Lighting the Flame by Bodhidasa Caldwell

Foreward The flame that sparks the clearest light The dawn of hope beyond the night And to blank minds it does set fire For one sole purpose; to inspire. From bloodstains in the poppy fields to drinking milky tea, it seems like anything can inspire 7MT6 to write a collection of poems that have been thoroughly selected by several members of our class. Each of them were written for a different purpose; some to entertain; some hiding a deeper meaning; an overview of life within the words. In the process, we each developed our own poetry scrapbook. By handwriting some of our drafts and occasionally sketching ideas that spark our minds, we managed to shape our poems in a more interesting way. We also added colour to black and white with vivid magazine letters and intriguing phrases. Pictures such as old bicycles became a thorough reflection. However, we have not only been writing poetry but also ‘exploding’ them. This means pulling apart a poem, and noting what gives the poem its colour. A standout poem that we studied was ‘Bushfire’, a poem full of rage and ferocity, in which personification took over as main description. Mary Oliver was also an inspiration as we were asked to select several lines from her reflective poem, ‘The Ponds’ and expand on that by writing our own that was based on the line. One of the ways that helped us craft our own poem was sitting out in the garden looking for inspiration by observing the beauty in nature. Everyone had their own way of expressing their view, so we turned out with both optimistic and pessimistic poems. However, the differences were all just the thin outer coating of the poems; differences such literacy techniques and attitude. The inner soul of all of them contained personal thoughts and connected with personal experiences that inspired and changed us. This is what stirred life into our poetry. But of course, none of this would have happened without the diligent assistance of the teachers. Poetry made this year complete as they took us on the ultimate ride across oceans of onomatopoeia and peaks of personification. Our final work we do present We now look back with sheer content Once you read through our collection Hope it gives you inspiration.

Sheree Kuan Editorial coordinator Winner of the Whitlam Institute’s ‘What Matters’ writing competition 2012 Student of 7MT6

Editorial team Anna Wilson, Carma Jackson, Mai Russo, Elizabeth Hewish, Michelle Wang. Editor in Chief Sheree Kuan Consultant and publisher Mr Steven Caldwell

Judging a Flower It grows on us The judging comments kill But there is nothing worse Than getting picked out of the bunch For being too old Like life You’re only a model if society says you’re perfect You are told you are Too tall Too short Too fat Too skinny Getting judged for being too fat for a model So they stop eating Self-confidence goes Getting told you’re not good enough Is something many teens are told today So next time you see that old crinkled flower Leave it It deserves its place

Just like you -‐Phoebe

Haiku A laugh & a smile Happiness, love and safety People want & need.

-‐Isabelle

Life Life is made up of two things, Happiness and sadness, Everything else is between the two The universe is made up of all forms of life Our aversion and phobia is What doesn’t exist. People can possess aspiration Because our eyes are unable to see death. If I was the wind, I could connect people’s hearts Just as I amalgamate The eternally separated hopes. I wield a sword to protect others And to kill. When tarnished, I can’t cut again. When you lose your grip, I will be tattered apart. Yes, it’s with that pride that Has me resemble a blade. Ah, even though our eyes are opened, We are hallucinating of Flying through the heavens. We extend our hands, To brush away the clouds and penetrate the sky, But even if we seize the moon and Mars, We still can’t reach the truth. I enjoy painting the Skies red, With pellucid crimson coloured liquid Glistening in the evening Sun. No one can obtain anything without sacrificing something first, And something that is lost once can never return. This is the reality of life.

-‐Vivian

TEA POEM I like milky tea The anticipation while waiting for the kettle to boil The satisfaction while dunking the tea bag in The contentment when you realize it’s finally ready Then comes the first sip The anticipation of whether or not it will scald your mouth The satisfaction when you realize that it is perfect The contentment of being able to gulp and swallow and sip Finally, you are happy. -‐Ella

The Place We Belong A place of loss and gain, A place of belonging and isolation, A place of pleasure and pain, A place of depression and elation, A place of diversity and uniformity, A place of comfort and distress, A place of absurdity and rationality, A place of failure and success A place where we all belong.

-‐Haelin

The Sloths of the Sky Hunting for nothing yet the perfect predators my clouds aren’t noticed by the busy eye. So noncommittal, splitting, tearing, floating apart they leave their skybound counterparts Imposed upon by the rest of the world they choose to wear such impositions and blemished with pride. Or perhaps disinterest? Do my cloud really care for the people they watch, with one lazy eye? do they care for the planes and birds that invade their wispy havens? Perhaps they believe that you are irrelevant, just lumps of flesh and bone living lives of lies. Just like you believe that my cloud’s journeys are aimless and their existence, another of the world’s enigmas. They impose silence upon the angers of your world, you are two sides of the same coin. Life on Earth is living a life in obnoxious harmony with the sloths of the sky.

-‐Belle

Midsummer Ponds Midsummer ponds of purple petals, bright green stems, perfection at its peak. as I lean in, the aroma sweeps up at me where the daisies stand tall on their lime stems. sweet buds -‐ of unopened beauty and purity sitting in a carpet of purple petals -‐ victims of a windstorm, sleep lazily until the day where their faces can smile up at the sun. fluorescent stems crawl up, and up, and up, and up, trying to grasp the soft white clouds but when they don’t reach, they don’t fall-‐they keep on climbing. purple petals, bright green stems blossoming, opening, revealing. basking in the sun of the midsummer ponds.

-‐Anastasia

Rabbits Run, don’t hop, They will get you, With your fast hopping skills, Your large ears, You are no match for them. They come buzzing from the sky, With little sucking tubes, They come to feast, Here, to suck on your blood. Beware, for what is inside these creatures, A deadly brew to kill you, 12-‐18 hours you can live, Your heart will burn, Your systems will fail, But there is nothing you can do. Mosquitoes.

~ Mai

The taste of summer The sensation Of biting into your first mango, after winter. The sweet, ripe, juicy taste Of summer is back. You savour every piece as The juice trickles down your face And can’t help but smile At the golden colour of the perfect mango. You taste, Enjoy, Love, Savour, Finish The mango, the sweet taste of summer

-‐Izzy

How to uncover a poem -‐ The Rose

Loves me. Loves me not A soft, feather-‐like blanket covers the secrets, revealed Only to those able to uncover the truth behind it. Rough thorns with such unpredictable Power. Ready to prick those who venture too far. The mesmerizing aroma encases the Explorer into a world of luscious Colour and imaginative ideas. The many layers of petals play With your eyes and you find Yourself in a maze of puzzles And metaphors. Only to find nothing After all the petals are gone. Loves me. Loves me not.

-‐Bella

I can hardly believe The creator of humankind Can also be the figure that brings us down Its fiery blaze so willingly beautiful Yet unknowingly the cause of death for many I can hardly believe. We can’t escape this difficult world Where the food we nurture Grows from our major threat But that’s the beauty of life – I can hardly believe. It takes seconds to notice the charm That streams from inside its soul Yet years to realize the real damage That it ushers into us – I can hardly believe. So when I stare into the White fire of this mystery I think to myself – I can hardly believe. -‐Olivia

Never Give Up Life isn’t easy Easy as you would think it would be; Climbing mountains, it’s hard I know All the pain and injuries that are made But wait until you reach the top Everything is there below you Your mind blows out from the wonderful vision Pains and injuries you had while climbing Cicatrizes from the amazement and excitement inside you But once again you think What if I had given up? What would have happened to me? All the pains and injuries would have stayed in my heart Not having any resolution So never give up not matter what All the wonders will be waiting for you at the top -‐Tiffany

The Ant Brought into the world feeling nothing but curiosity, Bathed in sun and your parents’ generosity, But what lies ahead beyond the familiarity? A step in the real world shocks the heart, Watch out! A near miss with horse and cart, Cold and alone in a distant world, Kids run around and a ball is hurled, A dark shadow blocks all in sight, Thundering voices don’t ask if you’re all right! A great big giant, hovering towards you… Squish.

-‐Ashley

You run your finger along the rows You stop You pick it up You blow off the dust You look at the title You read the blurb You open it to the very first page You find a place to sit You begin Then all of a sudden you’re not sitting you’re standing about to enter battle along Legolas and Aragorn You’re flying high in the sky with Peter and his Friends. You’re learning magic in a school filled with moving pictures and hidden passageways, You’re saving a world from the clutches of an evil queen with the help of a talking lion You’re helping solve murder cases alongside the best, You put it down You close it, You begin to stand up, You put it back on the shelf You walk away, You leave this place But it’s not over. Some one other day in some other way these stories will come back to you And others will go on these journeys With or without you. -‐Jasmine

Little Crib The bed is a warm cocoon Holding you close and never letting go The pillow is a soft jacaranda Caressing your cheeks and stroking your hair You eyelids droop You drift further and further away Out to a sea of dreams… The voyage to the sea of dreams Is a rocky one You pass pirates holding ransom, Brides with veils falling down their backs But your little crib keeps you safe & sound. You drift among your dreams Warm and safe in your Little crib

-‐Francesca

A Stray Bullet

Blood. Screaming of a loved one Silence. How will his family feel? Who will kiss his child goodnight? All around The grey fields… Lifeless… Covered with dead bodies Loss of hope. All because of a stray bullet!

-‐Lillian

The Raven and the Apple Core When the Walker* dreams are over And I’m the only bird who stands Greetings from an apple core Rang throughout the silenced land “You over there! Yes, the one with the feathers Come over, will you? It’s really quite dull With me rotting there in this lovely weather In a beetle’s sneeze of a hole.” My victims gone, my tricking days done I did as the apple core bid Just for something to do, a lil’ bit of fun It was rather queer, I’ll admit. The core’s pallid face stared with seedy eyes “You! My good bird, join me in my game That shall continue way past my demise Are you brave, sir, or are you tame?” “Now listen here, sir, the rules are quite clear Just reach for the sky and keep striving higher And the one closest to Heaven in fifty years Shall have whatever it is they desire.” I nodded eagerly, flight’s my expertise It’ll be all too easy, this so called game I shall ace as if it were an upwind breeze Then step forward proudly to name my claim For forty-‐nine years I glided sunwards The king of the skies, the shadow of Heaven Nothing can stop me from my journey upwards For I am the invincible, glorious Raven. But I am bird, and I am mortal My feathers greyed, my wings became brittle And everyday I lived in fear of the Downfall** Catching up to me, little by little

When fifty years ended I went to see The apple core. But it was not there! Instead gracing the hills, an apple tree Spreading its branching, as if in prayer It stood kingly and grand, the clouds its crown Then came the knowledge, it had defeated me For I cannot lift myself so high again The limits of age, I just could not foresee My head hung, my wings limp by my sides Shameful and beaten by the tree’s victory But it said-‐“Dear friend, do not forfeit your pride You have not lost yet-‐ roost under my leaves.” Like fifty years ago, I did as was asked I rested my ancient bones in the cool, fragrant shade While in daylight the apple tree basked No longer opponents-‐allies were made I must have dozed off at some stage or so I found my self waking in a tangle of roots Lifted through the tree’s veins, higher than I’ll ever go A single dainty bud blooming among the fruits “Flower, I am not one to break my word You have won and you can name your prize Whether it be simple, complex or absurd I’ll find it for you-‐I do not lie.” I felt the world flowing through my petals I felt the thing that are and the things that aren’t And I said-‐ “Whether it be wooden, woolen or metal There is nothing, nothing, that I could possibly want.”

*The avian term for the post-‐apocalyptic era in which an evolved version of h umans worshipped fruit and m ass-‐sacrificed birds to extinction. **The avian term for death.

The Tree I can hardly believe The stillness of the tree. How it stands alone. As one. It’s trunk is wrinkled, Covered in a sickly brown. Dented, scarred From the urge to be perfect. Its branches ascend in all directions, Trying to find their own path. Their calling. Escaping from the imperfections. But the journey is never-ending, For imperfections are Never-ending. We can’t escape. Beauty comes from within, But the trees abrasions tell differently. A story some may never understand. One that some know too well. For how may we judge The true beauty of the tree? For it’s modest appearance Is what’s beautiful. A beauty I can hardly believe. -‐ Anna (inspired by the work of Mary Oliver)

The change I can hardly believe how in such a fragile time the gloomy boughs and blows of cloudy days-‐ the stark jaggedness of branch against the rolling steel of the sky-‐ So soon, becomes the bloom, the expansive warm breadth of blue that has me swooning, squinting into the uplift of light. So soon. What I want is to be content truly content with either stark branch or radiant flower dried crust of leaf smooth skein of dew -‐ cradling both with an equal tenderness of heart, Yet I turn, So soon from the embrace of twilight and yearn, instead, for the dawn ignoring the tragic glorious unwanted eternal necessary and all too soon promise of change. No illumination without first a darkened room.

Mr Caldwell

BETWEEN THE BEATS OF THE METRONOME Pale grey splotches creamy white Shadowing the imprinted black The monotonous march of steady tolls Engraved in my soul. I live in the beat of a metronome Trapped within walls of reality Overwhelming desire to dream, to escape To escape from the tolls that drone in my ear I dream to slip between that steady rhythm To be myself And only myself My fingers linger over tarnished keys A myriad of black and white. Mist clouds reality as I play Play to my heart’s content Nothing can quell me As I dream and act against time Against black and white.

~ Sheree

A triptych Drums To go unhindered by roots and soil To cast away the competition of burning defeat And rise, untouched by beating drums Urging you to dance, Faster, faster Up hight, silence falls into the arms of delicate blossoms Swaying-‐ Swaying ever so slowly Shrivelling into drops of blood Under a blanket of dappling sunlight Blossom Blades of dying sunsets Woven into fragile petals And held high in the wind. Like the sun and all the stars, Come together in an all-‐powerful dance. The Pool Pale blue light Reflected in the eyes Of all that surround it Calm, quiet, tranquil Everything we long for, but lack. Dive beneath the welcoming depths Feel it on your body Like a skin of liquid silver Which clings to you Long after you leave This world of glass. ~ Carma