House PoetryWinner Middle school
LITERARY
As I Return Untimely charcoal hills of slag surround me: Forgotten castle, distant, masked in darkness. You wait, my love, so cold, so free, so lonely, A shackled lark, but stripped of song, years countless. Night’s lapis glow scarcely lights the slender path Which bends and cambers, unfurls, entangles dread: Time passed when I would, warm, home, be by the hearth, Now fades: battles won, lost, embers amber red.
I see you. Faint smile: am I tall in your eyes? Your son has come back, come back to you alive. I’ve brought home stars that rest atop my shoulders, Little gold dots that weigh on you like boulders. Silver hair curls tightly on your furrowed crown, For how long, mother, must I keep looking down.
Boris Ter-Avanesov (Year 11) Grenville
House PoetryWinners Lower school
TheMidnight Orchestra
Glistening
In the depths of night, Once all the sheep have been counted, And sleep eludes me, My final resort is the night orchestra.
Listen to the wind, Jimmy, My Mum says I’m never listening, But I always do, Wait, did she say glistening or listening, There is a storm brewing up, Says my Dad,
It starts with the chiming of the grandfather clock, Followed by boisterous footsteps of nocturnal night owls. The beeping dishwasher like a crisp triangle, Keeping the tempo, With my father’s deep snores. The intensity picks up with the banging radiators, The creaking floorboards, The unwavering roaring of the late-landing planes. But respite quickly follows with a harmonious adagio, The trickling water of my unlit fish tank, The rustling of the bedsheets from my sister’s bedroom, The whistling air through the half-open window.
The smoky sky is telling me, And the first drops of rain, Like cars in a race to the sill, Can you feel it?
Can you feel the wind, Jimmy just try, I can hear it whistling like a flute through my window As the rain bouncing, breaking off our veranda,
The dark, tempestuous clouds roll, With the first shudders of thunder, The bamboo bending, Creaking as the wind grows stronger My mum says I’m never listening, But now I’m not so sure.
By the end of the second movement, I am lulled into a soft slumber. I wish I could listen to the whole symphony.
Owen Sibert (Year 7) Howard
Timour Ramzan (Year 7) Raleigh
100
Made with FlippingBook Online document