Dorothea Mackellar prizes for PLC girls

Pippa Atwell (left) and Saskia Flemming, both Year 11.

Two PLC Perth Year 11 students have swept the prize pool in the prestigious annual Dorothea Mackellar Poetry Awards, which was announced in September.

A life-long fear of octopuses gave Year 11 student, Pippa Atwell, the inspiration to pen a poem which has placed her first in the Secondary School category for the coveted national competition.

Saskia Fleming drew on a farming lifestyle theme to take out second prize in the Senior School category.

Both students attributed their success in part to English Teacher and long-term PLC staff member, Roland Leach, who they said inspired and encouraged them to develop a love of language and poetry.

“Mr Leach’s knowledge and talent is very impressive, but it’s his love of language and passion for poetry that is most inspiring and encourages many students to keep writing,” Saskia said. “He makes you think about words and concepts in unique ways, which always inspires me to try something new in my own writing. I remember in Year 5, he stood on a table because that way we would never forget the lesson. I still haven’t forgotten that lesson, Mr Leach!”

Pippa said her winning poem 'Creatures of Digits' was inspired by a lifetime of strange encounters with octopuses. “When I was about five, I was standing on a reef down south and an octopus started chasing me across it. Ever since this encounter, I’ve had a number of unfortunate incidences with octopuses.

“Last year, I had one nearly land on me when a bird that was flying over dropped it.

“Although my octopus fear has always been a bit of a joke in our family, it led me to realise that they are truly amazing and unique animals. Therefore, I did some research about them and found out some very interesting facts, which inspired me to write the poem about them.”

Pippa said 'Creatures of Digits' was an attempt to voice the natural beauty as well as the amazing physiological aspects of the octopus.

Saskia’s poem, 'Granfarmers' conveyed that for many people, farming wasn’t just an occupation, it’s a lifestyle. “This is especially evident when people get old; they find it difficult to leave the farm behind,” Saskia said. Her grandfather still runs the family farm at aged 87 and this had inspired her poem.

Another two PLC students were also recognised in the awards. Noah Hall, Year 11, was shortlised for her poem 'Bittersweet', and Tallulah Pestell, Year 12, and Layla Tomljanovich, Year 11, received commendations for their entries. Zero bones I dance with the thickness of time in fever dreams a steady seep of oily tendrils. My lithe and boneless body finds sanctum in a glazed glass jar or untenanted crevasse. I am the drifter of Davy Jones’ Locker.

One beak rigid amongst layers of supple flesh. I dream of snaring saline game between gossamer web and scissor-like talon. Leaving minced crab and beak-worked whelk in a trail of barbarity.

Two eyes large as fear. My camera lens iris, a silken slit of slate. The Hadal Zone, when you can’t tell which way is up. Look closely, you will unearth my timorous guise. The diminutive reincarnation of my fabled forefather.

Three hearts Briny blue blood oozes through my veins, a smouldering fire searing amongst frozen constellations of seafarers’ souls. Singing like sirens, it is siphoned by a triad of tidal pulses. The brittle balance that keeps me suspended.

Eight legs webbed and boldly striped, propel me through the water skating on nautical silk. I am the aquatic arachnid. Come too close, they will unfurl into a net that stretches far beyond the tiny boundaries of your courage.

Nine brains Muses of hunting, preying, deception. My octarchy of savage spry arms Administered by intellect, the capital and cunning commander.

Two thousand two hundred and forty suckers let them bind us, I am yours. Stay with me. Then leave. In three hundred and sixty tides, I will be gone. For solitude is my curse.

Thirty seven thousand three hundred and sixty colour changing cells I will absorb hue and light meticulously. Scuffle with me and I will release my prided paint. Black as serenity, dense as nightmares. You’ll be left gaping at phantom limbs.