a world where compassion, creativity, and care for our fragile planet are all first and foremost in our priorities. These poems represent the experiences, the tracing of adolescent lives and a looking out on the world on what they see and observe, but they are also yours (dear readers), as these are feelings that capture the Common Human Condition that all of us experience in the whimsy, turbulence, and complexity of our lives. Once the writer puts the words on the page, these words are the property of the reader to make of them what they will. I do hope you enjoy and gain insight from the poems that follow. This club is precious to me, to the staff who help me run it, and to the amazing students who participate without fear or favour or grades, in workshops, HOTA performances, Dusk Temple Ekphrasis shows, Retreats, Storyfest Events, Parent Workshops, and Coffee shop poetic jaunts. Most of the members, writers, contributors, won’t be full time authors, poets, playwrights, or make their living in the Creative Arts industry, but they will continue to write, muse, reflect, in whatever profession they chose, and they will find their passion for life, their Raison d’etre, their soul, in the writing they do, on the side. They will also come to love their original creations and find a vital therapy in the act and the product. The long line of Wordsmith Alumni, still in contact (26 years later) and still writing, is testament to this. To the students whose poems appear in this edition, I hope that one day, well into the future, you will stumble upon this book in some ‘dusty corner’ of your electronic memorabilia, and sit quietly, open it, and ‘leaf’ through it; in the process rediscover your youthful ebullience and energies, and wistfully reflect on the amazing bitter-sweet and joyous journey that is life. I want to thank the amazing Leaders of the club in 2021, Captains, Sofie Smith and Lilliana Swainson, Poet Laureate, Giulia Provenzano, and Editors, Gaëlle Nicolau, Calvin Walther, Helena Hagan and Anna Hori. Your energy and enthusiasm have been integral to the success of this club. I also want to welcome the new Leaders for 2022; Captains - Amaani Bhasin and Isabel van der Walt, and Co-Editors, Anna Georgeson and Kay Amores. The club awaits your input and legacy! Finally, my poem, the one that follows, titled “My Santiago”, is by way of an unusual introduction to this book. The title is borrowed from the Camino pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela, where life is stripped down to its raw essentials and we learn to recognise and come to terms with what matters and what does not. Creativity, artistic endeavour, literature, writing, matter! Dr Michael Brohier

4

My Santiago

So we met, At the woods where “two roads diverged”, And mused on the two paths. Which one to take? As Frost tells us, “Way leads onto way” And we never get back to the ‘other’ Untrodden path. This is the way life meanders. Way leads onto way, Each path trodden Whether good or sad, Layers life, With warm patina upon corrosion-resistant, warm patina. But only if we let it. This is the way, With life’s paths. We set out in pre-dawn darkness, Stumbling along the path, Keeping heads down So that our headlight illuminates the way, Searching for those yellow arrows that tell us we are on track, Heading towards our own personal Compostela. But even so, Despite all sundry precautions if truth be told, Distracted by the minutiae of getting and spending, we do take wrong turns; Find ourselves up blind alley and dry gulch; And sometimes we do find ourselves Out of touch, Out of step, Out of sorts, And simply fearful of the places we find ourselves in. An outlier in life’s graph, Stumbling, cursing the gods that brought us to this haunt, We are given a glimpse into God’s mind, And see the sense in it all.

5

The paradox of being in the wrong place at the right time. Alone,

but more truly found than lost. We are burned but, in that flame, Renewed. So we journey the path of life, Beset with broken and bloodied toenails, Sliding down shale mountains: Or sometimes with knees pulsating, knife-sharp-shooting pain, we trudge up our own personal Pyrenees. Head down,

Willing ourselves on, One incremental step

by one incremental step, Never daring to gaze up, Bewildered by the scope of the climb ahead. Looking up is only for the brave, Who see it all ahead and remain defiant, Unafraid, Foolishly jaunty. The rest of us, Simply trudge, Mired in moment after edifying moment, Seeing patterns in the trodden path, Growing, stopping time, being still with our gods. There’s courage in that;

The simple life, The simple trust, The way we suffer quietly, Facing what’s ahead, Even nobly. No fuss, no bother,

No lifetime guarantees, Just accepting, facing, And rejoicing in whatever’s ahead.

Dr Michael Brohier [BA, (Hons), Dip Ed, Master’s in Literature, PhD]

6

A Message from your Captains

This year has been a very busy year for the Wordsmiths! We started the year strongly with the largest ever group of Wordsmiths at over 170 students and growing. Starting also this year was the Junior Wordsmiths which the Wordsmiths Leadership Team had the amazing opportunity to visit. We were continuously amazed at the enthusiasm from all the Wordsmiths and their dedication to the creative arts. The hours that they put into their writing shows in the dazzling work they create, featured in this book. We are both especially excited this year to showcase the diverse range of styles by our many writers this year including excerpts of original novellas, poems, stories and more. To put it simply, this book features Somerset’s finest writers, poets, song writers and scriptwriters and their admirable talent and passion. The opportunities were endless this year with the popular Wordsmiths Retreat at Mount Tambourine, Write a Book in a Day, Storyfest protocol, podcasting, HOTA Show and Dust Temple performances. All 2021 Wordsmiths should be proud with what they been a part of and created this year! We would also like to thank our Wordsmiths Leadership Team. It has been an honour to work alongside Giulia Provenzano (Poet Laureate), Gaëlle Nicolau, Calvin Walther, Anna Hori and Helena Hagan (Editors). We would like to thank Dr Brohier and the Wordsmiths staff including Mr Stephen Walther, Ms Bronwyn Lee, Mr Patrick George for their time and effort. The students all very much appreciate their dedication to guiding our young budding writers. We would also like to recognise the support of Storyfest including Mrs Andrea Lewis and her team for providing many Storyfest opportunities including protocol and podcasting. A huge congratulations to all who feature in this book whether you are recognised or anonymous. Who knows, maybe one day we will recognise your words in bookstores or songs on the radio! Thank you, 2021 Wordsmiths, and we look forward to hearing of your words in the years to come. “To see a World in a Grain of Sand and a Heaven in a Wild Flower” – William Blake (The Wordsmiths Motto) - Sofia Smith and Lilliana Swainson

7

Index Wordsmiths Introduction………………………………………………………………… 9-10 The Wordsmiths Dinner…………………………………………………………….……… 11 The Wordsmiths Retreat……………………………...…………………………….……… 12 Write a Book in a Day……………………….…………………………………….………. 13 The Club’s Craft……………………….…………………………………….……....... 14-156 Conclusion……………….……………………………………………………..…..... 157-158

8

Introduction Founded in 1996, the Wordsmiths is Somerset College’s literary club, which over 180 students are a part of in 2021, led by Dr Brohier, the 2021 Wordsmiths Student Leadership Team consisting of (Captains) Lilliana Swainson and Sofia Smith, (Poet Laureate) Giulia Provenzano, and (Editorial Team) Calvin Walther, Gaëlle Nicolau, Anna Hori and Helena Hagan, and teachers Mr Walther, Ms Lee and Mr George. This year’s cohort of Wordsmiths is an incredible group of talented and creative writers, who throughout the year, have produced wonderful works of poems, songs and stories. The Wordsmiths have had an exciting year full of events and activities, including annual favourites such as the Write a Book in A Day competition, Wordsmiths Retreat, Storyfest, the podcast, and new initiatives such as Wordsmiths Alumni sessions, the launch of the Junior Wordsmiths for students in the Junior School and the creation of a Wordsmiths book. Thus, the Wordsmiths Book, collated by the Editorial team, is a collection of some of the literature which the Wordsmiths have

created and performed this year. We hope that you enjoy the book.

9

2020 Wordsmiths Members

2020/2021 Wordsmiths Teachers

2021 Wordsmiths Leadership Team

10

The Wordsmiths Dinner 2020

One of Wordsmiths most loved events is the dinner. Wordsmiths dinner is an evening dedicated to awarding students and welcoming the new Wordsmiths Leadership Team for the coming year. The night is enjoyed at the end of the schooling year to celebrate the club’s success. A night filled with delectable meals, and cheerful moments, the Wordsmiths dinner has been a tradition within the club for an abundance of time. Meals are always prepared by special café’s or restaurants and the club members highly appreciate this.

Each year, the dinner consists of a theme and a very amusing quiz. In 2020, the theme was ‘Movies by Books’. Club members came wearing some of the most mesmerising costumes, from Harry Potter, to Maleficent – Hence the incredibly costumed individuals in the images. Here are some of the costume awards received in 2020: Quiz Winner: DEBRA Individual Theme Prizes: Calvin and Jack (3), Elliot (2), Lucy (1) Group Most Creative Theme: Year 7 Girls Table (from Coco) Group WLT People's Choice: Year 9 Girls (from Little Women)

11

The Wordsmiths Retreat 2020

A traditional event for the Wordsmiths includes the

Wordsmiths Retreat, which is held at Tambourine Lodge. The retreat is one of the most loved experiences by club members. Throughout this marvellous event, students have the opportunity to write and be creative within the many different workshops that are held during the day, play a game of table tennis or cards and enjoy the nature with one of the meditation sessions under the stars held by Dr. Brohier, or even the Wordsmiths bush walk! It is most definitely one of the highlights of the Wordsmiths calendar!

Within this wonderful opportunity that the club is so fortunate to have, students have the pleasures of experiencing a camp like no other at Somerset. The club members create a beautiful atmosphere and everyone includes one another. Teamwork and creation is seen here more than ever. With the beautiful lodge being located in the lovely, nature-filled town of Mount Tambourine, inspiration radiates all throughout the camp. Here, wholesome memories are shared, and beautiful friendships are formed.

12

Write a Book in a Day 2021 Write A Book In A Day is an annual and iconic event that is well looked forward to each year. As the name suggests, students attempt to write an entire book in a day, with the final product of a fully edited and illustrated book, and raise money for the Kid’s Cancer Project. This year, the Wordsmiths collectively amassed $8,725 and completed 13 stories.

13

The Club’s Craft Throughout the year, club members have created extraordinary poems, stories, literary pieces and more! The following pages demonstrate as such…

14

When Time Stops…

When Time Stops... It’s been a long day.. Well several days... The excitement of it all by now well known, The buzz of coming to school, At 6 on a Thursday! Finishing at 8, A gathering, union, meeting and party, Of the finest storytellers, poet, and musicians the College has ever known. Wordsmiths. Collection of youth and mature alike, Uniting to come up with literature that defines, Great! And with a sizzle, pop and resounding echo, We started, we finished, Some would say the parties over, Me? Between camps and performances at run-down restaurants, Writing an entire book in a day, And being the sole supporters of one of the greatest parties of the coast' I would say it’s just beginning. I would say, come back next time, for another grand, inspiring year. I would say, no, cheer! To the Wordsmiths!

I salute you all.

William Hoult

15

But

You are mirthful free jubilant content in your life and just having fun but that's when you remember It is coming

It is soon soon your carefree days will be over and

its that thought that ends them the butterflies flood your stomach you try to forget but you fail your brain becomes consumed with worry, stress the weight on your

mind leaves no time for fun

16

No time for emotions block them out wait until IT has passed but by then its too late let the tears come watch the butterflies stream out of your mouth in a haze of emotional blockage and then

restart those carfree days in a cycle it works but is it right?

Emmeline Anthony

17

Waking up to Dreams

Dawn comes, Too early, By the path of dreams, Tantalisingly - grasp - in - his - arms - real,

Where he sees himself with her, But not in his - waking - reality.

In this dream, they are impossibly lithe, Her soft auburn hair, Is long, wafting in a ‘Woodstock’ breeze, (He likes that gentle time, Those gentle people, With flowers in their hair).

They are not too young, In his dream, And this is not first love,

But young enough, And just old enough to know, to cherish what they have. Priceless.

This is the best love, Second - time - around - love, Second chances, Forced through jilted love, Sweeping past pain, Abuse, and lovers who thought they knew them only too well, To love them, As they should.

Into this space, Holding hands, He sees in his dream, Where they are, Out, in nature, Green grass, wild trees, Mortal but ‘living forever’, And he speaks, “I’m just going to say it. I have never felt as content,

18

As I do now”.

Both knowing That this is the time to hold, Capture, preserve on oils, Forever. But did they know? He questions the dream. Or is this simply the poor relative of wisdom? Hindsight?

Is this (simply) a dream, Are these (only) his hopes,

for his life, For theirs?

Hope fading, As lives get lived in, Tattered, slightly tawdry,

Worn at edges, As they become Less hopeful, Less like they were (in that dream), Less filled with boldness.

More fearful now, All too mortal, Too conscious,

Filled with the dread of losing the dream, Waking up, To a reality of sorts, Where dreams are exposed raw, Laid bare, By those who know best, for what they are, Foolish, naive.

Too good for this world.

Dr. Michael Brohier

19

Just Speak Up

I wish I could have told you. I wish you could have known. I reminisce on the past as I lay here all alone.

It’s quiet.

The days in which joy filled the air, are now long gone and done. I dwell here now, destined with despair, as the days lead on. I wish I knew why you let me go, almost too easily. I wish you told me why, on that fateful day, when you finally saw me cry.

Anonymous

20

Spring never comes

I had always loved the idea of comfort in discomfort. There’s a certain type of security in harbouring feelings –

guilty pleasures – that you know aren’t good for you. I can find camaraderie in those others, whose minds are also under fake house arrest. We huddle up in an unlocked bedroom, to stave off the cold of our self-induced winter. I hope that spring never comes, and thaws away all of winter’s comforting discomforts.

I’d have to pay for all the heating, but the bill has always been worth it.

Andre Vasquez

21

No Title

I loved you. The way your hair fell whimsically and swayed in the wind. The way even your glistening eyes smiled when you looked into mine and slowly kissed me as we shared that final moment. I wish I had known. The pain of longing to share those with you again - the feeling of your arm around me as we lay peacefully together - lingers. Those blissful moments blinded by such a pure emotion. Happiness. No, Love. The linger, it stings like a bull ant bite. Increasingly more and more painful until - numbness. I feel nothing. … I wish I could have told you. I wish you could have known. I reminisce on the past as I lay here all alone. Its quiet. The days in which joy filled the air, are now long gone and done. I dwell here now, destined with despair, as the days lead on. I wish I knew why you let me go, almost too easily. I wish you told me why, on that fateful day, when you finally saw me cry.”

Anonymous

22

Erasers

Erasers, Or rubbers as they are also known, So inspirational, Everyone needs them, They are essential, Whenever you make a mistake,

They’re always there, Open your pencil case, And they’re there, Nowadays, In new and young times, You can find them on the back of pencils, The back of pens,

They’re in so many different shapes and sizes, As my good friend Christian Pai once said, Erasers sacrifice themselves for your mistakes. Think about that the next time you write anything.

Aditya Naik

23

Reminiscence

Loss- Empty rooms once filled Lonely, Broken hearts once whole Silent teardrops fall Time – The night is old The morning comes The ticking of the clock And the grey overcast clouds

The hours stretch The mind is still A cold embrace And a whispered vow

A flash of heat A terrible cry I ran from those memories I am running still Requiem – In the shadow of the day In this world so filled with grey Upon my shoulder weigh

The words of which I may never say From the path I tread you had me sway Towards the light you had shown the way Yet only now can I, by your bedside stay But from your memory I know I must stray To you – Who shines like the sun, warm and bright Reaching the hearts of the long thought dead Like a moth I am drawn towards your light Yet a moth I remain when all is done and said

Who glows like the ephemeral moon, calm and gentle Guiding me through even the darkest of nights In your light’s gentle embrace I find myself sentimental Though I know I have my own demons to fight

24

Who stands like the steadfast earth, supportive and firm Walking with me through hell and high tide Your presence to my goals give form In the end I’m sorry, I tried

Like the distant stars so far above I feel myself drifting once more From all the I knew, and all that I loved Another lost to fate, another to the score

Moonlight – Blue moon rise, starlit sky Peaceful rest, gentle night

Old wounds heal, heartfelt sigh Remember thee, and bid goodbye

Angus Cheung

25

Despair

You remember the way things used to be before the tsunami came. The city was bustling with people and cars cluttered the streets. Then you saw the wall of water rushing towards you, fifteen metres high and carrying with it, a world of destruction. You ran. You hear it roaring its anger as it crashes into the first high-rise. The water starts to flood the streets and screams of terror fill the air, echoing around the once-peaceful city. You frantically splashed through the water, trying to escape your peril. But it was too late. The water swallowed you and you were pulled in a thousand different directions. Something sharp thumped into your arm and pain shot up the side. Your energy was running out and still, the tsunami was relentless, sending wave after wave across the city. Wild water washed around you forcing you further under. Suddenly, you slammed into something solid and you realise it is a building. You dragged yourself up the side,

desperately trying to escape. At last you reach the top and are above the tsunami,

watching the place you have always lived being destroyed. You are alive, but many are not. As you look back at what things used to be like, you wonder if it will ever get better.

Ariana Hannaford

26

No Title

Just like the red wood All winds affect me like they should Red fills my skin which Effectively holding it’s stitch Damaged by the blows

Crows pick and chew at the openings Rigorously pulling with large flings Owls wisely watch over Whilst the crows find more exposure Letting the sap drip drip down Enraged by the pain the bark turns to a frown Yearning for the day the crows move on

Jared Crowley

27

Parachute

Holding, supporting, flying, Soaring, living, surviving, Never had a man flown independent,

Truly one never has. They are never alone, Have never been. I would know, I held and reassured, As they took the leap of faith

Giulia Provenzano

28

Simply for Being a She Written in memory of Sarah Everard

I am a girl And simply for being a she I’m expected to get down on my knees And survive simple to please What about my own thoughts? What about my needs? Am I to be ignored Simple for being a she? My parents always tell me Don’t leave the house after dusk But what about my brother? Who returns long after he must I yearn to walk in the night To feel the evening breeze To watch the stars alight Relishing in the absence of fear Why am I told I asked for it? When I never spoke a word Don’t wear a skirt If you do, it becomes your problem But I was wearing a sweatshirt And pants that covered my bottom Even if he knows me Even if he thinks I don’t fear My dress is not a yes And face was stained by tears Even if I call her Why should I be careful? When it is not my fault

A friend I trust the most How can she reach me? While I’m far and all alone There was no one to save me There is no one to save me

There many never be anyone to save me But why did I need to be saved, at all? - She

Steff Chang

29

No Title

A dead man's luck is never much, The raven's wings wrap him up and he nestles there, The crook of its beak on the edge of his brow, The fruit of his soul long forgotten by those up above, And in the silence of death, is the whisper of a ghost: "Cracked veins run with evil blood", it howls, "Your heart, how it rots and bleeds liquor and all things fowl", The feathery grasp of the Raven's clutch never looses its hold, No matter how hard he might scream, "Hail He", it caws, "hail He and say his name, your mortal soul will perish under his great rule, and you will rot.", Far beneath the underground does he lie, The dead man falls further into the abyss of hell, “Please help me!” He cries; there is not a whisper of reply,

For he is dead you see, dear one; the soul is trapped beneath the cracked ribs; beneath the decaying skin; beneath the maggots dining on rotten flesh; beneath the Raven’s empty eyes, He was the lamb for slaughter; the tinder in a roaring fire; the slab of meat on a chopping board, His fate beheld by those who are above, And he was forgotten, It is unsurprising you see, For a dead man's luck is never much

Heidi Hoffman

30

Forgotten

pitter patter pitter patter the thundering rain slides smoothly off my silk dress and soaks into my matted mousy hair

pitter patter pitter patter cold, alone with only the moon as my companion, I sit here in a puddle filled with tears the sky cried for me. it’s the same thing over and over again soon the sun creeps up casting a warm glow across the never-ending cobbled streets the puddle soon disappears along with any hope left in my heart the once emerald trees darken into an orangey-reddish-amber

and with the autumn breeze they start to lose their hair strand by strand leaf by leaf but they still stand even as the snow coats the land

31

a cold chill creeps into the air the frostbite stabbing my pale face the sun goes down darkness falls and I’m still in my place the sky is freckled with stars the rain returns I’m alone another year has passed. but here I remain

a deserted doll left in the rain

pitter patter pitter patter

Ayla Chirathivat-Geralds

32

Depression

Wanderer – Wandering roads stretching ever on Firelit hearths number on and on Look inside and one shall find Warmth and laughter, but never mine Carry on, carry on, Onwards until the light’s demise Nostalgia – Empty rooms once filled Lonely, broken hearts once whole Silent teardrops fall

Despair- Storms gather, night falls The pain of one lost to all Yielding to despair’s maul

Loneliness- Watching from afar Seeing joy, laughter unreachable Observing, yearning Yet- The sun has yet to set, The stars have yet to dim, The birds have yet to grow silent,

The world has yet to end, Yet, why do I still despair?

Last man standing – Who am I now, in this strange new age

33

The golden years I see behind me The time when the world was not a cage And to the sky I could fly free

Who am I, now that the past seems more akin a dream When that which drove me so ardently Is gone to the night like mist in a stream? When that which I held so preciously, I let go so carelessly? Who am I, now that you are all gone There lays a trail of memories behind us Where once our futures together seemed forgone Is now left only to ghosts to discuss Who am I, now that the world we built has crumbled And the new world marches on When our hopes are left torn and trampled? When ashes and regret seem our only denouement? Who am I, now that dusk is fast approaching? Who am I, now that all I held dear is lost? With the shadows towards me encroaching I ponder once more what my mistakes has cost.

Angus Cheung

34

No Title

What captures Happiness?

Is it a fragrance of sea salt and flowers in the air. The sight of waves slowly lapping against the beach front. What about the sound of the ocean in the distance. Or the fresh taste of fruit against your lips. It is our memories that create true happiness.

Joshua Cotton

35

No Title

I love the way you smile The way your so talented in everything I love the way you know What to do even in the worst situations

Your so smart and talented Your voice just like the angels And I know your so beautiful Both inside and out

Don’t let a little heartbreak change you Because you are perfect in every single way And I know it’s hard I know it hurts I know you just wish you could just undo the past But I know that you will make it out Even better than before Even stronger than before Don’t let a little heartbreak change the way you think You are not ugly You are not dumb You are not the problem You never were All you are Is perfect

And if he can’t see that Well that’s his problem He’s missing out on the only possibility Of having and Angel like I do Because I love you

36

So much

Don’t let a little heartbreak change you Because you are perfect in every single way And I know it’s hard I know it hurts I know you just wish you could just undo the past But I know that you will make it out Even better than before Even stronger than before

If you let this change you Oh trust me You’ll regret it Oh honey never change

Because your loved one every way Your beautiful in every single way Your talented in every possible way Your amazing and sweet So matter they say

Don’t listen to them You know their wrong You know their lying So just don’t ever listen Don’t ever change

Don’t let a little heartbreak change you Because you are perfect in every single way And I know it’s hard I know it hurts I know you just wish you could just undo the past But I know that you will make it out Even better than before Even stronger than before

37

Just remember you’ll always have me by your side Waiting here And if you need someone to talk to I’ll be there

Anika Lu

38

No Title

Sadness hides behind a smile, The smile is brave; It protects its wearer. It knows the pain and rejection It knows the loneliness Fear hides behind laughter The laughter is not as brave It wavers A tiny hole in the illusion

Anger battles dry eyes It’s winning The hole grows

A single tear slides down his face, The illusion is broken And so is he

Mia Richards

39

No Title

She waits. Their special place

She waits for him to return After years of disappearance Somebody turns the corner, this could be it No, it’s only the milk man.

Erin Davies

40

Consciousness

At the end of the day, I am tired. At the beginning of a day, I am exhausted. I sleep but as I sleep, I think of him. His kind laugh. His gentle emotions. Loyalty. All perfectly moulded like a Roman statue. He is strong and brave too. I like it when he smiles. I think I can hear music when he laughs. The kind you want to play on repeat. But he isn’t laughing with me. He isn’t even near me. I can’t see him. Touch him. Hear him. For only the good men live in our dreams.

Lilliana Swainson

41

Mental Health

My mental health controls me, An enemy I cannot see. To you I may seem strange, It’s something I cannot change. Like a bird to scared to spread its wings, Down under my wings are held up by strings. Acting like I’m all just fine, Greedy to be mine. Under control by this ludicrous curse, That feeling to burst is forbidden by the nurse. Happiness is all I beg for please, Really I need to be put at ease. I’m just like all of you, I love normal things too! Except there’s a part of my heart that’s broken in two.

Matilda Guthrie

42

No Title

Running off the deep end Into the depth of the world Very drained by sorrow Entering the under world Riding into the devils domain

Trying to survive Every last breath I count it in as close as I can Xylophones playing in through the dirty pipes Even the termites can’t stand it I’m drowning in fire Remembering water, the light of dawn through the dirt A thirst I can’t bear to survive through

River Teixeira

43

Awe

Dark Beauty - Dark woods still, silent Mystery surrounds, hidden Beauty blooms unseen

Alive - Gentle breeze’s caress

Sunlight filters in from high Woods alive with teeming life Beauty abounds, free

Autumn’s night – Late autumn’s night, a tranquil alpine lake. Frozen breath hanging in the muted air. Fatigue flees with the wonder of the stars. A night of awe, the majesty of a galaxy. A beauty hidden, finally revealed.

Angus Cheung

44

Stream of Consciousness

As her eyes shut, she sits still. She finds it uncomfortable. She could feel the itch on her nose and attempts to ignore it while she can still sense people around her. She doesn’t know. Her mind now begins to let go but completely restless. A spark of memory isolates her, lying down, admiring a familiar landscape. From her mind, she witnesses evergreen trees. From the heart, she surrounds herself with the people she has known her whole life. Feeling the love and joyfulness around her.

Isabelle Furrows

45

Ego

what is the ego? why must we feel the need to fuel it? most people don’t recognise the lengths they go to feed their egos I try my hardest to avoid it. though it’s such a strong temptation. it’s as if I’m a child with a piece of chocolate which I’ve been told not to eat the sensation of validity and superiority overtakes any sense of realism maybe it’s a sign of not being 100% in control of your life and actions. giving into the temptation of feeding the ego is like a drug once you feel it, you search for it everywhere. in the back of your brain, it’s all you are craving you may not even realise it, you may not even know it’s there, most people aren’t even conscious that they are letting their egos take over,

that’s the most frightening part it brings out the worst in people

Gaëlle Nicolau

46

No Title

time, being defined as the indefinite continued progress of existence, being the force that pushes the planets into orbit

and the sun through the sky and the moon above the sea, flows through the veins of each being, the rivers of each planet, the galaxies of each universe and even if it lies beyond our ability to comprehend, is the thread that binds us all

even me, even you so as time continues on infinity, indefinitely, i wonder when it inevitably repeats itself and all that was old is new, will you still love me still?

Soumia Lamont

47

Her Hair

I'm so ugly now. 2 years ago she wanted to grow me out so I would be long and she would be pretty. But then she started seeing 'him'. But not really 'seeing' him, because he never shows up and she sits there for hours waiting for him every week. she cut this horrible fringe in a fit of rage after she waited for 3 hours. She drank both glasses and cut me ugly like this.

Emmeline Anthony

48

Time

Nightfall You lose all Control

Lying Awake The day takes It’s toll

Alone with the monsters Underneath you’re bed

Alone with the messed-up thoughts Living in your head

Alone with the ‘what if’s’ And dreams that never flew

Alone with your failures Alone with the worst you

Can you hear Stars twinkling? Can you sense Your own blinking? Can u feel you’re Heart sinking Will u ever stop thinking?

But then

Sunrise

49

You’re surprised It’s finally dawn

Relieved You can’t believe It’s gone

You see the sun You know you’ve won You feel like you’ve got superpowers You are awake You are safe Well for at least another 12 hours

But then you’re sleepy You want your bed You’re not scared No instead,

Above all You long for nightfall

Ayla Chirathivat-Geralds

50

No Title

He set the house on fire How he never figured out a fireproof plan, Suffice it to say that he survived Unfinished business And nodding by the fire, take down this book He can turn things over, get down to that list And with a frown on his face look around And get up from his place by the fire.

Jared Crowley

51

If the Darkness Came

if the darkness came again to take me away, would I really stop it from trying again? As time moved on and hoped it would better? Maybe change it up and make me the happy one. If the darkness came and promised me peace, would I let out my hand? Would the tears stop falling from my eyes, and the words stop breaking me down? If so then any day I’d let the darkness take me. For all the ones I told I loved, I did truly mean it. But I don’t really know if all this pain is worth it, if all the crying was worth one compliment. All the shaky hands and unstable thoughts, all just to feel one minute of love. Would all the pain lead to what i truly need. because years of pain and heartache, never seem to fade. I wonder if the darkness had taken me, who would really care?

About the girl who couldn’t save herself, the girl who let darkness take her hand.

Anika Lu

52

Blaze series

Fire – With but a spark you erupt to life Fire and fury around you rife Bursting on stage front and centre The star of the show, now let enter A raging inferno blazing bright Roaring your defiance against the night Eclipsing the heavens with sheer might Drawing the eye of all within sight Passion personified given form Exerting your will upon this great storm Yet still gentle and warm to those around With a crackling yet soothing, hypnotic sound

Warmth – A muted glow, flickering A gentle light’s caress The stars above glimmering

The calmness of peace no words can express The hint of smoke hanging doggedly in the air The quiet atmosphere for all to share Not unlike a beloved’s embrace Or the legacy of laughter that no darkness can displace Despite the pains of the past that may yet haunt Or the terrors tomorrow may yet bring I find myself oddly without want And without doubt’s ever-present sting

Spark – A faded, muted, dying light Come this moment to ignite Let the darkness go to the night As we set the world alight Like a phoenix rising to flight In this moment all is right Heartbeat rises to excite As the soul sings out and in delight We dance together past twilight As the heat rises into the night Our lives, our fates we overwrite Living at the speed of light

53

Holding forever for just tonight.

Icarus – To all of those we left behind

How could we have been so blind For the dreams we sought to find For our hopes for all mankind This is not the world we had in mind I remember that mountainside That night with a sky so bright Where we to the whole world wide Found to be not quite right So we sought to sit astride Our very lives to rid of spite This promise to the stars we cried Our hearts with hope alight Now my spirit is deadened and dull When we are nought but I Where to the past I now mull A warning to not dare too high

Angus Cheung

54

No Title

Autumn leaves, Oh, now he's leaving! Winter frost, Who's he running from? Spring flowers, He can't but flounder. Summer breeze, he's now not breathing. Autumn leaves, And now she's learning. Winter frost, He's forgiven her frowns. Spring flowers, She's back at the head of the flock. Summer Breeze, And now she bakes him bread.

Penelope Deacon

55

The Cat on the Sill

A woman with flowers walked down the street, her heels loudly clacking along the footpath, and the smell of the flowers lingering for a moment after she had passed. The cat sat watching from the windowsill as the light slowly faded and a chill set into the air. The bars on the window obstructed the cat’s view, reminding her of her prison, but also her safety. A safety she returned to each day, sitting enclosed by the heavy curtains behind her with their familiar smell of dusty cretonne. The cat gazed out at the same street, somehow different each day. On good days, a strong wind would blow neighbouring smells through the mesh covering the window, bringing news of the busy life outside. A fly flicked up in front of the cat’s face, buzzing against the mesh. The cat crouched and sniffed at it, but paid no more attention than that. She knew the mesh would hold; the fly wouldn’t get in and she wouldn’t get out. The only hunting afforded the cat were the cockroaches under the oven. Even then, the bigger ones scared her and ruined the sport of it. A door clanged, followed by the metallic crunching of a key as the front door opened and closed with a heavy slam. The cat gently pushed the curtain with her left paw. The man walked in, his heavy breathing rumbling through the house as he made for the kitchen. He was a corpulent man with excessive body hair and a musty smell. The cat sat and listened to the dull shifting of crockery and the loud blare of the electric kettle. She was hungry but knew better than to bother him for food straight away. She turned back to the window but found her claw stuck in the curtain. She backed against the mesh, flicking her arm in an attempt to free it but the claw was stubborn and clung to the heavy material. She scrambled and hopped, ripping the claw from her paw and crashing back into the mesh as she broke free. “Holly?” The man shouted from the kitchen. He toddled into the living room, tea slopping over the sides of his mug, and slumped into the shredded single armchair. He looked at the window, but Holly stayed low and still against the mesh, watching her abandoned claw hanging in the curtain. The man mumbled to himself and lifted his swollen feet onto the cracked coffee table in front of him. The television flicked on as the man exhaled thickly. “Holly!” He grumbled. She didn’t move. He only said it out of habit. He liked to know where she was, but didn’t care to see her. Holly licked her paw and turned back to the window again, checking to see if anything had changed. There was always someone doing something out there; people waiting for buses, holding hands, eating, looking for food, running, cycling, driving – people finding ways to stay busy. Moving, so they didn’t have time to catch a glimpse of their sallow faces and feel their misery. The air was heavy outside the window, thick with smog, dust and smoke, weighing the people down, breathing each other’s filth until it made them sick. “Holly.” The air inside was stale but smelt of home. The man got up and trudged back into the kitchen. He burned some toast and ripped the lid off a tin of cat food. Holly leaped from the windowsill and skipped into the kitchen, weaving between the man’s legs. He grumbled and

56

kicked her hard in the stomach. She was never his cat and he resented her for still being alive while his wife was dead. He slid the tin of food across the floor and returned to his chair. The cat ate quickly, gravy getting caught in her whiskers. She licked the tin clean, careful not to cut her tongue, and returned to the windowsill. There she waited for him to arrive. He passed along the top of the fence each evening at dusk. Most of the time he looked at Holly and they simply nodded to each other, a nod of recognition, of fellowship. More recently it had become more than that. He had spent more time outside her window, calling to her, giving her a signal that she was welcome to join him if she found a way out and they could hunt together. Tomorrow. Every day Holly told herself it would be tomorrow. Some days she waited by the door and stepped outside when the man got home, but he called her back and she obeyed. She knew he wouldn’t catch her if she ran but she was frightened to betray him and her memory. She had loved her. The man’s wife had been Holly’s idea of home, and Holly was a house cat. The windowsill was what Holly was bred for. But if he was out there, there must be others. Hunters. Survivors. She looked at the man in disgust as he sat on his chair and ate the thickly buttered toast. Outside a branch fluttered against the glass, and below her in the garden the black cat stretched his front legs high up the base of a tree, ripping the bark with his claws. He snapped his head up to look at Holly, his long white whiskers spreading wide across his face. White hairs inside his ears shone in the moonlight as he stared up at her. Holly crouched low and quietly acknowledged him in a low, throaty call. ‘Tomorrow,’ she told him. He crouched slightly before climbing up the tree and drawing himself onto the top of the fence. ‘Tonight,’ he called back to her. Holly looked inside to the man who had already fallen asleep in front of the TV. She had promised his wife to look after him, but what a useless promise for a house-cat to make. The man and her avoided each other for the most part, but at least together they were never completely alone. She turned back to the cat on the fence. He sat still, looking up at the sky, free to do as he pleased. Slowly he shifted to face her. It had to be tonight, he was moving on. Holly’s ears flattened as she considered it, it was too much. She wondered if there were others. Other cats that he will go to if she refuses. There must be others. A cat like that is free to roam across the She bowed her head. She wasn’t ready. The man fed her, the house was warm. She whipped her tail, anxious and afraid. The cat on the fence twitched his whiskers and dropped his eyes. He understood. He tip-toed in a small circle as a sign of farewell and was gone. Holly dashed to the other side of the sill. She called out to him in a shrill cry. “Holly,” the man mumbled from his sleep. She searched the fence but could see no sign of him. She leaped from the sill in a sudden rush of fear. She had to follow him; she couldn’t stay here forever in this life. The bathroom - there was a tear in the mesh on the bathroom window, she might be able to stretch it and squeeze out. She sprinted down the short hallway and slipped as she clambered onto the bathtub. She steadied herself and leaped up onto the window. She spotted the tear and forced her nose through it, wriggling and writhing until her head was out. The mesh bounced back into shape city, to travel wherever he pleased, strong and agile in his step. ‘Tonight?’ The black cat asked her again in a warped vibrato.

57

and caught her around the neck. Holly kicked her hind legs forward and caught at the mesh with her feet, clawing at it to release her. Finally, her foot found grip on the mesh and she tore at it, ripping a flap away from the small hole her head was through. It was enough. She edged herself through the hole and between the bars, then leapt from the window onto the branch of a thick tree in the front garden. Her claws were weak, but she held as tight as she could, scrambling down the trunk in a flurry. Once she was on the ground she flattened herself, suddenly aware of her exposure. Where was he? Her head spun as she struggled to find her bearings. The fence was to her left as she faced back towards the bathroom window. She paused at the bottom on the fence, mustering her strength and jumped for the cross rail. Her front legs caught it, but she had to kick and scramble with her hind legs to find her balance. It seemed much higher and more narrow than she’d assumed when peering from the window sill. She scurried across as quickly as she could. As she passed alongside her apartment, she slowed as she looked in at the warm glow of light coming from her windowsill. She could just see the man through the gap in the heavy curtains. He looked peaceful. The TV winked its flashing colours at him and highlighted the crumbs on the carpet at his feet. She looked at her windowsill as though looking at her own life, but it was past now. A breeze caught her white fur, blowing it as it glowed in the shadows. She looked down the line of the fence ahead of her and called out. In the distance she could hear the black cat answer her. She dropped her body low and scurried along the fence towards him.

Mr. Patrick George

58

Identity and Interpretation

I said something a while back it was just a phrase nothing much I didn't really think about the impact of that something but now they've gone and taken that something and interpreted it in a way I didn't mean and now they've given me an identity I don't have But it has stuck and so there we go I guess that's me now

I dressed someway last week I think just a change in my usual style nothing much a high ponytail, instead of low I didn't really think about the impact of that someway however now they've gone and taken that someway and with their twisted perspective seen how I look as someway

59

that wasn't my purpose and now they've given me an individuality that isn't me But it has stayed and so all right then I guess that's me now

I did something I can't remember when

just a meaningless rude remark or was it a silly act of kindness I don't remember it was just a mindless thing but it had unforeseen consequences because they saw me and with their limited knowledge stereotyped me so completely wrong it's maddening

I'm sick of going along with the box they shoved me in I want out and I will get out I'm just not sure how yet one thing I know that isn't me

Emmeline Anthony

60

No Title

a hurricane has passed twirling around my memories my experiences my thoughts leaving me lost without direction wondering what was real what was just a dream I grasp a fragment of reality from the dark and brooding storm my hand clamping onto it tightly so tightly I soon grab another slip back into the darkness I’m in a world without light without happiness I am alone or am I? anchored to the ground along with me although I did not know it giving me wings allowing me to fly courage always there waiting to be discovered seasons change so can I I need a spark of courage buried at the bottom of my soul I need to let it free I didn’t know the importance of a spark until I saw it become a blaze and another and another in hope of stitching my old life back together but they slip out of my grip

I am drowned in light the darkness retreated I am free

Ayla Chirathivat-Geralds

61