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Rosewood Green Award – Open Age Local Poets

2017 Overall Winner & recipient of the Babies of Walloon bronze statuette

Chairperson’s School Award

Picture Ipswich Theme Awards

Chair’s Encouragement Awards

Joy Chambers & Reg Grundy Award – Open Age Other Poetry

Metro Hotel Ipswich International Award – Open Age Bush Poetry

Ipswich City Council Award – 16-17 Years

Zipper by Sonya Frossine (First Prize)

Marking of a Printed Title by Sidney Boen (Second Prize)

Lament for Bruadair by Clare O’Sullivan (Third Prize)

Commuter’s Requiem by Luke Bradshaw Poier (Highly Commended)

The Man from Serayu River, an adaption of Banjo Patterson’s poem ‘The Man from Snowy River’ by Emily Bradley (Highly Commended)

Outro Requiem by Isabel Longbottom (Highly Commended)

Part I – Poesies
The furtive winter evening breeze
Stirs headlines and the withered leaves
That line the gutters.
A red scarf flutters in your knotted fist,
And down the hill the Church bell rings
Eight o’clock.
Among indistinct hands and insistent feet,
In the old quarry the flowergirl sings:
“What say you, itinerant salesman?
Will you while away an hour or two,
In the house at the edge of the park (after dark),
By the lightning-tree, split in two?”
“I picked daisies because the violets withered,
But even October is too cruel a month
To yield up thorns in a wicker basket.
Now I remember Saint Valentine’s day,
When the autumn thrush sang in lifeless tone
And my good bright dog capered away.
I am the absinthe girl, toute seule but not alone.”
In the room lurked candelabra and oak-panelled walls,
When metallic salts cast leadlight shadows
Across a Trimalchian spread;
And unctuous gold dripped sinuously between
Damson plums and pomegranate seeds.
Scattered platters of Corinthian bronze glowed
Amidst vials and decanters, overflowed
With a profusion of synaesthetic fragrance.
(And this was only the prelude to the feast.)
Blue-green flickers burnished polished stone,
From behind the garden and Golgotha,
And from the false steward, crying for his daughter.
While I who arbitrated the Peace of Nicias,
I at Aegospotami who took refuge with Evagoras,
During the time of false and lying gods –
I will show you the past in a pinch of salt;
The present in a breath of smoke, carried on the mistral
Through the valley of the shadow of death;
And the future in a curl of fog, drifting
Between brimstone smokestacks, swirling
Over stuttering streets, twisting
Between door and lintel.
Creeping, but never disturbing
An alley paved with bones.
But once in a café in Strasbourg,
You and Epeius, after tea and cakes and ice,
Sat in the shade of the Sycamore tree.
But the Earth was a dank and humid dungeon,
And sentinels were posted along the Elysian green,
To hide the thief and catch the queen,
(She who escaped the inferno to be home in time for tea)
And her bag of bones and vengeful eye,
With cheerful countenance beneath a red morning sky.
Part II – No longer my brother
All around you are familiar faces,
Peeking sidelong, speaking into cupped hands,
Familiar feet wearing the carpet thin
Like the woven threads of our piteous destinies.
Gazes pin you to the tasselled upholstery,
Calliopean voices echo from friezes,
Feather-soft and embittered, stroking taffeta and silk.
And the beggars feed their rats,
Feed them painted opulence on stuccoed balconies
And hors d’œuvres reflected in polished brass.
Channelling our excesses through swollen pocketbooks,
Almost entirely deceived beneath our gilded masks,
Our several eyes, redacting, gaze censoriously.
While we do unto others the horse starves,
Lurching and staggering through grey stones,
And the black flag planted in your yard
Through ponderous evening, reaching
Twisted tendrils under the door, turning
The key once only at the sound of the old bell.
Do not ask for whom it tolls.
Then thrasonical morning wakes
To an empty clatter, a putrid smell,
And a rooster crowing thrice.
“Well all I’m sayin’ is, it ain’t as if I didn’t warn him.
And don’t you come blamin’ me neither, I’ve had about enough o’ that.
Oh, so now you want a lump of ice. Well, I’ll give you somethin’ o’ that an’ more:
Just you listen when someone’s speakin’, and maybe next time it won’t go this far.
I’ve told you once, if I’ve told you a thousand times –
And I ain’t one as goes beatin’ ’round the bush –
And just ’cause you’re coals and coke the both o’ you
Don’t go thinkin’ I’ll sport the blunt, ’cause I won’t.
You shouldn’t ought to ha’ got cut and carried if you can’t support yourselves.
And just you warn Danny, too, ‘afore he goes and does the same.”
But now we sit on the banks of the river,
Weeping, for we remember Babylon.
In our veins the same blood flows,
Burning like poison, shining through our skin – 
And it behoves thee, smile.
His lidless eyes flickered at the knock upon the door,
As the raven croaked once and not once more,
But the more he saw the less he spoke,
And his coat was made of good roast beef.
So shall we all be, though we may depart with greater poise.
We bury the dead where they’re found, and the rest is noise.

Have you heard of the girl who breathes flowers? by Lauren Rawlings (Highly Commended)

Mum by Rahim Mohammadi (Highly Commended)

Queensland Times Award- 14-15 Years

Broderick Family Award – 11-13 Years

Ipswich District Teacher Librarian Network Award – 8-10 Years

River 94.9 Award – 5-7 Years