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Creative Story Investigation™ ISSUE: 2 - 2009

Poems based on Good Girls, by Irene Rawnsley Clever Montages From Term 1 Inspirational Tankas by 8B And much more inside…

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les u is b k a i five, f l a l d y n a A h teen s en, mages o v n e e s v , se five voking i f out o k s e c e e n y l li d. Ch ning onal l i r t i o d tra ral w od’s win u t a bgo the n a H . am Willi ry entry bu Med

The problem is never how to get, new innovative thoughts into your mind, but how to get old ones out. Every mind is a building filled with archaic furniture. Clean out a corner of your mind and creativity will instantly fill it.

Look for the Stone Angel poetry inside


WINTER WONDERLAND I spy snow nymphs, prancing as they gently flutter to the ground.

I embrace icy stings as snow lice nibble my fingers.

I hear wind’s song, a symphony of thunderclaps and hail.

I smell the tang of leaves rustling up a storm.

I taste the refreshing bliss of ice on my tongue as cold as space.

I see...Winter. By Wilson Cowie 6P

The Magic Box I will put into the box, The satin silk of the velvet sky A silent song of the salty sea The stare of a silvery serpent. I will put into the box, The beady glare of a predator stalking. The greenest leaf off a gargantuan willow The rustling of a turning page. I will put into the box, The ‘kiai’ of a Japanese karate master A glimpse of a new world unfolding And a rose that has the most red. I will put into the box, A wheel of a bicycle The swish of the waves And the chirps of the crickets dancing away. My box is a frozen wasteland. The white lid hiding the dark secrets within. It has a million glittering eyes watching. I shall hide my box stash it away. Over the mountains of my bed and through the grasslands of my drawers. Hiding By Reid Edmond 6P

On a still winter’s night, the window starts to rattle, boy racers. By William Habgood 7M

William Habgood’s award winning haiku is a Japanese poem of seventeen syllables, in three lines of five, seven, and five.


The piercing moonlight glistened through thick cracks in the caves’ icy roofs, reflecting off the jagged rocks in the maze’s many caverns, making a thousand eyes scream and dart into the darkness. The moans of the caves’ victims still filled the icy air. The thick snow that covered the cave’s floor made lighting any sort of fire impossible and kept movement to a minimum. The darkness hid what lay ahead and the many steep cliffs spelt death to anyone who dared approach them. The caves’ steep walls were the only smooth thing that surrounded the deep snow. Every way was covered with air that felt like smoke and hid the many dangers that lay ahead. The caves promised one thing, death. By Timothy Mitchell 6B

CSI ZONE The Rumbling Elephant Great elephant, I heard you grieving for your young Grieving for your home How will we use Your dying Places for our dirty shacks Keys for our enjoyment Huge elephant I heard you rumbling Roaring notes tumbling Beneath us Dying heart beat On the edge of a noisy drum. We could take your life. In the depths of the rain forest Elephant I heard you rumbling Dying for your kind. We’ll never let you be. Instead of life we chose. Places for our dirty shacks Keys for our enjoyment. By Jonathan Currie 4R

JACK TRACY’S LETTER Dear Mr Kay, I think that the boys at Medbury should have no homework. Firstly, you might not fully understand the work you are doing. Also our teacher is not there to explain it better to us. If the teacher isn’t there homework eats up our free time. By Jack Tracy 5A

CSI ZONE Polar Bear poem Silent mound of snow Polar Bear, I hear your roar. Roaring in anger, in your pain and suffering but I know how we would use this, Greenhouse gases, melting snow, Pelts for our varnished floors. Hidden iceberg in the sea, I hear you call. Calling for your kind, over the snow laden ice flow ringing the ears of all your foes. I knew how we would use your broken heart. Greenhouse gases melting snow, Pelts for our varnished floors. Floating spirit in the sky I see your spirit floating in vengeance for your kind. I knew this sight wouldn’t change our minds. Greenhouse gases, melting snow, Pelts for our varnished floors. Polar bear, I hear you mourn. By Wilson Cowie 6P


Moving forest, following Elephant matriarch the wind, Your tears meet mine. Elephant Matriarch, I ING hear you crying. Your loud and beautiful “HEAV ’’ T R A E For your herd and cries. H home By Timothy Mitchell 6B Your tusks hanging from the wall, Remind me of your face, And calls to me Why you die. Jewellery for our necks, Key to our enjoyment. Heaving heart you have to carry Dragging your herd back

TIGER SLAUGHTER Mr tiger we take from you your pride and joy through and through. Rugs for our floors, Land for our buildings. Grieving for each-other Depending on one-another Rugs for our floors Land for our buildings Tigers running not looking back Burning pain then cold thud of ground life dwindling. Rugs for our floors, Land for our buildings. Cowering low hoping by hope, Man won’t find you and bind you in rope. By Oscar Curry 3F



Once upon a time there was a little poor boy named Pete. He was the son of two, the mother was called Mary and the father was called James. Every day at six o'clock Pete would go pick apples off an apple tree, although his family could not just eat apples, so they would sell them in the market, 5 for a bag of 10 gold. One sunny morning Pete got up to get apples and there was a big apple. It was even bigger than a cat, bigger than a chair and bigger than a table. In fact, it took up the whole tree so that no other apples could grow. So Pete started pulling. The apple would not move, no not one bit. So, Pete called Mary over. Together they pulled but the apple would not move, no not one bit. So they called James. So James pulled Mary, Mary pulled Pete and Pete pulled the apple. Then James sang, “Pull Pete, pull Pete. Come on Pete, if it doesn’t come out we’ll have nothing to eat” But the apple did not move. No not one bit. So Pete's friend pulled James, James pulled Mary, Mary pulled Pete and Pete pulled the apple. Then Pete’s friend sang, “Pull Pete, pull Pete come on Pete, if it doesn’t come out we’ll nothing to eat.” But the apple did not move. No not one bit. So Pet’s friend called his dog. The dog pulled Pete’s friend. Pete’s friend pulled James, James pulled Mary, Mary pulled Pet and Pet pulled the apple. Then they all sang, “Pull Pete, pull Pete come on Pete, if it doesn’t come out we’ll nothing to eat.” Then a little mouse came up. He said, “Leave this to me.” To that word he jumped on top of the apple and chewed right through the stalk. The apple fell down with a bang! That night they all had apple pie for dinner, and lived happily every after. By Nicholas Marriott 6P

THE MYSTERIOUS JUNGLE The Jungle was moist and damp. Leaves as big as desks were blocking every path that looked safe. Vines like long, twisting finger dangled down from above the tree tops. Huge tree trunks hung down like giant pillars, like an ocean of trees, each one hiding a million eyes. The Jungle was like a mysterious person, no one understood it and no one ever will. By Timothy Mitchell 6B


THE UNEXPECTED JOURNEY Shouts could be heard as the kids in the district wrestled for the stale piece of bread. Slowly the dust cleared and Singʼs gaunt, scarred face appeared in the middle. The kids who still had some energy groaned once they realized that Sing had beaten them again. He brushed some dirt from his permanently dirty clothes, then slowly wandered into the long deserted alley that he called home. He heard the others shout things like: “Come on give it ʻere!” and “You always take the food!” But he just called back, “Survival of the fittest!” Sing wandered over to a large hole in a wall, knelt down and crawled into it. He lay down and wondered what it would be like to have a family, or at least a relative or two.


Matt was the only thoughtful one in his family. This fourteen year old boy was the son of the multimillionaires Jane and Thomas Steel. He slowly trudged up the stairs wondering what it would be like to run away. Last night he had been almost tempted to do this. His father had shouted at him, calling him an idiot who wasted their money on those homeless people. Heʼd said it was a waste of time! Suddenly something hit him. He recalled what happened last night. Hmm, his dad shouted at him, he almost burst into tears, and.... Hey! Hold the phone! Whatʼs that in the background? His mum was laughing in agreement! “Thatʼs it! Iʼm leaving!” he said aloud. So he accessed his familyʼs funds and grabbed about $ 3500. Then he sneaked out the back door, called a cab, asked for the airport and left.


The harsh wind bit at Singʼs face and pushed his hair around, but he ignored it. Staring into the open plains of grass that lay just outside the grey ruins of his district. His district was quite an interesting place. Even on the sunniest, warmest day, his rustic home always seemed to have an eerie glow around it. Then a low grumble and billows of black smoke distracted him and made him look up. A long, slim plane came spinning down, landing roughly on the field.


Matt, whoʼd personally never been in a plane crash before, had no idea what to do. So he began to panic. He jumped out of his seat, shouting at the top of his lungs, “Help! What do we do?!” The pilotʼs mere reply was to get back into his seat. So he did just that, still screaming at the top of his lungs. THUD! Glancing out the window he saw the wing

had hit a tree and theyʼd crashed into field. He jumped out of his seat and burst through the pilotʼs door. Uh-oh. He had assumed that when the plane hit the tree, all it had taken out was the wing. He was wrong. A longer jutting branch, had struck the pilotʼs cabin killing him. Although he didnʼt even know the man, he couldnʼt help sobbing.


Sing, not quite knowing why, ran over to help the mysterious stranger. A couple of minutes later he reached the door, kicked it open, and ran inside. He found, at the foot of the door, a boy probably about thirteen years old, crying. But the boy stopped and looked up once Sing entered. “Wh-What do you-Who are you?” “Iʼm Sing,” came the reply. The boy stood up slowly. “Matt.” They shook hands. Slowly Matt explained to Sing everything that had happened to him from wanting to get away from his parents to his plane crashing in the middle of no where. Sing looked injured “I live here you know!” “Wh-Oh sorry. So, are you like, uh a-” “Orphan?” Sing finished “Yep.” so, after a lot more explaining they finally decided that Sing would help Matt get back to where he lived, which, if you didnʼt know the right techniques would be almost impossible. But for someone as aware and quick thinking as Sing, it shouldnʼt be to hard.


Sing and Matt packed all the supplies they could muster and set off on their journey. After about three hours Matt kept complaining that his feet were getting sore, but Sing coaxed him to keep going. “Just a bit longer!” “No! Iʼm tired!” But after a few more encouraging comments, Matt finally agreed to continue to the airport. After another hour or so, they reached the Hong Kong International airport. Now, Matt knew that all airports were ugly, but this one seemed to have achieved a new level of ugliness. Slabs of concrete were revealed underneath holes in the carpet. The

CSI ZONE plaster was peeling off the walls, leaving cracks. “Budget maintenance service,” thought Matt bitterly. “Matt, Matt!” Sing awoke him from his thoughts, “This way, come on!” Matt followed Sing through the crowds of people either hugging old relatives or waiting anxiously. Soon they arrived at a desk and lay down what money they had. “One room please.” The woman took most of the money and showed them to their room.


Matt awoke with Sing by his side nudging him gently, “Come on.” “Wha- but itʼs only,” he glanced down at his watch and pressed a button so it flickered into life. “Six thirty!” he finished. “I know! I know!” he cried “But for this to work we need to get over there at seven! Now pack what you can, but donʼt bring any bags.” So, by quarter to seven, they were running to the pick up point, and there, hidden in the shadows of a wall they devised their plan.


CHIME! CHIME! CHIME! CHIME! CHIME! CHIME! CHIME! “Go now!” Sing whispered. Then, as if out of nowhere Matt ran out, purposely bumping onto a passing man. He slipped over crashing into the food carriage that would serve on the flight back to London. The man looked around for Matt, but couldnʼt see him anywhere, for heʼd dived under the white cloth below the food carriage, followed by Sing. They looked at each other. Matt was grinning from ear to ear whilst Sing strained himself to hear what was happening. They heard the man mutter an apology and make sure the woman was okay. Then the wheels on the carriage started rolling. When they saw that movement, they knew they were okay. “Last call for all passengers boarding London 2978. Last call,” screeched the PA system. As that was being called out Sing and Matt were being pushed in the cart over to the private area on the plane. Sing peaked out of the cloth “Coastʼs clear!” but only when they felt the G force in the stomach did Sing and Matt finally sneak out the side of the cart and into the passenger section of the plane. “Now we need a miracle,” muttered Sing. “Over there!” cried Matt happily. They plopped themselves on two spare seats. Just as they were about to settle in, the old woman next to them glanced over, “Who are you?” she squeaked. “You werenʼt here last time I checked!” “Err... Yeah, sorry we were in the toilet.”

“Uh-huh,” she said sarcastically. But Sing and Matt were too exited to care. They had done it! They had successfully boarded the plane! He looked over at Matt to devise the next part of their plan, but he was already fast asleep. Soon Sing also fell into a deep sleep.


“Excuse me sir, but weʼre here,” said a womanʼs voice. Sing and Matt sleepily glanced up at the flight attendant's face and immediately woke up,”Weʼre where?” they cried together, but sheʼd all ready left. They bolted out of their seats and out the planeʼs door, barely waving at the door man. Before they knew it they were out, breathing in fresh air, “We did it!” they laughed, “We actually did it!” “Now where exactly do you live?” asked Sing. “Not far from here.” “Letʼs go then!” Together they ran through the crowded streets of London until they reached his house. They basically knocked the old oak door of its hinges and raced into his parentsʼ lounge. Thomas and Jane were sitting on the sofa, silently sobbing. But when Matt entered their sadness disappeared. They jumped up and embraced him with happiness that no words can describe. “So youʼre not mad with me?” asked Matt. Of course not! Your running away has made us realize how important you actually are.” So after a couple more hugs and kisses, Sing walked in, empty faced. The smiles fell from the parents faces and turned, not to anger but to suspicion. “And whoʼs this?” “This is... Sing. Without him I probably wouldnʼt be here.” The parents introduced themselves to Sing. Then Matt whispered something to his parents, and they whispered something back. Then Matt grabbed Sing by the arm and pulled out the door “Hey, whatʼs the big idea?” “We can adopt you!” Sing was taken back by this, “You, can... Y-You... Can, you... YOU CAN ADOPT ME?!”


2 months later... “SING!” “Yes?” “Come on. Your breakfastʼs getting cold, and you donʼt want to be late for your first day of school!” With that Sing came rushing down the stairs in a red and blue stripped tie, a white shirt, long grey socks and heavy grey shorts. “How do I look?” “Wonderful!” laughed Jane. By Nick Stewart 7FR


MAUI PRESENTATION After the performance...

The climax fades; the boys file out; then the scene of the waka and the giant fish returns to the guise of the auditorium. The production is over and I am still getting over the buzz of the applause, wondering eyes and the realization that I hadn’t forgotten my lines! To be in a performance is to be part of a team and when the end arrives the sense of achievement is massive, though my part in the play was a mere 5 lines. All the parts came together, complementing each other without overpowering the story. Everyone tried their hardest to get the actions right, but the passion displaced any mistakes. By Will Pratt 8B


After many strenuous practices and rehearsals ranging from school time to Sunday evenings, we were all finally psyched up for the 2009 rendition of Maui Fishing up the North Island!!! As we waited silently in the hall we could hear the buzz of the audience and feel the anticipation of another fine Medbury performance... We did not fail to deliver. The group scenes were realistic, the freezes were statue-still and the haka was an emphatic climax. It was a successful half hour of performance, As we preformed the haka, the audience watched in awe as incredible emotion and dedication were displayed. Although it had been hard work, all our practice had come to fruition, and it was a very enjoyable and memorable experience for actors and audience alike. By George Fitzgerald 8B

WHY? Why do the girls ignore us? We yell at them We climb the gates In front of them We pull their hair But they just walk on Without reacting. They are no fun They walk past The same houses The same graveyard The same woods Tick tock tick tock Like clockwork What’s going on In their heads These goody Goody girls? By Oscar Deans 7FD

These poems are based on Good Girls by Irene Rawnsley.



My stomach Cries out in hunger. There is nothing left For me In these woods. My ear Has fallen off its hinges. My coat is matted, Mangy. My eyes Have no spark. I am old now. I hear footsteps And I tremble. I can no longer fight. The light fades. By Ben Loeffen Gallagher 7M


We didn’t go To school today. We were too busy Throwing fire crackers Through the witch’s window. Our parents tell us Not to smoke But we do In the graveyard Behind the stone angels. The wolves Are another story. We have their heads To show our glory. We think homework Is really dumb. We never do it Ever. by Charles Howard 7M


MYSTERY FRUIT It looks like a rock Trapped in a fruity jail, Smothered Under green blankets.

Tanka A tanka is a Japanese poem consisting of five lines, the first and third of which have five syllables and the other seven, making 31 syllables in all and giving a complete picture of an event or mood.

It smells like broccoli Steamed on a plate Waiting To be eaten. It feels like sandpaper Waiting on a bench Smooth Underneath. Mystery fruit Looks like a rock, Smells like broccoli, Feels like sandpaper, Could be a pear. Surprise! It’s a conker!!

oon ag m e h t n fl of a e c l i r d e d Mi e Am lag h t s d Stan into the f y enough l . Zoom look close e in China d If you notice ma l You’l An 8B n u J By

By Wilson Cowie 6P


A diseased pear With a tortoise shell Not strong enough To withstand The fall. When it lands It opens Revealing A brown glossy fruit. A conker is born. By Reid Edmond 6P

The slip p Scorche ery ball s Throug past the keepe h r Across the brittle net ’s gloves th I trudge e muddy wast el off to re trieve it and. . By Will Pratt 8B



By James O


nro 8 James Mu

These pupils were very successful in layering and masking objects to create a composition expressing NZ heritage and their personality traits.

William Fulton 8H




BEAR KILLER Black king of the forest I hear you Grieving.

THE MAGIC HAT I will put in the hat a blue blood-stained fang from the darkest dragon, the final whisper of a storm, a black heart of an ancient warlord.

Great bear crying, crying for your kind. I knew how we would use your dying:

I will put in the hat

Rugs for our living room floors. Trees for our cabinets.

I will put in the hat

As your killer raises the gun you charge forward to protect your young. Now you lie silently no roar escapes your mouth. I knew how we would use your dying: Rugs for our living room floor. Trees for our cabinets.

a lap of water from the purest spring, a photo with a green void, the bluest sapphire from my fathers eye.

the grain of time from a legendary hourglass, a black cat with twelve tails, the coldest kiss from my mother. I will put in the hat the sweetest taste from the purplest grape, the first tear of the weeping willow, the broken time of a clock. My hat is fashioned from the blackest leather of the underground and decorated with the whitest onyx. There is words in the seams and a red boa on the front. I shall wear this hat listening to the secrets in the seams and the final words of this poem. By Wilson Cowie 6P

By Jack Tracy 5A



CSI Zone 2009  
CSI Zone 2009  

The second edition of our creative magazine produced by boys within the school. Special thanks to Martin Bell (Year 8) as chief editor.