Sunday, 8 July 2018

Leonardo Poetry Competition 2018: Year 12 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 12 finalists. 


Golden lapels weigh down the shoulders 
Unknowingly to the lion-like king, 

Metal badges bringing down his chest, 
Trying to keep them up. 

A wild face with tamed blue eyes, 
Hair desperately parted into control. 

The gold reflection of the pale moonlit skin looks yellow. 

Red-royal blood, taking the form of blue veins, 
Pulses sedately under the eye. 

An ebony shadow marches to attack 
A lone lost daughter making her way back.  

Joe Cummings, Y12   

King Lear 

Madness diluted into a silent eye 
A cathartic strain on a king’s heart’s mind 
What cold loss has hubris brought? 
A daughter? 
A kingdom? 
A soul? 

A King 

Broken against his own pride 
No longer of knowledge but of empty contrition 
A face dried by justice and hollowed by love. 
A daughter. 
A kingdom. 
A soul. 

A Father 

What untamed torment has removed his heart 
Hope a stilled pulse in the dead of earth 
To waxen heart and face, opalescent in its loss. 
A daughter 
A kingdom 
A soul 

A Man. 

Poppy Goad, Y12   

Guide Me Gently 

Guide me gently, I cannot see.

My heart beats wildly like a closely-reared goose
And no longer holds cautiously the strength of Zeus.

As the eve of battle sets and I cannot see any hope,
I tie a noose with each soldier’s rope.

A cloth covering his stone eyes cannot conceal the shame,
As God will soon perceive the blood, my hands, our aims.

My glass jewel, shattered on the open ground,
I now face the wilderness and shall be damned.

I promise my child, I shall be with you soon,
And our everlasting bond will be resumed.

India Guy, Y12   

To Lear 

I wish I could feel remorse for you,
For your face frozen in the absence of a breath
Would make the cliffs crumble in sorrow
And sail away in the sea to mourn.

Were you my father, would I cradle your cheek now
And dry the cries that crawl down your skin
And water the earth that you scorned?

The tongue that housed horrid beasts
Waiting unbated at your mouth,
Sneering from your lips
To steal away the moon from midnight.

Perhaps it is your eyes that should haunt me the most,
Your eyes that held your daughter
In the contours of your sunken face,
Asking her to move,
To breathe,
To save you
To help you.

I should,
But I will not.

Nina Watson, Y12 

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