THE STORM Luke Honeysett (Year 12) It comes thrashing, lashing and burning its own heart. Tantruming rage, it shrieks its beautiful part. Seething and hungry, unaware the reed had been broken. It cries out at the loss of its lover. Fingertips tapping on the pads, rain caning the ground. An emasculated man punishing a dog in the pound.
STORM Rory Alexander (Year 12)
A GUIDE FOR WAYWARD TIDES Zaki Kabir (Year 13) The world’s a wide, wide place. Scarcely do we touch its sides, Tread back and forth, from space to space But that’s the way of wayward tides. We’re carried out from time to time, But find we must a firmer mooring: With work and toil and luck sublime Strike we might on shores assuring. Between buffeting winds of expectation A harnessing sail we may construct; To outlandish torrents of sloth’s temptation A ordered discipline we may induct, As look we must to a new horizon; Beyond the limits of comfort found We shall embark for heights that liven To seize a future of great abound. Tread not a path well-worn and stale; Make for a spot – find your mark And should you see no place less pale Be sure to build an impact stark Be good to those both near and far: You have a role in days ahead So be bold and brave and eclipse the bar For no others sail in your stead.
‘It’s raining! It’s raining!’ high voices cry, and so begins the thunder of their feet The cracked earth gasps, ever hungry, but ever too starved to eat. First a flash that lights up the hills, a crack in a glassy sky: An incendiary tail of an ancient God strikes where the horizon meets the eye. Then a growl, not of an animal, but of the heavens wrenched apart And they pour back inside once more, and the droplets fall like the chimes of a harp And in the trampled dirt,
as an earthy scent begins to rise A dandelion’s roots grow plump, and it opens its yellow eye.
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CREATIVE WRITING
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