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.
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)
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)
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)
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