The roar of the crowd seemed far away as Walter Mitty slowly and calmly took off his track suit. The Mexican sun shone from the blue sky overhead and round the great stadium waves of heat reflected from the brown track and pale green turf. But Mitty felt cool — cool as ice! The gold medal would be Ms again in a very short time, just as it had been in 1964 and before in 1960 when admiring crowds in Tokyo and Melbourne had been amazed and frightened by his power and grace. Who else could have run a mile in less than three and a half minutes and at the same time bear the pain of a broken wrist? A broken wrist due to his bravery in rescuing single handed the President's daughter from the blazing hotel.
Mitty's fellow competitors nervously took their places on the track, some looking anxiously over their shoulders at the others, doing the jumps. Mitty walked to his place with a tiny smile on his lips. They took up starting positions. The great stadium hushed and to Mitty's super keen ears came the tiny click of the starter's pistol being raised. His great muscles tensed and as the shot echoed over the track his body shot forward clear of the others like a gleaming arrow from a giant bow. Five yards ahead and the roar of the crowd was growing louder in his ears. Mitty looked over his shoulder — the rest were far behind. He would win easily — perhaps take with him the seemingly impossible three minute mile!!
"Walter, that egg will be as hard as rock if you don't take it off quickly!" said Mrs. Mitty, "New hurry up, or we'll miss that bus".
Fiona Harrow. 2A2
We stood, poised on a hill. In the valley below we could see hounds frantically rushing round with their noses to the ground; searching for a whiff of the scent that would call up their music, that rich mellow sound that comes from the bottom of their throats. Round about us were horses, large and small, all with their ears pointed right forward; all with eyes on hounds.
Suddenly a tan and white bitch gave cry and the whole pack went streaming off fin the direction of the woods. A farm hand gave the "view holloa", and pointed towards a copse. The master raised his hand; everyone surged forward, all eyes on the fast disappearing hounds.
Julie Stephenson. IAI.
REFLECTIONS ON THE SEA
Today is a blue day: not the cold harsh blue ice in winter when the wind cuts like a knife and the light filters strangely through the clouds, nor the soft fresh blue of a rain-washed sky in spring. Today the sea has become a polished sapphire mirror glittering under the fierce onslaughts of an August sun. The horizon is a blue haze where the shimmering sea embraces the stiller, heat-heavy blue of the sky. Only the deep water is cool and dark Above, the blistering light beats down without mercy making the world a monotone of endless blue; but below there is turquoise, obsidian, aquamarine and a deep ,deep indigo. Today is a blue day.
Yesterday was a green day: sky the colour of pea soup and clouds tinged with a livid green sea-colour, storm-colour-racing before the wind. The dividing line between sea and sky was sharp as a razor's edge as if the sea would leap up any moment and cut itself away from the grey-green dome of the sky. White horses rode wild on the crests of the waves tossing the drifting spume into the green, green sea; and when the sun shone the water became emerald and the spray a cluster of sea-pearls and bright crystals. Yesterday was a green day.
Tonight will be golden: a molten sea beneath a metallic sky, and the great glowting orb of the sun touching the world with Midas-fingers before he sinks to rest. And tomorrow there will be no more sun; only grey sea and greyer sky and the soft splash of rain slipping gently into the still water. Tomorrow will be a grey day.
Julia Northey U6A
LIVERPOOL FOOTBALL TEAM
Thompson is majestic most popular of all,
Callaghan's fantastic a magician with the ball.
St. John scores the kind of goals no other really can
Lawler may be small but he's a match for any man.
Hughes he is the newest and he's very good
Wall will be a champion just like Shankly said he would.
Hateley came from Chelsea at a 100,000 cost
Lawrence pulls off brilliant saves when everything seems lost.
And Yeats, oh well, he strides through games as if he's ten feet tail,
My favourite team is Liverpool, the greatest of them all.
David Henshall. IAI.
JUST FOR A LAUGH
The Space Baby laughed. The Solar System was pleasant enough but it lacked the quality of his own deserted home.
I'll fix this quick enough, he thought. The first planet held nothing and neither did the second. He moved on.
But the third. Yes! The third was different. A quick look — noone was watching. He picked it up and squeezed.
He laughed and moved on.
J. Fergerson. 4R.
Mrs. Taylor was a well kept, tidy minded
Person, married to a business man.
She would dress in her second best hat
Go to the shops
Tidy the house.
But one day a longing for freedom came over her. She did not go to the shops Or tidy the house.
Instead she roamed the streets, got on a bus bound for the country, Went in a field but was chased off by a farmer,
Walked in the park but was shown a "Keep off the Grass" sign by the
So she went to the shops Tidied the house — Disappointed.
Elizabeth Shouls 3.A.
Water comes tumbling down, white with spray and foam, bursting against the sides of the gorge wiith a roar and a rumble. The sheer sides of the gorge are green with thick creepers and mosses. The trees bent and crooked grow out from the cliff-side. Above, the sky is white with clouds and the sunlight cannot reach down into the dark deep gorge.
Christopher Hurst. IA2.
THE MATCHSTICK GIRL
The young girl is sitting On the cold pavement,
With a bundle of matches In her lap. Her father wiill
Beat her, for not selling any She lights one for warmth,
And sees her dead grandmother Before her, the only kind
Comforting person she ever knew
The match is going out, and
Her grandmother is disappearing,
She quickly lights the rest, and
Her grandmother comes down,
Towards her, to take her away.
, In the morning, the passer-by
Sees the dead body of a
Matchstick girl, with her Matches around her, burnt.
THE OLD MAN
The wizened old man turns away, From the fresh green grass, the clidren at play. Through his tired old brain his thoughts go, Over his childhood, the remembrance hurts so.
The big oak tree in his old home grounds, The laughter returns, his heavy heart pounds. His sad old eyes are forced to see, The times that caused such misery.
His college graduation day, The first great job, the week's pay. The years that followed, such happiness,, Tears of sorrow his cheeks caress.
His brain now feels that life's a strain, The old sad heart is lost in pain. His aged chest heaves with every breath, Life for the lonely is a living death.
The children's cries now nise supreme, The man returns from his daydream. His heart stops beating, seemingly, With the effort he uses these bonds to free.
Pat Tvler. 2AI.
Sleep stretches out its fingers —
Reaching in — it finds —
Sleep draws closer,
body- mind and soul ensconced
within a tiny world.
The universe of an individual
passing through a door.
Fantasy dances in and out,
Dreams follow in sequence,
fade in, fade out, flash on and off. Lemon and orange — Sweet and sour, Black and white — Right and wrong, Purple and indigo — Passions aroused, Coffee and cream, soft warm flesh. The elements obey no laws — Water flows up through a column of fire, rocks stand in blocks,
air blends its colours
dreams see no bounds.
While the body rests
the mind never stops.
For a while the two exist together
drifting hand in hand.
The body stirs,
fancies flee away —
elements fall into place,
colours are static,
boundaries and rules are made.
The mind is once more captive,
as the soul;
Within the body
In sluggish motion
Day drags on,
And waits for night to kill the pain.
Hilary Burrell. 5A.
Reckless teenagers, in mysterious robes of dazzling colours. Physchedelic patterns all around, A funfair in full swing.
Lesley Tyson. IB.
Alone, confined, locked up, With chains around his hands.
Thrown out from man's world, The wretched prisoner stands.
Vivienne Johnstone. IAI.
It was ear-breaking
The noise from the welding,
Like a rhino ascending.
There was no silence
J. Thompson. IA2.
THE WIND, THE SEA AND ME
Howling, noisily whistling,
that's the wind. Gentle, soft refreshing,
that's the wind.
Raging, spraying, foaming,
that's the sea. Calm, gentle, still as a mill pond,
that's the sea.
A sailor in his little yacht,
that's me. Battling the sea and wind alone
Paul Thomas. 2B.
AN IMPORTANT DATE
Year of our Lord.
The beginningOf the end.
Kevin Stone. 4P.
THE WITHERING, THE DEAD AND THE HOPE
Swaying on the moving platform
I watched the ebbing tide,
It carried out my thoughts and hopes,
Deserted on the beach I died.
But still the wave is moving,
Collecting in its stead,
The loves and fears of withering men,
The memories of the dead.
But from afar the tide's wet glow
Restores an inward light,
The worst is past and now hope's grace
Lights up the black of night.
What might exist where we've not lived
And can our blind be made to see?
For having mastered strife and dark
We might reach through hope, eterniity.
Evan Potts L6A.
O! how I wish that I cood spel then mi works ov art I'd sel Then mi poems ov every digre Wood bring mony home to me. Wen I show mi poems to important pepol, the mowst is two, They larf and snlger out alowd And I disapeer under a clowd.
Anthony Summons. 2C2.
Like an avalanche
Is the water
Rushing and galloping
It goes as stairs,
The water falling on the rocks
That are covered in moss.
The diamonds that fall on the green velvety moss
Twinkle and glitter in the sun.
The spray is like sparks
And the smoke is rising
Higher and higher into the air.
The trees all brown and green
Are sliding slowly into the steamy water.
Fiona Kettles. IA2. 41
Thirteen years old — you're old enough now
To make your own bed and wash op the dishes;
A capable person, a child no longer,
You dream of respect and being asked your opinion;
And does this time come, when your opinion is wanted?
No, you must wait till you're older.
Life does not change from this year to the next,
School continues in the very same way.
You follow a pattern like a computer —
Get up. go out, come home, and then —
One day you suddenly realize
That this year of life has gone very quickly —
Like an arrow, which, once released from it's bow
Takes heed of no warnings and speeds past all time
Till it reaches its destiny —
The age of sixteen.
Sweet sixteen! Oh, what an age,
The age of elegance, parties and dances!
Happiness is radiated all around you.
Until one happening blackens all of these changes •—
Changes which have been so badly wanted.
That word — it send shivers down your spine,
Your mouth dries up, your mind is blank;
But each girl and each boy must face his exams,
In order to survive in 'this day and age.
Exams are behind you — your future's ahead,
Your opinion is wanted — that much longed-for moment.
Complete independence is now what you yearn for,
It's vital now that you're learning a trade.
At last, your way of life,
It belongs to you.
No need to take advice from others,
For you have reached the age of decision,
and this time the decision has become your own.
Jane Stephenson V A.
WaMng through the rustling
As they fall gently from the trees.
Roasting chestnuts on the fire,
With the smoke rising
Shelogh Bannister. 2B.
JUNGLE OF LIFE
As a child I saw paradise,
Long sunny hours,
Laughing and playing
Dancing and singing —
Simplicity, lending a joy of its own.
One morning I woke
The flowers had faded,
The jungle was thickening,
The sky was deep red;
A voice was calling —
I heard it quite clearly —
But the path that was open
Now thickened with dread.
At first it seemed useless
To battle the tendrils
That closed up my ears and my eyes and my mouth;
At first it seemed hopeless
To reach what I looked for
To find what I wanted in the stifling growth.
But now I know beauty
More lasting than flowers
Now there is laughter in fighting the pain.
Laughing and weeping,
Stumbling and flying,
Complexity giving a bitter-sweet flame.
Hilary Burrell 5A
A single word Memories
Concentration slipping The Master's voice fading Eyes fixed Thoughts flashing Lost in another world.
Christopher Morris 4R.
Still and quiet on the water's edge stands a Heron.
Peacefully and slowly across the
Rippling river glides the snow-white swan.
I look into the water as if it were a mirror
And see the peace of country life and listen to its song.
Melanie White. IAI.
His mood was blue.
His sorrow inconceivable.
His love irretrievable.
His depression uncontrollable.
His loneliness incredible.
His feelings inevitable.
His gun was black His fingers were slack. His death was painless. His face was shameless. And his chest was red. He was cold, and dead.
Julia Hann 5A
THE ONLY MOURNERS
Solitary a tree stands Bullet-ridden trunk and branches The only mourners
Tree-stumps, tin cans, helmets, stray bullets Litter the vast emptiness of useless land The rubble-Once cultivated Now a mass of footprints On footprints Wheel tracks On wheel tracks Bomb craters and more Bomb craters This is the coffin For the unlimited toll of men.
Jeff Williams 3.A.
ANNE SHEPHERD. 2A2
(I do hope these clever people know how much trouble they cause typesetters!!- Web Ed)
Lessons, lessons, lessons,
History French and Maths,
Julius Caeser was born in May
And if you're not careful you'll have to pay
For all your fooling and play.
Peter be quiet
James shut up
And Elaine get out of this
Next comes music
Do, Ray Me.
Then it's French
Oo Deary me,
I'm sure to fail on my un, deux, trois ...
Jil stop fooling and Lin be good, Susan, Anne and Jean come here. Up goes the ruler and down go we — Wack, wack, wack, Oh sore are we.
Now go and sit down and Ring, ring, ring, Ah! saved by the ting and the ling of the bell.
We all stand up and scrape
Then say our prayers
And rush out,
T. Inglis. 2CI
I once had a little hampster
Whose fur was as soft as silk,
His nest was made of straw.
Each day he crept to his dish of food,
And filled his cheeks right full.
He scampered back to his nest
Then emptied the food from his cheeks
And stored it there.
His Day's work finished, he slept peacefully.
S. Calvert. ICI.
THE FLOWER BED
In the flower bed
The daffodils bloom yellow
Heralding the Spring.
Penelope Smith. IAI.
The loitering moon
Rides on a carpet of mist Across starlit skies.
Timothy Edge. IAI.
Power, faculty, Qualification, Skill, efficiency, Adroitness, talent, Ingenuity, Competency, gift Skilfulness, aptitude, Capability, Facility, quickness, Cleverness, genius.
Ian Brown 5A
Sand, Sand and still sand,
Going on for ever. Uninhabited Unknown, Unwanted. The sand changes, swirling, sifting, shimmering, singing sand Singing to itself in sweeps of blue. Smoothly slipping into new shapes in a day or night. lit would be so easy to get lost alone in the vast unfriendly expanse of lonely blue sand.
Caroline Hogg 3.A.
ODE TO A FAN
Oh golden mean of wind propulsion How dost thou maintain thy motion? Breathing o're my sweating brow, Rotating blades are turning now.
Oh vibrating monarch seated high Upon thy pedestal in the sky, Precipitated by the law of Ohms, Bringing fresher air into our homes.
Dost thy life go on unending? Forever turning, forever .... burning? Alack, also what shall I do, The fuse is very nearly through!
The stifling heat creeps o're me now. The buzzing flies bombard my brow. Oh how I wish that I could alter, This sizzling heat out here in Malta.
Joan Sewell L6A.
Bent and forlorn he sat alone
In the chair in which he had always sat,
While the sun glistened on his stone-grey hair.
On his knees his wrinkled hands lay softly
Covered by a thin film of tissue.
The double-bent old man who was now lost
In another world. Tears like rain-drops
Fell imperceptibly down on his paper-thin cheeks
And his eyes which were as blue as the sea
Were now overflowing as he
Grandmother in her dress of black lace.
Ah! How she wore it well. Her fingers
Dented with constant use, turning out
Clothes like a machine.
As large as a mountain she sat
But beneath lay a heart of gold
She was silent, not alone, but alive
In his thoughts she would always remain
Until they were re-united once again.
Christine Wilkinson. 5A.
Deep in the countryside of Crete.
Along the rough and barren hill-tracks,
Walk three beautiful naiads,
Each has a spindle in her hand,
And on it she spins her silvery wool;
Giving the world her hours of darkness.
They spin the moon down from the sky;
The ball of light waning,
And growing on the spindles of the naiads.
The moon is gone,
And the world has darkness and rest.
On the darkest night naiads take their spindle
Down to the sea to wash their wool
It sips from the spindles into the water,
And unravels in long ripples of light,
Stretching from the shore to the horizon.
It rises up into the sky,
A thin curved thread re-appearing,
Then a white ball of light.
And the moonspinners start their work again.
Rosalind Cary 3. A.
ELAINE HOCTOR. 4P
The pens and pencils Rattle. The lesson begins It is Geography.
Theresa Stackpoole. IAI.
Yet s for what
Has seen s
ANDREW HALEY. 2A2.
(And another one!)
INJUSTICES OF WAR
Having shot down forty-five German planes
We award you the Victoria Cross —
P. Neal. 4P.
They descend from the skies above, They are the devil's agents, They come from nowhere, They go to nowhere.
Stukas, Dorniers, weapons of war, Then the Angels come. Angels one, two, three.
Rat4at-tat the guns roar out, Then the flame comes, Then death comes. The devil's agents go to Hell. The Angels land one — two — Where is the third? Gone for good, Gone for good.
I. Hall. 2CI.
Judy Barwise 3.A.