Competition

Highly Commended

My Window 
by Amelia Le-Bherz of
St. Joseph’s Primary School, North Ipswich, Qld

My window is a portal to another world,
Silver ferns and ruby rocks, a golden butterfly flutters by.
Dozens of peacocks nestle near the bushes
As a river of sapphires gushes over the hill.
Dew drops sparkle like diamonds on the emerald grass that tickles my toes
Silver roses line the passage way to a marble staircase, covered in vines,

Leading me back to the presence of reality.

Highly Commended

Invisible
by Margaret Colbrahams
West Moreton Anglican College, Karrabin, Qld

I stare at my parents,
They're fighting as usual.
It scares me so much.
But they never mention me.
They don't care what happens to me.
I sit in my room and listen.
I feel invisible.
They don't care that I received a good report card.
They wouldn't care if they never saw me again.
Then I hear the word,
Divorce.
They're getting a divorce.
I run out into the room.
I yell at them,
I ask them questions.
Then finally get to the point of what happens to me.
I'm sixteen,
They think I can take care of myself.
To them I'm a bad memory about each other.
They don’t care.
I’m a burden.
I’m invisible.

Highly Commended

The Guardian
by Boyd Tarlinton
Caboolture, Qld

The boy gazed upon the house,
It was remarkable,
Hard oak tables,
Polished floors,
Stunning chandeliers,
Velvet lined lounges,
Stained glass windows.
One of a kind.

But the one thing to catch his eye,
Was an old tin soldier, standing proudly.
Scraped,
With a missing arm.
It stood on a windowsill,
Its paint faded,
The least grand thing,
In the ornate mansion.

For many years he lived there,
Watched over by the guardian on the windowsill,
Running and playing,
Laughing joyfully,
Collecting memories,
Living an ordinary life,
And time passed.

Until one bleak day,
A raging fire ravaged his home,
Destroying all in its path,
The hard oak tables,
Polished floors,
The stunning chandeliers,
Velvet lined lounges,
And stained glass windows.

A fireman trudged through the rubble.
The embers crackling,
The ashes disintegrating under his boots,
The smell of burnt memories filled his nostrils.
As he looked around the charred ruins,
He thought to himself,
It was a miracle the old man survived.

But the one thing to catch his eye,
Was a damaged tin soldier, standing proudly.
Scraped, with a missing arm,
It lay in the rubble,
Its paint blistered and scarred,
It caught the sun,
Glowing for a moment.

He put it in his pocket and walked on.