Poetry Week

Poetry Week is kind of a big deal at RSC,

This year we had workshops with a poet named Scotty.

He came a few lunchtimes and taught them to jam,

Then during Poetry Week they were ready to slam.

This year the Year Sevens outnumbered the rest,

But the talent, my goodness, beyond their years was expressed!

The staff held their annual Poetry Cup,

Where they closed off the staffroom for the first half of lunch.

Competition was fierce as the competitors played,

For the honour, the glory and the peer accolades.

Poetry Week is open for all who can feel,

With some courage and a pinch of keepin’ it real!

Student Poetry Slam

1st place

I cry when my favourite Game of Thrones character dies

And I write about those who thrive and those who die and the few who survive

And I watch in wonder as others accept their small wonders

And wonder about those wonders with wonder in their eyes

When I have only ever wished for a simpler mind

A mind with one eye, a rulebook, set guidelines

I throw away my gifts

I try to say somethin' different 

I end up just referencing a song 'bout independence 

Alexander Hamilton lived four lifetimes in one

He was forgotten until a genius read a book and wrote him a song

I don't know who invented my pen or my language 

Were they just grunts from an exasperated index?

I don't understand the law, hell I'm only thirteen,

But I have enough perspective and sense to see

That xenophobia is irrational

And homophobes are idiots

And it blinds me how you can't see that we can make a difference

'Cause we created sexism

And we created racism—

We created a world where Donald Trump may well be president 

So now I'm in a place where my accent defines me

And I'm allowed to read, unless my principal chides me

But what kills me the most is that I can see what adults can't

And I can write about our problems when our leaders just ignore them.

Holly Manuel, 7I

2nd place

Guilt

Winter's icy hands wrapped around her throat,

Only pain flew out when she spoke.

Nothing but horror finds her eyes,

When the stench of death fills the skies.

On tippy toes the monster roams

Through the woods in scarlet robes.

Bright blue eyes bathed in tar,

Crimson lips covered in scars.

She walks the streets with a tear stained face

Consumed by the feeling of disgrace.

Sticks and stones may break your bones

But words can cut you deep.

Watch the word you say to friends for they can make you weep

Isuri Jayasinghe, 7I

3rd place

As the clock ticks your hands flip through the pictures in the album that is your life, you wonder how it came to be that you would soon be set free from this illusion that causes you strife. You stand up and say “I WILL NOT GO THIS WAY”. You stride towards the window and open it and you gaze out. You see a beautiful orange sky and say to yourself “My oh my”. You turn to see the nurses and you think I’ve got to break free. You propel through the window and plummet towards the ground, when suddenly; just before you hit the ground you feel a restraint coming from your back. You turn and see these beautiful things, you realise that you now have springs. Springs in your back, how can that be? These springs are wings, just wait and you’ll see. Your newly found wings bounce you up to join the clouds, you look down to see the thousands of crowds. You glide down to a poppy field and in the grass you lay, you whisper to yourself “I will go this way”

Cody Wake, 9B