Leonardo Prize 2022: "Renaissance"

 On Thursday, 29th September, the final of the Leonardo Competition 2022 took place, featuring finalists from Years 7-9. The winner was Indie Stone. See the winning poem and the poems of all other finalists below. 





The origins of the Leonardo Competition and the 2022 Prize

Ron Vearncombe joined PGS as a Mathematics teacher in 1948, becoming Head of Mathematics in 1954, and he remained at the school until his retirement in 1978.  He combined academic excellence with modesty, lightning wit, compassion and common sense.  Mr Vearncombe was not only an inspirational Maths teacher, but also a dedicated cricket coach, a talented artist and a gifted piano player – a true polymath.  

He established the Leonardo Competition in 1958 because he wished to foster creative talent in the school. It is named after Leonardo da Vinci, the archetypal “Renaissance Man”. In its original form, the prize was intended to allow pupils to think in a cross-curricular way and to merge academic disciplines.  Today, with more crowded public examination syllabuses, the English Department retains the poetry competition and showcases work annually in conjunction with the Art Department. 

This year, we chose the theme “Renaissance”. Pupils were free to interpret this in any way. A number chose to emulate or parody English Renaissance writers, such as Shakespeare, or write in the sonnet form that became current in the English Renaissance; some explored the Islamic Golden Age; some wrote about rebirth  - and some explored society’s recovery from the pandemic. All of the pupils are to be congratulated on their creative efforts.

                                                                            Laura Burden (Head of English)




Image by Evie Baskcomb

 

 From the school’s Poet Laureate: a commemoration of Queen Elizabeth II

 

In devotion to a nation from 25.

Hope and unity.

A constant,

A constant through wars and conflict.

A beacon of light even through loss.

Touching  the hearts of millions.

She possessed a sense of home,

And had a beautiful soul.

To Queen Elizabeth, who once uttered,

“Grief is the price we pay for love”.

Mourning is our love enduring.

Her impact remains current within the country.

Her presence remains with those who cared

For her,

“Thank you ma’am, for everything”. 

 

Demi Armstrong (Year 13)

Finalists, the 2022 Leonardo Competition

 

 

Spring

 

Flowers spiral wildly out of the once icy soil,

Seeds and roots and stones of fruits,

Bloom and uncoil.

 

Walking along the pebbled road

The sun returns,

And the children doze.

 

Morning mist coils the earth,

The golden sand sparkles,

And the people go out to surf.

 

Golden baby chicks pop out of their shells,

Lambs bleat and play,

The churches ring the bells.

 

Spring time is finally here,

Trees and plants grow,

It's time to cheer.

 

Aoife Cusack (Year 7)

 

 

Spring

 

The most glorious season: Spring, carries the first elegant flowers.

Winter, Autumn and Summer envy the newness of spring.

The joyful happiness it sparks after sitting in a field for hours,

Whilst staring at the sun’s picturesque rays wondering what it could bring.

 

Rebirth magically hatches from nowhere unexpectedly, 

Wild plants, blooming flowers craning their heads to the bright rays.

Finally forming a new beginning bursting with complexity.

The giant ball of fire in the sky now forever ablaze.

 

“Cheers to the new season!” As the cold winter is left behind.

The terrifyingly bitter weather falls asleep, 

whilst the soothing breeze replaces the harsh wind.

Sudden memories of old times flood when treading through a spring river knee-deep.

 

Somewhere, a small flower inhales its first breath of fresh air,

After breaking free from the soil, showing that new beginnings are everywhere.

 

 

Angela Voong (Year 7)

 

 

The NHS

 

In hospitals they work diligently,

Known all over the country;

From Portsmouth to London to Coventry.

Ran like clockwork, mighty machines operating 24/7.

 

As the silent adversary inflicts fear into our lives,

The brave soldiers protect our communities.

Going head to head against the invisible enemy,

Sacrificing everything; placing their bodies on the line.

 

Superheroes without a cape, or special powers.

Just ordinary people doing extraordinary things,

Changing the world, by doing what they enjoy most.

Showing love for all and hatred for none.

 

They were struck down but rose from the ashes,

Stronger than a lion and wiser than an owl is.

 

 

Daniel Komolafe (Year 7)

 


 

 

 

The Tree

 

A small seed, planted and nurtured by loving hands,

Pushes its stem through the soil and stares rapturously up at the golden sun.

It slowly uncurls and reaches up towards a clean, blue sky.

15 years later, it is tall and strong, towering over the other trees,

Its bark has grown rough and its mighty branches hold vibrant clusters of leaves,

It can see sparkling rivers, fields and sprawling villages, scattered over the landscape.

 

As the days become shorter and the light dims,

The leaves develop a variety of hues from russet red to gleaming gold.

The fruit falls in a shower, covering the earth in a soft blanket,

A cruel wind whips at the boughs and mixes the leaves into a mesmerising swirl.

The tree is bare and stands alone once again in the frosty Autumn air,

Icicles form as delicate snowflakes drift silently to the solid ground,

As the earth warms, rain moistens the fertile soil.

A small embryo starts to emerge, enchanted by the rays of light.

And a new life is born.

 

 

Oscar Robinson (Year 7)                        




Heavy snow fell screaming, whipping up wind

Numbness spread like a furious hungry fire

The wind fought precisely bringing on swarms 

Winter stripped trees bare of their attire

Vernalagnia has fallen upon us 

Hallelujah, the great cold has passed

Flowers blooming, intoxicating thus

The amazing season of birth has begun

The tropical warmth has invaded most 

Balmy sun penetrating relaxed backs

Children joyfully playing on the coast

Blood red leaves and swamps of disgusting mud

Endless orchards launching fruit with a thud

 

 

Edward Hubbard (Year 7)

 


 

 

 

A life ends - but one begins

 

As the world fades from existence,

Not a word is spoken.

The land fades away,

While the skies turn to dust.

Every little thing that was once known,

Becomes beyond recognition.

Images of broken plains,

Never to return to the same state.

Goodbyes are said as it fades away.

Crumbling away at the core of it all,

A land stands to fall.

Lighting up the world, a single beam of hope

Simple life returning again - a seedling growing from earth.

Lost is an old world, but a new world is soon to be.

 

Jonah Speed (Year 7)

 


 

 

Sonnet

 

‘He shall not breathe infection in this air’*

Today a wicked knave who doth not live.

Of which most will say it is not so fair-

All shall admit just mercy it not gives,

Forcing society’s isolation.

Mental or physical it matters not,

Ruination of many-a nation.

It causes much death, for bodies to rot.

Hope is there but yet is seeming distant,

Moving forward, the finale is getting closer.

The end is in sight; it is existent

Renaissance is near; this is disclosure.

Humanity’s rebirth; Hope it almost devoured,

Men, Women, had survived; Will Not Cower.

 

Nathaniel Gingell (Year 7)

 

*Line 1-, Henry VI Part 2, Act 3, Scene 2

 

 


Below the Prying Stars

 

Below the prying stars and the watchful dark

Commences a plan for the gracious Scottish king

The raven croaks of the bloodshed to come

As Duncan enters, unknowing of his cruel fate

 

Macbeth trails behind, wringing his hands

The unsure pleading in his anticipating gaze

Mirrors the woman behind my own commanding mask

Feeling this way, I cannot help my kingdom

 

I call upon you spirits, feeding off mortal envy

End this compassion that threatens my regal destiny

Undo my femininity, my impulse to care

Extract my humanity from me, and so with my troubled mind

 

I call upon you spirits, thieving upsetting thoughts

Make sure of my infamy, as men cower at my gaze

Thicken the blood of my tender wrists

None of mine shall spill in sympathy

 

I call upon you spirits, serving ephemeral beliefs

Close these eyes, and open only when tears no longer fall

When my heart is too cold and my soul is too dark

For these eyes to water in moments of weakness

 

I call upon you darkness, messenger of evil

Shield me from my own bloodthirsty actions

Protect me with the thickest smoke of hell

That heaven will not judge these measures of desperation.

 

Meli Nelson-Smith  (Year 8)

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Renaissance - Somewhere In The Mist

 

I went for a walk one misty morning,

Listening to the crickets and frog’s song.

And then suddenly without a warning:

I hear real music, sweet notes sad and long.

 

I follow it down the street and through trees;

The music grows louder as I approach,

The melody crescendos and I freeze-

I dare not interrupt, I can’t encroach.

 

And then the music fades softly away,

The sun breaks through the no longer dense fog.

And in this sudden bright light of the day,

I see nothing but moss on a lone log.

 

I call ‘musician?’ - They’re gone with the mist.

But my hand is warm, though it had been kissed.

 

Maira Dixit (Year 8)

 

 

 Sonnet 2022

 

 

            Good William’s appellations so countless,                        

            His contribution to speech generous,

                        His plays sparking words multitudinous,

            In his absence, where would we be: worthless.

 

            What’s done is done, said the Lady Macbeth,

            All the world’s a stage, for goodness’ sake,

            A sorry sight and into the jaws of death,

            The game is up; it’s just a wild goose chase.

 

            Fight fire with fire, until his words tickle,  

            With bated breath, the world is my oyster,

                        The sound of silence, all in a pickle,

            Praise good Will Shakes, don’t be a green-eyed monster.

 

            Say, come what may, let sleeping dogs lie,

            Exeunt, Adieu, his words won’t cease to die.

 

Inderjeet Stone (Year 8)

 

 

To be or not to be- That is the question? Whether life would be the same, in a post-covid world. 

 

Would the world continue to suffer

Would we continue to suffer. 

The slings and arrows of the unfortunateness

Of being alive in April 2020

 

Some opposed wearing face masks

They felt their liberty was at stake. 

Fortune did not favour the earlier sufferers

They bore their fate nobly

Vaccinations loomed, bringing hope to others

 

And all at once it was over. 

Or did we just want it to be over. 

Masks gone, social distancing forgotten

The rules we followed so strictly, left behind. 

 

When in fact it was wishful thinking

And our outrageous fortune had hardly

Begun. 

 

Josie Wilson-Smith (Year 8)

 

 Renaissance

 

Natural, a touch on reality,

The universe fused together seamlessly, 

Was this the key,

To not perform so dreamlessly?

 

Reborn,

like the flame from a candle's wick,

Airborne, 

like a flying broomstick.

 

I think; therefore I am, 

the moons of Jupiter and the rings of Saturn,

more than a hologram,

more than a simple pattern.

 

The Renaissance, 

Revival,

An artist's response,

Not an architect's, scientist's rival.

 

Venus and Adonis,

The Creation of Adam,

By Titian, Metamorphoses,

More art than we can fathom.

 

The Earth belonged not,

In the centre of our solar system,

But the sun was, as we soon sought,

with the change of our own wisdom.

 

Expansive domes,

Brand new lights shining on architecture,

Many more zones,

That had shown how bright architects were.

 

Renaissance, the time of rebirth,

Moving forward, looking back,

A time of flourishing skills and worth,

Blossoming talent at dawn’s crack.

 

Embrace the future,

Watch the development, the change,

Do not treat it as such a creature,

With talents of such a range.

 

This is the Renaissance,

the Renaissance at its peak.

Do not fear these notions,

As they are the notions we most seek.

 

Alexandra Dempster (Year 8)

 

Who am I?

 

I look at my reflection in the water,

And feel the wind through my hair.

I have hopes of freeing the world from slaughter,

And the bombs that fill the air.

 

Who am I,

As time passes by,

Am I a winner,

Am I a sinner?

 

Mankind swims in their own blood,

And watch as the children cry.

I am drowning in this massive flood,

Oh please just let me die.

 

Who am I, 

As time passes by,

Am I a knight,

Am I part of this fight?

 

But now we can rest,

As we ended this battle.

We’ve finished the test,

And we’ve stopped being cattle.

 

Who am I,

As time passes by,

Am I finally free,

Am I the person I want to be? 

 

And now we enter a new age,

An age of expression and art.

But we reached the last page,

And it’s too late now as I part.

 

I asked “Who am I,”

And time has already passed by,

I’ve waited decades too long,

So this is the end of my song.

 

                                                            Aryan Ahmed (Year 9)




Sawsene Belaiche (Year 9)



Wake me up,

When the battle is over,

When the world is silent

And when the world is free.

 

Wake me up,

When the angels are rising,

When the demons are falling,

And the beauty is all to see

 

Wake me up,

When the light is bright,

When the darkness is gone

And the people are in glee.

 

For when I wake up,

I will see the expressive art,

I will see the beautiful colours,

And the world can flourish once more.

 

                                         Thomas Stroud (Year 9)




 Miabella Clarke (Year 9)




Image by Evie Baskcombe



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