On Wednesday, 11th July, the Leonardo Poetry Competition will take place in the Memorial Library at PGS. Here are the poems by the Year 10 finalists.
Clifftop Road
The rain crashes down
As the luminous cars scream by
Beacons in the mist
Tyres scrabbling for purchase
As the water shimmers down the windscreen.
High above, a bird, invisible against the cliff face,
Clasps the rock on crooked feet.
Suddenly a great roar cries out
As a car skids on its over-ambition
Raking the flimsy metal barrier.
Both shriek as metal grinds on metal
And suddenly the struggle is over
The car is silent, falling.
The rain splinters down.
Leo Flint, 10W
I Come From
I come from a family with no siblings,
of seafaring captains and wild windy glens.
I come from a house that rings with the barking of a mischievous dog,
from a neighbourhood that is never silent.
I come from cricket fields with bats and balls scattered to the boundaries.
I come from a father cooking moules and grinding spices,
and a radio that plays continuously.
I come from a bedroom bright with coloured cupboards,
a garden of scurrying squirrels and falling leaves,
a trampoline that throws me up in the air like a rag doll,
the tree-house where I hide away with my friends.
I come from double bass and trombone practice in the hall,
homework scattered on the pine wood kitchen table,
a school where manners are appreciated.
I come from Christmas lunches sitting on boulders by waterfalls in faraway countries,
holidays off-piste skiing.
I come from rugby boots in the hall,
and cricket bags overflowing with pads.
Alexander Barker, 10W
Summer Evenings
The summer evenings lighten up,
the smell of the barbecue surrounds the garden.
Six o’clock.
The burnt-out ends of sunny days and now ready for the golden hour,
the relaxation,
of fresh grass under your feet,
of the cool breeze tingling your spine,
of the golden colour tinted onto the trees.
Barbecue smells become stronger and stronger,
the hunger and tiredness start to eat you up
before you are called to sit around the table.
The spirits rise, your evening in full swing,
the mood is high.
The sun edges away from your eyes,
the evening gets lazy,
the stars start to shine,
the street lamps become more vivid
in the evening made from the skyline.
Henry Abraham, 10W
The Eye
The lightning comes like a rip in the sky,
Flooding through the cracks of the tempestuous canvas,
Filling the sky with undying flashes of radiance,
Illuminating this godforsaken place.
The crescendo of the wind
Screams its mortiferous tune,
Giving voice to the ghosts and the spirits,
The harbingers of death.
Nature torn from its stranglehold
As if just paper limbs
From which autumnal leaves become not confetti
But ammunition.
The image is shifting.
Through the roaring percussion of rain
Comes the harmonious birdsong.
A myriad of colours disperse
Into the monochrome landscape.
The dawning sun paints the sky
With a haze of promise,
A silhouette of destruction
Softened by the vermilion rays.
The air sweeter, calm, fragrant with ocean.
Tranquility encased in chaos,
A world of annihilation,
Brimming with serenity.
Emily Curwood, 10W
Clifftop Road
The rain crashes down
As the luminous cars scream by
Beacons in the mist
Tyres scrabbling for purchase
As the water shimmers down the windscreen.
High above, a bird, invisible against the cliff face,
Clasps the rock on crooked feet.
Suddenly a great roar cries out
As a car skids on its over-ambition
Raking the flimsy metal barrier.
Both shriek as metal grinds on metal
And suddenly the struggle is over
The car is silent, falling.
The rain splinters down.
Leo Flint, 10W
I Come From
I come from a family with no siblings,
of seafaring captains and wild windy glens.
I come from a house that rings with the barking of a mischievous dog,
from a neighbourhood that is never silent.
I come from cricket fields with bats and balls scattered to the boundaries.
I come from a father cooking moules and grinding spices,
and a radio that plays continuously.
I come from a bedroom bright with coloured cupboards,
a garden of scurrying squirrels and falling leaves,
a trampoline that throws me up in the air like a rag doll,
the tree-house where I hide away with my friends.
I come from double bass and trombone practice in the hall,
homework scattered on the pine wood kitchen table,
a school where manners are appreciated.
I come from Christmas lunches sitting on boulders by waterfalls in faraway countries,
holidays off-piste skiing.
I come from rugby boots in the hall,
and cricket bags overflowing with pads.
Alexander Barker, 10W
Summer Evenings
The summer evenings lighten up,
the smell of the barbecue surrounds the garden.
Six o’clock.
The burnt-out ends of sunny days and now ready for the golden hour,
the relaxation,
of fresh grass under your feet,
of the cool breeze tingling your spine,
of the golden colour tinted onto the trees.
Barbecue smells become stronger and stronger,
the hunger and tiredness start to eat you up
before you are called to sit around the table.
The spirits rise, your evening in full swing,
the mood is high.
The sun edges away from your eyes,
the evening gets lazy,
the stars start to shine,
the street lamps become more vivid
in the evening made from the skyline.
Henry Abraham, 10W
The Eye
The lightning comes like a rip in the sky,
Flooding through the cracks of the tempestuous canvas,
Filling the sky with undying flashes of radiance,
Illuminating this godforsaken place.
The crescendo of the wind
Screams its mortiferous tune,
Giving voice to the ghosts and the spirits,
The harbingers of death.
Nature torn from its stranglehold
As if just paper limbs
From which autumnal leaves become not confetti
But ammunition.
The image is shifting.
Through the roaring percussion of rain
Comes the harmonious birdsong.
A myriad of colours disperse
Into the monochrome landscape.
The dawning sun paints the sky
With a haze of promise,
A silhouette of destruction
Softened by the vermilion rays.
The air sweeter, calm, fragrant with ocean.
Tranquility encased in chaos,
A world of annihilation,
Brimming with serenity.
Emily Curwood, 10W
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