In A Grove 2010

The Arts at 4391 County Rd 29, Lakefield, ON K0L 2H0 lcs.on.ca

In A Grove 2010

Arts Journal

In a Grove 2010 A Celebration of Writing and Art at Lakefield College School

Featuring the winners of LCS Writes!

Sponsored by The Grove Society

LCS Writes! Winners Poetry Section Grades 11/12 1st Michael Casson, “Untitled” 2nd Christine Davidson, “Missy Moo's Darn Spot” 3rd Kate Seo, “Like No Other” Grades 9/10 1st Natalie Jennings, “Away” 2nd Sophia Walter, “Eternal Voyage” 3rd Christina Chan, “Winter”

Prose Section Grades 11/12 1st Bea Chan, “Hamlet: The Prequel” 2nd Jamie Cooper, “The Sangilak (Strongest of All)” (Excerpt) 3rd Angela Lee, “Silence” (Excerpt) Grades 9/10 1st Samier Kamar, “Egypt: My Home Away From Home” 2nd Andrea Fearnall, “Stop and Stare” (Excerpt)

Excerpts of prose selections published due to space restrictions.

Visit lcs.on.ca and click Beyond the Class > Co-curricular Arts to read prose pieces in full.

Please see page 32 for artists’ names.

UNTITLED

By Michael Casson Only the birds may fly first class, Free to see as they do, And us when time may pass, But passed they have when time comes.

Only the rivers may truly cry, Tears of joy or tears of rage, Reflecting ever below the sky, But passed is our judgement ere it arrives.

Only the forest may sparkle green and gold, And laugh still silently when summer is done, To be seen never by seeing eyes, While all must remain beneath the sun.

1st place, Grades 11/12 poetry

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Missy Moo´s Darn Spot

By Christine Davidson Poor Missy Moo had a spot on her tongue, and when someone pulled her ear, out that spot would come.

One day someone decided to pull Missy Moo’s ear, and when they did, that spot flew on to Missy Moo’s rear!

Now Missy Moo swivelled and swished, tossed and turned and even bounced

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some, but she couldn’t get that darn spot off her bum!

So she went to the doctor’s to get some helping hands, and the doctor flicked that spot off with rubber bands!

Then that sticky spot flew onto Missy Moo’s shoe, oh dear, oh dear, whatever shall she do?

So Missy Moo went to her mother’s to get some help there, and that mother frightened that spot off with a stare!

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That spot jumped up so high and so tall it rose, that that spot landed smack dab on Missy Moo’s nose!

Now Missy Moo went to get some hammer and nails, and she hammered that spot away with yelps and wails!

Now that spot flew away and found a wife, and from then on it had a good life.

They had a few children, just a million or two, their family is called chicken pox and they could be on you!

Now don’t you fret and don’t you frown, because you can send those spots away and out of town!

Just take your medicine and stay in bed, and listen to the moral this story has said.

Never let someone pull your ear, or you might find spots showing up on your rear!

2nd place, Grades 11/12 poetry

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Like No other

By Kate Seo Sounds of water flowing as paddles touch the lakes Sounds of fresh air flitting, refreshing minds and bodies Sounds of vigorous cheering, coming from vast green fields Sounds of laughter that will be cherished in our hearts Sounds of sadness, wiping tears and recollecting unforgettable memories The sounds we can never hear anywhere else Smell of purple lilac trees, the arrival of warmth that opens closed eyes Smell of sweat, celebrating hardworking peoples Smell of friends that will keep your memories alive Smell of dinner that knocks your hungry nose Smell of sadness, wiping tears in the hopes of meeting again The smells we can never feel anywhere else

3rd place, Grades 11/12 poetry

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AWAY

By Natalie Jennings She wished that she could float away To float into the sky She wished that she could float away That that would get her by She wished that she could swim away To swim into the sea She wished that she could swim away

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That that would set her free She wished that she could melt away To melt like ice and snow She wished that she could melt away That that would let her go She wished that she could run away To run like lightning speed She wished that she could run away That that would meet her need.

She wished that she could walk away To walk away from here She wished that she could walk away That that would get her near She wished that she could stay away But stay away, could not She wished that she could stay away But that would ask a lot

1st place, Grades 9/10 poetry

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Eternal Voyage

By Sophia Walter A voyage begun, In memory you lay.

A defeated cry rises, With wishes for better days.

And souls dance in disguises,

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Welcoming the night.

But all I do is pray, For the power to fight.

While watching you be born To all eternity.

2nd place, Grades 9/10 poetry

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WINTER

By Christina Chan Winter never passes, when the world is always cold.

Winter never passes, when frost consumes your soul.

Winter never passes, when your heart’s encased in ice.

Alas, without you, winter is my life.

3rd place, Grades 9/10 poetry

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Hamlet: The Prequel

By Bea Chan Standing in front of the class, Mr. Bilmurn summoned his muse and read, “Must I remember? Why, she would hang on him / As if increase of appetite had grown / By what it fed on; and yet within a month-- / Let me not think on’t—Frailty, thy name is woman-- / A little month, or ere those shoes were old / With which she follow’d my poor father’s body, / Like Niobe, all tears— why, she-- / O God, a beast that wants discourse of reason / Would have mourn’d longer—married with my uncle,...”

A voice from the back of the class interrupted his soliloquy, “That’s not true, Sir, about her marrying his uncle. I mean, it wasn’t his uncle at all.”

Mr. Bilmurn turned towards the voice, astonished. “Hamlet would know, I think, if his mother had married his uncle or not. Wouldn’t he?”

“Well, maybe he hadn’t seen the prequel, Sir. I mean, maybe he was ignorant of the facts.”

Mr. Bilmurn tried to remain calm, “And just what would those facts be, Beatrice?”

“It was actually like this, Sir...”

Many moons ago in a far off place lived a handsome prince with a gloomy face. This place was Denmark, ruled by the older of twin brothers, King Hamlet. The gloomy faced prince was Claudius, the younger twin brother.

“Are you following me, Mr. Bilmurn?” Beatrice asked.

Mr. Bilmurn nodded reluctantly.

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Well, Hamlet only became king after he grew up, but before that, throughout their childhood, the twins had no other playmates but each other. The games they played were not friendly, and they always seemed to end up fighting because the younger twin, Claudius, always won. The hatred between the twins grew as they grew and so did the fierce competition between them. At first their competitions were about who could run farther or who could hold their breath longer, but they gradually turned to more serious things with much higher stakes.

Now when the twins turned twenty-five, their father became ill. Hamlet appeared to be upset, but he was actually excited because if his father died he would be king. Claudius did not see it this way, of course, and became very angry with his brother. In his anger, Claudius accused his brother, Hamlet, “How can you not care about our father’s life? Do you feel no pity or love toward him?”

Hamlet replied bluntly, “I feel no love for anyone, least of all you. You have been in the way of my success since you were born. But I am the oldest, and I

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will win at least one thing before I die. You watch and see. When I am King you will be the most miserable person in this whole gosh darn country.”

“You have no feelings or thoughts for anyone. You would steal the wife of your best friend if it gained you power,” spat back Claudius.

“Nah,” replied Hamlet maliciously, “but I’d steal my brother’s girlfriend, his sweetheart. That I would do.”

“Do you get it, Mr. Bilmurn? Can you guess what really happened?”

“Ah…no, Beatrice, I can’t say that I do. You’ll have to give me a few more details.”

Beatrice rolled her eyes. Some people just had no imagination she thought to herself. “Well, here goes,” she said as she continued her story.

So Hamlet went about trying to steal Claudius’ girlfriend. She was a pretty thing named Gertie Kiersted, a real Danish princess (you could tell because she could feel a pea through twenty mattresses), who was head over heels in love with

Claudius. Hamlet did everything that a good suitor would. He sent her roses on her birthday and Saint Valentine’s Day. At Christmas he sent her three turtle doves, two French hens, and a partridge in a pear tree, but all in vain. What he didn’t know was that Claudius and Gertie were secretly engaged and there was plenty of hanky panky going on.

In fact, Gertie woke up one morning and discovered that she had a bun in the oven—the hanky had gotten a little too panky, if you know what I mean. Now she was in trouble. What would the neighbours think? She put on her royal thinking cap to try to save herself and her true love, Claudius, from the inevitable social disgrace. They could get married right away and no one would be the wiser, but royal law in Denmark stipulated that the older brother had to marry first, and out of spite it looked like Hamlet had no intention of marrying anyone other than his brother’s only true love. They could elope she supposed, but that would be a life not fit for a princess. So Gertrude swallowed her pride, and to protect her only love Claudius and their love child, she sent a message to Hamlet. This is what it said: Darling Hamlet, All along I have only loved you. Let’s get married …tomorrow.

Gertie Hamlet was overjoyed. He’d won the battle for his brother’s girlfriend; he’d finally beat Claudius at something. Hamlet and Gertie were married the next day. Just to make sure she doesn’t change her mind, Hamlet thought cleverly to himself.

And nine months later Hamlet became the proud father of a bouncing baby boy.

“We’ll call him Hamlet after me,” he said grandly.

Gertrude could do nothing but agree, but there were never any brothers and sisters for Hamlet. He was the only one.

As you can imagine, Claudius was devastated by all these events. He never knew why Gertie had deserted him, and she, to save his honour, never told him. But she dreamed of him and he dreamed of her for the next twenty-five years.

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And little Hamlet always thought big Hamlet was his father and that Uncle Claudius was a grump. Imagine his surprise when a month after big Hamlet mysteriously died, his Mama was marrying old Uncle Claudius without a thought for the memory of her husband or the feelings of her son. And what made it worse was that they seemed to be happy. Little Hamlet, after a ghostly chat with his dead father (the skunk!) at midnight, decided to do the honourable thing and take revenge on the imposter. Little did he know that the imposter was his true father and that his father was his true uncle (and a scoundrel on top of that).

Gertie, in her marital bliss, was so head over heels happy with her true love that she plum forgot to tell Hamlet junior all about it. (Oops!)

And you know the rest of the story. Little Hamlet was out to get Claudius because he didn’t know that the ghost was just his uncle, not his dad. Claudius didn’t know that Little Hamlet was really his very own flesh and blood so he got really sick of his bad attitude and sent him off to England to be killed. And poor Gertie drank a poison cup of wine, and all she was trying to do was toast her son’s achievements. I guess if she hadn’t died so quickly she would have told

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Little Hamlet about his real dad and it would have been happily ever after. But it wasn’t.

“Isn’t that so romantic, Mr. Bilmurn, and so sad?” sighed Beatrice.

“A little far fetched I would say,” he replied, shaking his head. But not any more far-fetched than this whole play he thought to himself, bemused.

1st place, Grades 11/12 prose

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The sangilak (strongest of all) A personal journal entry of years past

By Jamie Cooper Today was hard, tomorrow will surely be harder. I miss him so much. I look over to his bed, emptiness. I missed Sami today, I miss him everyday. The proceeding is a compilation of journal entries and memories written during and shortly after Sami fell sick with multiple sclerosis.

There is no such thing as easy living in the Canadian north. The sub-zero

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temperatures, the harsh winds that smack your face like a bat to a pi単ata. But worst of all: the psychological toll of being isolated thousands of kilometres from any major city oppresses your mind and body. No one can attest to this more than my family.

I grew up with my brother Sami and my Aga (mom) and Amak (dad) in the small town of Pangirtung, Nunavut. The town was so far north and so isolated the only way to get in or out for nine months of the year was by air. The ruthless winds and storms, however, made it difficult even for this. Growing up in Pang (as we called it) was a fairly traditional life. Sami and Amak would spend most of their time hunting and fishing. I was at home with Aga cooking, making clothing and doing other things around the house. In the short summer months our family would harvest vegetables, produce clothing, and other materials that we would require to help us survive the harsh winters. ***** 2nd place, Grades 11/12 prose.

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Silence

By Angela Lee Jan. 23rd No one knows how serious my state is. I can’t stand it. I really wish someone would help me. No, I don’t even know what I want. I just want all of this to be over. Everyday is a continuous challenge for me to go on.

I want to tell someone. But what exactly do I tell them? How can I explain this? It’s as if I can’t ever be happy again – this deep deep depression; nothing to looking forward to. Every minute and every second is cold and emotionless.

I feel nothing; no happiness, no sadness, no anger, no nothing - just empty and thoughtless.

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Feb. 1st I’m living everyday like a machine. I feel no motivation. I don’t do things because I enjoy it or I want to. I do them because I have to or just for something to do. I do everything that is required of me. But I feel no desire to.

Feb. 11th It feels as if the entire world turned its back on me. What did I do wrong?

Where could I have possibly gone so wrong? What kind of actions have I taken to bring upon these results?

Feb. 20th The only reason why I’m alive these days is not because I want to be. I’m not alive because I have some reason to. I’m merely alive because I don’t particularly feel the desire to die. If I live, I’ll just live. If I die, why not?

3rd place, Grades 11/12 prose.

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Egypt: My home away from home

By Samier Kamar Egypt, third-world by name, is a country with a great deal of culture, history and wealth at heart. Situated in the middle-eastern part of Africa, Egypt is home to my parents, grand-parents and seventy-five million others, though is not home to me as I was born in Canada. Though this is the case on paper, Egypt is my home psychologically; when I go there, I feel as though I am one of them and refuse to believe otherwise despite what others say. However, unless one speak about cleanliness, order, political matters or airport matters, I can probably afford to disown my Egyptian loyalty and patriotism for the time being to help me get through the situation.

Solidly believing in my mind that I am indeed Egyptian and not

Canadian, I go there thinking I am obliged to make change for the ultimate good of the nation in attempt to make the invisible and unknown future that lies ahead of it a better place. In fact, one distinct problem that it is currently facing is cleanliness. Unfortunately, because the citizens of Egypt have (generally) accustomed themselves to having (and throwing for that matter) a degree of garbage on the streets, they now find this level their norm. However, having lived in Canada all my life, a country that prioritizes cleanliness to a fairly high degree, it disgusts me to see the amount of garbage in the streets of Egypt.

Garbage is all over the place as if it has over-populated and over-powered the citizens. Bags of ripped-open garbage from cats, dogs and over-loads reek and yet the people don’t seem to grasp the idea of making change. There are garbage bins on every street and on every corner, yet you find the bins empty with the trash surrounding them like a massive and powerful mob. Curious, shocked

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and dumbfounded, I wanted to find a solution to this problem that’s slowly destroying the beauty of the nation. To start off, I did as all other citizens would do and threw a piece of trash into one of the garbage bins in front of our house (I should mention however that most garbage bins in Egypt are elevated a few feet from the ground, attached to street lights.). Then, instead of just walking away, I examined the trash as it made its way through the bin and, seconds later, I found the piece of trash lying beneath my feet, as though it was some sort of animal not wanting to leave its rightful owner. Flabbergasted, I stood there for a moment like a scientist, trying to analyse my experiment, until it hit me; I bent down and looked at the bottom of the garbage bin and found that it didn’t have a bottom; there was a huge hole in it. In denial, I quickly rushed to look at the

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bottoms of all the other bins on that street, of course only to finding them all with the same problem. At first I chuckled, a frustrated chuckle, and then two tears fell – one fell from the corner of my eye, and the other from the bottom of my heart. I was surprised to know that such a minor problem could cause such a major effect, first on the lives of a few, and soon on the lives of an entire nation.

Having conducted my experiment and written down my analysis, it was

time to communicate my findings. Thus, one by one, I placed a wooden platform on each and every one of the garbage bins on my street, and told the garbage people to monitor them regularly while I was away (in Canada) to make sure the bottoms were always sealed. Don’t get me wrong, the garbage in Egypt does get picked up daily; in fact, from about one o’clock in the morning to about nine, the streets are spotless because that’s when the garbage people come to pick up

all the trash on the ground. However, during the day, it’s fascinating to see the rapid accumulations of trash in the streets; it’s almost as though you’re looking at the accumulation of snow on your driveway on a snowy winter day. Therefore, after telling the garbage people my findings, they began to realise how much easier it was to pick up the trash from the bins themselves, rather than having to sweep it all off the roads. Satisfied, I was glad to know that I have solved a problem that’s been going on for years on my street, while simultaneously feeling hurt from inside knowing there still remain hundreds of more streets that are much bigger than mine in Egypt than need to be dealt with.

Even though I live thousands of miles away from Egypt, a distance so far

that whatever happens there I know will not have any effect on my life here, I still have that gut-feeling inside of me that keeps reminding me that even though I am not Egyptian on paper, I am internally Egyptian, and it is my obligation to serve Egypt for the good just as much as it is to serve my home, Canada. As the Prophet of Islam once said, “If one part of the body is in pain, the entire corpse suffers in the attempt to heal it. So, if a part of our nation is in pain, then the entire world should suffer in the attempt to solve their problem, as we are one united body.”

1st place, Grades 9/10 prose

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stop and stare

By Andrea Fearnall As she walks the roads they stop and stare at her. Searching frantically for her cosmetic mirror, she opens it to find nothing on her face. Her hair is good as could be and her makeup is not smudged. So why are they stopping to stare at her as she walks along? Something she cannot answer.

He started beating her two years ago. It started slowly, one or two bruises, but by the beginning of this year, he told her, she won’t have a chance to beat the odds. She was scared at first but now accepts it, one way or another it is going to happen. She cannot prevent it or seek help from her friends or family. She has to accept him as he comes.

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She isn’t ashamed to show the purple and black marks that cover her arms and chest. They are her battle wounds; they are what keep her believing she will one day understand that she will one day live her life in perfect harmony. Until then it is just another ride on the rollercoaster of life.

Her mother and sister tell her every day this will make you a stronger person.

You will pull through this, they tell her. These words may be lost on many, too simple, but they are enough to give her hope. Hope that he will stop hurting her, and hope that she will know what to do with her life.

The first beating is engraved in her skin like letters carved in stone. One or two marks here and there, then more, rigorous pain both physical and mental.

Something a teenager should not have to experience, something no one should experience. The odds are she has a slim chance of moving on with her life.

Strangely, it has become a part of her daily life, it happens in the morning and at night. Each time the pain is worse and worse.

2nd place, Grades 9/10 prose. Click here to read in full.

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Artwork Front Cover: "Grade 12 Spirit Sticks" Inside Cover: "Grade 10, 11, 12 Print Making" Opposite “LCS Writes! Winners”: Rachel Dunford Opposite “Untitled”: Rebekah Sibbald p3: Derek Shin p4: Marissa Vazquez p6: Noah Rosen

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p11: Arabella Becker p12: Colleen MacKenzie p14-15: Katie Sullivan p16: Christina Chan p21: Michelle Sung p23: Justin Barlow p25: Rebekah Sibbald p26: Millie Yates p31: Maria Castello Photography: Simon Spivey

The Arts at 4391 County Rd 29, Lakefield, ON K0L 2H0 lcs.on.ca

In A Grove 2010

Arts Journal