Competition

Highly Commended

The Screaming Land
by Katelyn Givney
Our Lady of the Southern Cross College, Dalby, Qld.

‘Global warming is creeping in day by dusty day
The earth is slowly warming and wasting away
The government would feed us in a bunch of stupid lies
Even though it is happening right before our eyes

There are oil tankers in the ocean leaking on our shores
How can people do this? I can’t watch this anymore

What about the animals that swallow fishing nets?
They end up on the bottom of the ocean like rusty old shipwrecks

What happened to the green rule and caring for the earth?
It got washed away in the oil spill then they drowned it in the surf

What happens now to that lone pine tree where a forest used to stand?
I can’t help but shed a tear for my home the screaming land

Highly Commended

My Park
by Melanie Wild
Kelvin Grove State College, Kelvin Grove, Qld.

I clamber over the big black metal gate
and sprint across the sharp pebbles stinging my feet
A squirrel races though the grass scattered with daisies,
shocked by my sudden intrusion.
I come to a halt as I arrive under the old willow trees,
and stare through the drooping branches
at the gathering bluebells and snowdrops
hiding in the grass
Closing my eyes,
I take in the sweet aroma of freshly mown grass
then hurriedly scamper above the green glow from the sun,
trickling through the leaves,
escaping the branches hugging me tight
hearing them crack in my urgency to sit and take in the elegant picture
Pausing at the top and soaking up the beautiful view:
the daisies smiling up at me,
the soft white snowdrops shyly looking down ,
the sun dying into the horizon – my cue to go
I creep back down
lose  sight of the secret path amongst the wild flowers
and the trees lining the path, crying pink cherry blossom
as I draw the key from my pocket,
a cool breeze kisses my cheek
and the trees wave a final farewell.

Highly Commended

Poop Patrol
by Megan Hogan
Booval, Qld

Have you ever wondered why
You’re the first to hear the baby cry
And even if you’re not
You’re always chosen to clean the cute tot

Your nose always filled with
Hair-raising
Eye-popping
Mind-numbing
Smell of poo
Well foolish siblings this will never do

I will help you fight this unjust affliction
With strategies and well though actions
Understand the tell-tale signs
Of baby’s intestinal design

Baby’s eyes go cherry red
And weep like morning eyes out of bed
It’s time to make a speedy break
And don’t be found for goodness sake

If you get caught by surprise
And you’re all out of clever lies
Hold your right hand in the air
And show the bandaids plastered there

Job or no job just remember
Baby’s don’t stay small forever
Offer your love and kindness to all
For you too were once poopy and small

Highly Commended

I See a Musician
by Elizabeth Waldron
Petersham, NSW

I see a musician, his wrinkly face,
His rickety frame, his hard set jaw.
He crouches in silence, his fingertips trembling
Wary because of his deaf, old-man ears.

Warbling textures, whistling tunes,
Wonderful music of daily town life
Don't get through his guard, he hates what he hears
For sounds are distorted by deaf, old-man ears.

These sounds of community, laughter and joy,
Have twisted and soured his grey, battered heart,
For no one has cared for this cast-off musician,
Unable to hear with his deaf, old-man ears.

An age it may be since he last heard a song,
Before everybody had left him for dead.
So now, he's alone, there's no joy in his life
There's nothing to hear with his deaf, old-man ears

And now, he sees sleep, and with it comes dreams.
Symphonies blazing in great booming bursts
He, the Musician, tuned to them all!
Useful because of his skilled, old-man ears

He dies in his sleep, his rocking chair still,
But no-one will notice him breathing no more.
Perhaps he’s found peace in the stillness of death
No longer plagued by his deaf, old-man ears.

The singing of voices and shivers of sound
“I hear music” he cries; I see him triumphant
Finally using his deaf old man ears

I see him smile, though he’s crying a little
Turning his face to this new source of joy.
Music cascades through the knots in his heart
While he’s learning to listen with new old-man ears.
I’d like to imagine he hears something new