Poetry Festival 2021
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POETRY FESTIVAL 2021 Dr Mary Jean Chan Adjudicator Photo © Adrian Pope Mary Jean Chan is the author of Flèche, published by Faber & Faber (2019). Flèche won the 2019 Costa Book Award for Poetry and was shortlisted for the International Dylan Thomas Prize, the Seamus Heaney Centre First Collection Poetry Prize and the Jhalak Prize. In Spring 2020, Chan served as guest co-editor with Will Harris at The Poetry Review. Born and raised in Hong Kong, Chan is Senior Lecturer in Creative Writing (Poetry) at Oxford Brookes University and lives in London. Cover artwork by Molly Rowlands 3 YEAR 7 Greece Andrea Herr Path at Dusk Molly Baker Wittering Lila Baroukh Wind Tallis Philpot Midnight Mourning Juno Arnold Who am I? Isabella Watton A Sign Hannah Bong A Key Just Out of Reach Freya Wright I Remember That Day on the Bridge Avani Chotai Change is Necessary Zara Zwain YEAR 8 Birds Learn How to Fly One Day Maya Navon A Stranger Taylor Eldridge Memories of Rome Tallulah Galvani By the Sea – Memories Sofia di Stefano Market Square Poppie Lawrie Younger Then Olivia Moore A Magpie’s Odyssey Leah Katz Do You Remember? Chloe Saunders Marloes Alice Day YEAR 9 Recruitment Sarah Fleming The Price of Love Isobel Parry-Jones Who I Am Ines Kirdar-Smith The Dream Xanthe Picchioni The Other Place Saffi Bowen Home Lucy-Mai Adjetey Night Livia Michaels Hope Sora Kamide Dreams Imogen Whelan Who Said? Charlotte Walker 4 YEAR 10 Anthropocene Delilah Dowd The Business of the Day Imi Bell Manderley Laila Samarasinghe George Stubbs: Whistlejacket Olivia Clement Blue Herons Ophelia Lanfranchi Divine Retribution Phoebe Hall Out of the Wreckage Sirena Waas Perumal Re-entry Lara Gilodi-Johnson Reluctant Poetry Jennifer Bradescu YEAR 11 Jellyfish Grace Torrance Moonrise Francesca Mowat Thoughts on a Country Drive Hannah Geddie Rasheed Gureesha Sohan Old Man and the Old Oak Tree Georgie Middlemiss Soon Iona Sheppard Delicate Measures Lila Sturgeon Forever Chasing the Sun Amelia McLean-Brown Rain Sonnet Rosie Roberts The Sun and the Moon Penny Hampden-Turner SIXTH FORM A Bucket List Ahana Banerji Ophelia Anna Metzger Sailing Elsie Young T.J. Florence Jarvis To All the Adults Govhar Dadashova The Canvas Iman Hafeez Autumn – The Shift Molly Reed Names Polly Cameron Love is Dirt Thea Boyle 5 YEAR 7 GREECE The sea was sapphire coloured and the sky Burned like a heated opal through the salty air. We hoisted sail; the wind was blowing fair For the blue lands that to the eastward lie. From the steep prow I marked with quickening eye Every olive grove and creek, The flapping of the sail against the mast, The ripple of the water on the side, The ripple of girls’ laughter at the stern, And a red-faced sun, upon the seas to ride, Until at last I stood proudly upon the soil of Greece! Andrea Herr, Year 7 7 PATH AT DUSK Arm in arm we stroll along the path, torchlight dancing in the darkness as we wonder at the beauty, Wonder at the beauty. Remembering the evening, we smile in the darkness, the stars tiny but dazzling above us, as we move close together to keep out the cold, Move close together to keep out the cold. Stunned, we gaze at the view, the boats rocking gently, so close but so far, the sea like an ice rink, unbroken, The sea like an ice rink, untouched. The forts stand strong and silent, lights flash on the horizon far out to sea, So far, far out to sea. Molly Baker, Year 7 8 WITTERING Scurrying to the car, the bag drop. Hurrying to the water, hauling the paddle boards, The motion of the sea, Repeating in my ears. Rigging and tugging, eventually calmly sailing, A band of wind, a light gust, flowing down the water. Music vibrating from the beach, A sunset creeping up in the distance Skateboarding down the street, the blast of voices from the children playing. An aroma of sausages and burgers lingering in the air. Clocks approaching midnight, still the constant voices. The moon above glistening and flickering, Absorbing the summer night. Lila Baroukh, Year 7 9 WIND Sifting through the pale grass, Icy hands brushing souls, Rushing through the cold, grey sky, Its roaring scream taking control. Frosty breath pushes you back, Stony teeth biting down hard, It creeps around bright or black, Its ghostly soft growl floating all around. Invisible demon of the heavens above, A body of air swirling, swaying, The power of fire but the heart of ice, Making dolls of humans, picking and playing. Hiding in the white islands of the sky Under and over, ever so sly, Then diving down to the long-gone lands Mingling with mortals, strolling on sand. Tallis Philpot, Year 7 10 MIDNIGHT MOURNING She lay in the snow, Fire against ice, The pain in her eyes. She’s alone, stranded. Faint glow – What is left of her fire. Her cubs had left the den. They were incapable, Strayed into hunting grounds, Gunshots to follow. And now the mother is left Bathed in sorrow, Bushy tail still, Eyes barely focused, Staring hazily at me, Ears laid flat on her head, On the brink of death. Her black nose quivered. I looked deep into her eyes. She rested her head on her paw. I lay down in the snow next to her, Felt the cold penetrate my skin. I looked up at the starry sky, An eternity of unexplored worlds. If the stars had vocal cords They would be singing our melody, Singing mother fox to sleep. Maybe in another lifetime, Another world, She will prosper in happiness. She welcomed death like an old friend then; She parted with life. Amen Juno Arnold, Year 7 11 WHO AM I? I think that I am different, I don’t think the same. Is there someone out there Controlling our life like a game? I imagine myself A blue wolf with stars in my eyes, A fire burning in my soul, Running to the world’s cries. I wonder what stars feel like Up in the void of space, Far away from the chasm of darkness, Devouring the human race. I look at the world with wonder For is there a more wonderful thing Than this very place that we call home From Buenos Aires to Beijing? I might not be the same as you But that doesn’t matter to me. I will always be unique And who I want to be. Isabella Watton, Year 7 12 A SIGN I think of myself as a flower Gracefully swaying, soaking up the sun I imagine that each petal is a sign A sign that I have done an act of kindness Of goodwill Everyone thinks that I’m silent but really I’m as loud as a resonant bell I wonder if I had a different name Like Bella or Rose… It is better than my cousin’s name Better to be called Hannah than Camille I am special A Goddess A Flower I am Hannah Hannah Bong, Year 7 13 A KEY JUST OUT OF REACH My arm outstretched, My fingertips grasping air, The key stood solitary, unknown. I watched, I waited But still I could not reach The key that balanced on the shelf Just out of reach. The locked door, Oblivious to what I had done, Forced me alone for hours on end As if time had stood still. Boredom turned to grief As I stayed in the room With the key just out of reach, Almost as if it was mocking me, Watching over me. Day after day went by But still I was trapped. I stretched up until my arms were sore, To the key just out of reach. Freya Wright, Year 7 14 I REMEMBER THAT DAY ON THE BRIDGE I remember that day on the bridge, Those never-ending stairs, spiralling around skeleton trunks And the shivering trees with writhing, twisted branches Like a troop of frozen dancers in the woods. The misty blankets of cold air in the veil of the blue sky slowly edging closer And the ghostly clouds close enough to touch. I remember that day on the bridge, The flimsy, narrow platform wobbling with every light touch of the wind And the ear-splitting sound of the thump-thump of my own heart. The dangling ropes tangled with creepers, reaching out And the nets ready to catch their innocent prey. The denim blue lake waiting for its chance to suck me in if I slip. I remember that day on the bridge. It was silent like a feather floating to the floor And my mouth was dry with terror. With extreme caution, I stepped out onto the precarious plank. I was tempted to close my eyes but I knew it would be worse. The bridge lurched and I held my breath. I remember that day on the bridge. I was slowly pacing one foot on the solid wooden platform When I saw beautiful garlands of flowering roses and rhododendrons waving at me. All the fear flushed away and I gazed, mesmerised. Confidently, I strode along the bridge and reached the steady stairway. Joy flooded my body and I thought to myselfWhat a wonderful world. Avani Chotai, Year 7 15 CHANGE IS NECESSARY ‘Change is necessary!’ We screamed at the top of our voices. The clash of tin against steel. River poisoned crimson with blood. The air so hot with flame and soot. But Hunger still gripped our throats and we had to shake it free.