Sunday, 8 July 2018

Leonardo Poetry Competition 2018: Year 8 Finalists

On Wednesday, 11th July, the Leonardo Poetry Competition will take place in the Memorial Library at PGS. Here are the poems by the Year 8 finalists. 

I’m Fine…Right? 

She looks calm and happy, 
She looks wise and set for life. 
Her white, wavy, glossy hair, stained over time. 
Her eyes look bright and alert. 
She’s fine, right? 

Look closer… 
She looks calm and happy. 
I’m not…. 

I’m scared and alone, 
I jump at the desperate cries of the wind, 
I shiver at the menacing touch of the breeze, 
And I cry with the rain’s constant tears. 

She looks wise and set for life. I’m fine… 

Wisdom is… is knowledge, experience, 
Cruelty as well as the joys of the world. 
We don’t learn from history, we repeat it 
My life is behind me, 
Now I’m just waiting. 

Her white, wavy, glossy hair, stained by time. 
Time. 
Time is ruthless, cruel, 
It’s slipping through my wrinkled fingers, 
Fading from my frayed mind. 
It takes a merciless grip. 

Time was stronger. 
Is stronger. 

Her eyes look bright and alert. 
I’m not… 

Eyes are tired and heavy, 
Eye-lids are drooping. 
I want to close my eyes, 
Just for a second… 

A lot can happen in a second. 
Darkness and uncertainly. 
All the noises, screams of the world,  
They’re closing in, but never close enough, 
Never close to see. 

I’m fine, right…? 


Demi Armstrong, 8


Shadows 

The shadows of a figure moving along the wall.
The quiet sound of tapping as the walking stick hits the floor.
The face of experience, old and crippled.
Scarred skin, wrinkled and afraid.
Years of seeing death and pain showed in his teary eyes.
The agony shown in the back of his pupils,
Like looking into water and seeing 
The reflection of the horrible life that had passed.
The sharp stare cutting deep into me like a dagger.
The soulless life walking towards me.
The shadow of a figure moving along the wall.
The quiet sound of tapping as the walking stick hits the floor.


Toby Foord, 8U 


His Eyes Are the Keys to Wisdom 

The wrinkles on his face were grand canyons
They ravelled his skin like dry earth after a drought.
The deep lines ran round his old face.
They were the lines on a map.

His eyes were dark and sincere,
The keys to wisdom and knowledge,
The piercing black holes in his face shot looks
Of discreet kindness as they focused on those around him.

His dry, cracked lips lacked moisture and life,
But curled up into a small smile when someone waved,
Then shrank back into a neutral, plain look. The skin on his neck moved like a wave
Every time he shook his head.

The old man’s face lacked emotion,
Plain and hidden amongst  the crowd.
When someone waved, his emotionless face lit up
Like a thousand candles.


Atalanta Nelson-Smith, 8V 



Shattered Mirror 

A face of a man in danger
A face of a child calling to a mother
A face of a pig next to slaughter
A face of a deer running from a beast
A face of a fisherman before a storm
A face of a man before diagnosis.

A field of wheat with the locusts coming
A battlefield scared of soldiers coming
A volcano about to explode
A crevice about to crumble
A sea before a tsunami
A country before collapse.

Fear.
Pain.
Anger.
Disbelief.
Sadness.
Disgust.

A face –
But a face like no other.

Sydney Tilden, 8W 


Her Face 

Her eyes full of mysteries,
Waiting to be discovered.
Her mind a complex maze
Of wise thoughts and emotions.
Her hair, a waterfall of knowledge.

Her face a book of wise ideas,
Overflowing with awareness,
Content with life’s useful lessons
Neatly folded in her head.

Her face a caring, loving cloud
Reaching out for a hug,
A happy contented owl
Enjoying life to the fullest,
Filled with joy.

Her face telling a story of her life,
A bag of fun just waiting
For someone or something
To open it,

Her face a graceful swan swimming
Through life’s problems.

A young face,
An old face,
but it’s her face.

Mei-Ling Reader, 8W 


 Appreciate Every Moment 

This face of mine,
Now finds itself facing reality,
That I have more past time behind me
Than future left ahead.

These eyes that witness future turn to past
Watch the motion of each passing day,
Once saw my family fell,
Now stare emptily at the bleak, ticking clock.

My wrinkles map out my life,
Every fold is maturity
And the creases carved beside my lips
Show each smile I have shared.

These engravings remind me of my actions,
Bring me back to when life was complete.
Those perfect moments
Of a perfect embrace, heartbeat or smile.

My mouth spoke my wedding vows,
Declaring the true love inside.
It made my greatest choices
But brought detrimental downfalls.

The young call me ancient, boring, past it,
Their new, flawless complexions blocking perspective.
Age is a work of art:
Youth is gathering inspiration.

My skin may have fallen,
But my heart has evolved,
My mind has experiences
To be wise and balanced.

Immie Potts, 8Z  



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