- 1 -

- 2 -

Mere air, these words, but delicious to hear

In his book, How to Read Poetry, Edward Hirsch provides the reader with many inspiring

ways approach poetry, but for me, as I consider what to write for this year’s Gladstone

Review Anthology, the section which begins with Sappho’s “Mere air, these words, but

delicious to hear” resonates most. Words are essentially magic; they are created out of

nothing, of air, and one must not only see the words on the page, but also hear them. The

act of listening complements the act of reading. Hirsch goes on to explain further the

importance of sound and words:

The sound of the words is the first primitive pleasure in poetry. “In poetry,” Wallace

Stevens asserted, “you must love the words, the ideas and images and rhythms with all

your capacity to love anything at all”. Stevens lists the love of the words as the first

condition of a capacity to love anything in poetry at all because it is the words that make

things happen. There are times when I read a poem and can feel the syllables coming

alive in my mouth, the letters enunciated in the syllables, the syllables coming together as

words, the words forming into a phrase, the phrase finding a rhythm in the line, in the

lines, in the shape of the words crossing the lines into a sentence, into sentences. I feel

the words creating a rhythm, a music, a spell, a mood, a shape, a form. I hear the words

coming off the page into my own mouth—in transit, in action. I generate—I re-create—

the words incantatory, the words liberated and self-reflexive. Words rising from the body,

out of the body. An act of language paying attention to itself. An act of the mind.

Interesting notions, indeed. As you turn the pages of this year’s anthology and see the

quality of the written word Gladstone’s young poets have presented, remember to hear

the words, truly hear the subtle tones, the meanings, and various voices which represent

the Gladstone community. These writers have taken a risk by putting themselves out

there by having their poems printed on these pages, and part of this risk involves

interaction with the reader. Printed symbols on the page, alone, are insufficient; they

demand to be given a voice, a sound. Readers must be part of this process. Help make

these words come alive by making them “delicious to hear”, and perhaps, you too will

experience, according to Hirsch, “a rhythm, a music, a spell, a mood, a shape, a form”.

Words are essentially a form of magic; they can create spells.

This anthology could not be created without the generosity of the Gladstone PAC (thank

you). Thanks also to Lisa, Annie, and Nathan who helped in the typing, to Aileen for her

outstanding art work, and to all members of the English Department who continue to

support and encourage our students to write creatively.

R. Guraliuk

English Department Head

May 2011

http://www.poetryfoundation.org/archive/poet.html?id=6576http://www.poetryfoundation.org/archive/poet.html?id=6576

- 3 -

Grade 12 Winner: Desiree Symons

Disenchanted

If I could walk almost half as fast as you could talk

I’d be ¾ of a mile past insanity

and only ½ a block away from that place that you first met me

You used to whisper lies to the rosebuds

Trying to win their affections

But ended up with a mouth full of thorns

each one a reflection of our imperfections

I’m not sure which of us is to blame for this drive-by love affair

You deal out kisses like a devilish deed

hoping to God that for once you’d find what you need

Last night I couldn’t sleep, so I painted you a picture

We both know I’m no Monet

but I pulled out those brushes anyway and painted us

Happy

We’re holding hands, although I drew you a sixth finger

and me, no thumb at all

I got rid of that scar on your lip

Your own personal reminder you just can’t remove

Some nights I think I could wash my clothes

In your sorrow…

wring out the pain

and iron out the little flaws

Delicately folding away those stained thought of

yesterday’s tomorrow

You see lately I’ve become disenchanted with the thoughts of you and I

Wondering whether or not it’s worth it to even try

I feel like I’m holding my breath in a tunnel, eyes squeezed shut

…waiting for the rain to hit metal

I’m always picking at the loose seams, pulling relentlessly

at that thread of a dream

I tied a ribbon around my finger because I

Remembered I’d forget

the time that you first taught me to knot a cherry stem

And s

p

i

t

out the pit.

And maybe in a year or two or three

that seed will blossom fully into a tree of you and me

Until then I’ll etch my thoughts into your heart

feet rooted to the ground

arms wound around, clutching tightly to that star-beam in your eye

gently coaxing out that smile; we’ll laugh until we cry

- 4 -

Grade 12 Runner-up: Eliza Brown

At Main Street Station

waiting for the train to come

staring at the tracks

a hundred thousand water drops

paint patterns here

a sparrow flits across the line

flies through the fencing

into shrubbery

bombarded by the wind

the ankles of my jeans are damp

as are the outsides of my boots

my umbrella drips upon them

hanging from my hand

- 5 -

Grade 12 Runnuer-up: Anh Nguyen

Bus Stop

She arrived at the bus stop just as it began to rain. Spring rain shouldn't have been

a surprise, but she was still caught off guard, and she found herself hurriedly searching

for her umbrella, buried somewhere deep in the recesses of her backpack. Within a

minute she was soaked, her hair plastered against her forehead, water dripping into her

eyes as she dug her hand around in her bag—why did she carry around so much stuff?

Stupid classes, requiring books and more books that she hardly ever needed. Her fingers

grappled around for the handle of her umbrella.

Cars swept past her, and she stepped back from the curb just in time to avoid the

splash of water from a truck running through a large puddle. There were no other

pedestrians on the street; she stood alone at the bus stop, drenched and tired.

At last she found the umbrella, nestled in between two thick textbooks, and it was

another struggle to fish it out without spilling anything out of her bag. When she finally

opened it, her fingers were so frozen she could barely hold it properly.

It was at times like this she wished she could drive; she watched the traffic

wistfully—all of the people sitting in the comfort of their warm, dry cars, able to reach

their destination without the hassle of transferring buses or dealing with other wet,

irritable commuters.

“Hurry up,” she said aloud to the empty street filled with blurred colours, her

voice lost in the splash of puddles as cars went by, the steady drumming of rain on the

ground, the whistling wind. She wasn't sure what she was telling to hurry up. Maybe it

was the bus. Maybe it was the fateful day where she could get her license and escape the

troubles of public transit. Maybe it was the weather, to stop being so difficult. The sun, to

appear already. Whatever it was, she wanted it to hurry. She hated waiting, and she hated

the bus stop the most. Patience was not a virtue she possessed.

To pass the time, she talked. To the street, to the cars, to her stupid umbrella that

kept threatening to turn inside out and break. If anyone overheard her, they probably

would have thought she was crazy. Whatever, let them. The street was empty anyway.

Only the trees would know of her lunacy.

“I hate you,” she told one of the cars as it flew by and screeched to a stop in front

of the stoplight. “I want to be sitting in a car, warm, listening to the radio...”

The skies gave her more rain in response.

It was in the middle of her tirade against people hanging Christmas lights when it

wasn't Christmas when a strong gust of wind nearly knocked her umbrella out of her

hands. The spokes bent and turned inside out, leaving her unprotected.

Dammit. She tried to flip her umbrella back, but two of the spokes were broken.

She swore under her breath, trying to fix the spindles, but it was useless. She resisted the

urge to throw it at a passing car. Just perfect.

“Broken umbrella?” a voice behind her said, and she whirled around to see a guy,

probably around her age, protected under the shield of his own umbrella. Where had he

come from? She opened her mouth to reply, but no words came out.

He grinned at her. “Don't you just love the rain?”

Yeah, she couldn't have been any more thrilled. “Of course.”

- 6 -

“Here, let's share,” he said, gesturing at her to stand closer under his umbrella.

She looked at him in surprise. “I—” she started, not sure what to say. Normally

strangers wouldn't offer to share their personal space with another stranger, would they?

The prospect of standing so close to some guy on the street was a bit awkward to think

about, especially since she was drenched and probably looked like she just crawled out of

an ocean.

He noticed her hesitation. “Fine, stand there in the rain. I checked the schedule;

the bus isn't going to come for another fifteen minutes.”

Fifteen minutes of getting pounded by the rain would definitely lead to a cold, and

getting sick was the last thing she wanted. She couldn't afford to miss class or fall behind

on her studies, since exams were coming up. It would be best to take his offer. It was just

sharing an umbrella, after all. Nothing scandalous. Nothing at all.

“T—thank you,” she muttered, feeling embarrassed for no reason. She shuffled

closer toward him, leaving what she thought was a reasonable distance between them.

But he noticed how her shoulder still got wet, so he closed the gap with a step and then

they were standing next to each other, shoulders touching, staring straight ahead in

silence.

She stared at the ground—the puddles were suddenly very fascinating—and tried

to ignore his presence. His hand, holding the umbrella. His arm. His face. A blush

creeped up on her cheeks as she tried to think about anything but their close proximity

under the umbrella.

Had she turned to look at him in the face, she would have seen the smile that

formed on his face.

- 7 -

Grade 12 Runner-up: Doug Ennenberg

So infinity is this wacko thing, this incredible, remarkable,

indescribable entity that is so unimaginable, so unattainable that

people decide they can put a symbol to it, and they say that we can

understand it in terms of its un-understandability, but if teachers took a

moment to expand the minds of the minds they are given, and just sat

back and let awe take over, let awe consume, the awe that comes from

lying in the shade, looking at the way the light bends over the hedge

and plays with a single blade of grass and wondering just “how,” let it

melt into our visions like butter and give us comprehension of the

macrocosms and microcosms of space, of heart, of mind, of truth, then

maybe the carp would make his journey once again, and just maybe,

he would see god this time.

Infinity was in the air while leaves fell past and through it and the

apple tree strung sorrow after them like mucus which pulled back and

folded itself over again around branches of lichen and moss, in the

thinnest custard filmings, and curled into sticks, then twigs until it

weighed the cold dry leaves past holding and they dropped through

snowflakes and infinity, cartwheeling and freefalling on the one

joyride of their lifetime to settle into a second place, a stiller place, and

never look up again to the sorrow in the apple tree, or the wind, or the

clouds, or the moon, and fall back into arms of earth, trusting the

promise of rebirth.

This little mouse, trapped in his house, the cat at the door, a family of

eight, is punished, will die for crimes he is accused of: the hole in the

wall, being dirty, having teeth.

- 8 -

Grade 11 Winner: Anouska Kirby

Une Ènigme

A cramped and cozy corner

containing a collection of

chronicles, chimeras and comic compositions.

A bed but not a bedroom.

A birdcage with no bird.

A mirror not for gazing.

A curtain without a window.

One wall,

masked with encoded secrets

meant for specific people.

Hidden behind,

another wall shown in the first

in which Our Lady

is discernable through the pane.

Wooden planks

hold portholes accessing

old, new and alternative worlds.

Portals that are

dead quiet

but speaking loudly.

Identical

but incomparable.

Light but heavy in content

adjacent to

heavy but light in essence.

Tattered and timeworn

opposite

shiny and scintillating.

A tribe of Gauls fight off the Romans

while

a small boy with a British accent asks for more

from

a man in a tweed coat and hat holding a magnifying glass.

A flash goes off.

Two girls emerge from their adventures

and depart from Shakespeare & Co.

- 9 -

Grade 11 Winner Runner-up: Aedan Bridwell

Sometimes...

When the night is long past fresh,

and the only sound I can hear is the staccato of rain,

diving from heaven like vindictive angels,

I dream.

And She is always near.

The light fading fast from my lamp,

through crumbling tunnels and antediluvian dungeons,

carved by the Gods or forebearers of our civilization,

She shows the unknown as it truly is.

Her glow shatters the gibbous wall betwixt reality and fantasy;

for moments it captures my heart,

and I can dream.

But the light fades out-

and She is gone.

Sometimes...

I set fire to the memories.

Before a throbbing,

hungering tree I stand,

the flame of a torch bleeding high in my hand.

I burn the root,

then the knots,

separately to savour the heat,

and the branches as they fall.

The brooding and blackening ancient,

felled by rival eternal,

whispers and calls in desperation for remorse.

She finds none today as she is wasting away.

There clatters the crown,

atop a memorium for the earth,

spelled in ash and dirt.

Sometimes...

The desert chokes my sight;

sand in my eyes and my mouth and my ears,

preaching messianic lies.

A fountain awaits if I can only struggle through.

The desert spring of perfume and cinnamon,

awaiting oasis,

bazaar of the bizarre.

Shade beckons my shadow,

as if to know it better,

- 10 -

and this is the only thought which guides my steps,

past the storm and out of the wilds.

The water is what I crave,

She is what I need,

but every sip fills my mouth with jagged gravel,

and though it is cold and Truthful,

rakes long scars down my throat.

Sometimes I forgive.

Sometimes,

I forget.

Sometimes I dream,

and sometimes,

the world revolves because I do not.

When I think of our love,

She is never fair.

But instead of drowning myself in sorrows,

I quench the thirst with music and dreams,

I pass through the flame and charred bones,

I snuff my light and wander into the unknown,

and,

sometimes,

I move on.

- 11 -

Grade 11 Runner-up: Tommy Li

Breaking Barriers

My writing breaks barriers

literally

(look at the form/words)

barriers broken.

.yranoitulover is gnitrw yM

noitulover si

who else writes like this?

This poem is confusing

I probably read your mind.

I’m asking you

Some people write poems about

death/love/life/themselves

generic/non-revolutionary

Yet, I’ve written a poem about

gnitirw ym

challenging your preconceptions about

poems/writing But that does not maen a tinhg

to you

if you

think about the two words

good/bad Who are you to judge?

You will

Probably go

With the

Generic poem

If you read/listen all the

way

down

here

Congratulations! TO ME.

My writing really is breaking barriers.

- 12 -

Grade 10 Winner: Grace Lam

Lieder

With my black-tipped

pen, I sit stiffly,

astonished, eyeing the

fiery dance of the pitches—

hypnotic melodies capture my heart

the passionate,

inconsistent motifs

swirl—

vivid images

soak into my skull

I hungrily

absorb them

twirling my tongue around

the taste.

Pernicious tendrils pierce

my mask

but

I—the avaricious me—

am blind

towards the signs.

I remember you—

a deluge

of life,

you had too much.

Yet now, I see the beauty of

your essence.

I taste the music, see the notes,

feel the energy,

but you

remind me that

I never hear

a sound,

that I am

condemned to a silent

motion picture

for life.

- 13 -

Grade 10 Runner-up: Maria Gladkikh

Bicycle

Small, dancing shadows take me places as I grip the handle bars of

my bicycle

Wind whooshes past my hair, the effervescent scent of my summer

skin clouding the air.

Pirouetting, frisky steps lead paths to places unknown

Indulgent cocktails of summer occurrences place heat upon my brow

A penchant for gibbering useless vocabulary, the moon shimmers

lightly and the grass stalks groom my legs. The ending is somewhat

vindictive – smiling in a sinister fashion as the darkness overcomes the

meadow

my bicycle lost and my memory jars dispatched.

- 14 -

Grade 10 Runner-up: Andrew Ho

Reverse Value

Money is everything

It is absurd to think

Money can not purchase friends, life, and respect

Dad tells me

The more money you have, the more superior you will be

I do not believe

Death is inevitable

I am almighty

You are wrong when you say

Wealth is not parallel to power and admiration

True satisfaction comes from within

Is a lie, and

Money can buy happiness

Money possesses value

Don’t be deceived that

Money is only an object

Money is only an object

Don’t be deceived that

Money possesses value

Money can buy happiness

Is a lie, and

True satisfaction comes from within

Wealth is not parallel to power and admiration

You are wrong when you say

I am almighty

Death is inevitable

I do not believe

The more money you have, the more superior you will be

Dad tells me

Money can not purchase friends, life, and respect

It is absurd to think

Money is everything

- 15 -

Grade 9 Winner: Hubi Chow

Water and Wind

waves slap against rocks, lulling the soft daylight to sleep.

ripples emerge as the wind gently brushes against the water.

a murmur is heard in the waves and a whisper is moved by the wind.

then, the murmur becomes a shout as the wild whisper becomes a harsh, nasty rasp.

the two suddenly clash, erupting a spray of white, silky water and bringing forth

a mighty blow.

the water reaches up and drowns out the furious sound of the wind,

while the wind swoops down to make a full, mighty tackle.

again and again the waves punch the sky,

again and again the wind smashes the lake.

the water’s flat fist penetrates the air

as the wind’s swirling arms grapple the turbulent waves.

suddenly, day awakes!

the fighting pair slows down,

as they turn to see the rising sun.

the bright, warm, circle of sun drenches the land with light.

as wind and water converge with a small bump,

the sun’s flare scatters them.

the sun burns as the wind and water continue to challenge each other.

the blazing heat makes the tired elements yield,

teaching them a harsh, scorching lesson.

- 16 -

Grade 9 Runner-up: Andy Ruran

After School on Victoria Drive

A bus comes every fifteen minutes,

exchanging passengers for citizens

like money for items

at the markets towards the Fraser.

The other way contrasts,

leading peacefully to a lake.

Red lights divide the impatient drivers,

where green means go,

and yellow means go faster.

Sirens wail by all too often,

only to get slowed by the traffic.

A friend from a nearby school

enters my frame. Carrying a

messenger bag full of books.

He walks alone from North to South.

I walk in parallel across the street,

sometimes trying to grab his attention.

He doesn't notice so phones

help a lot – texting and such.

We wave to each other

to give happiness with recognition.

We take our separate paths quickly after.

- 17 -

Grade 9 Runner-up: Richard Yuen

Light at Midnight

The rush, the screeching, the rivers

of the Skytrain breezing through the air.

Trees swaying, gentle winds singing

And garage doors closing as the final commuters

End their long repetitive days.

Last rounds of the Phibbs Exchange

Pass by and encircle around the station.

Where it spawned, I always wondered.

The balcony view, endlessly evolving,

While the dark glass panes

Dwindle beneath the setting dawn.

The chime and cheer of whistling street lights.

Lights burning through my windows.

Dawning halos, Orange streaks splashed across.

Everywhere I turn I'm embraced,

Not by arms, nor by absent love,

But by gentle notes,

But by the one ray of light left.

You won't understand why I wept.

It's the dark place I haven't confronted.

Chimes and cheers of whistling streetlights.

You're the only one left to kiss goodnight.

- 18 -

Grade 8 Winner: Alice Huang

the silence S t r e t c h e S like a rubber band between us

the sudden white noises seethes

a snake hissing violently at its prey

your mouth opens awkwardly

it is a fish’s, gasping for air

I look away, wanting to break this meaningless quiet

in this moment, we become nothing

but strangers

- 19 -

Grade 8 Runner-up: Sindy Lin

My family is My Backpack

I carry my backpack

full or empty

like my family

putting pressure on me or not at all

I carry my backpack

heavy or light

like my family

always helping solve my problems

I carry my backpack

new or old

like my family

different ages caring for me

I carry my backpack

wherever I go

like my family

always staying with me

In my backpack

I will always find a

special gift of love

from my family

Their love will always

be like a backpack

- 20 -

Grade 8 Runner-up: Miley Leong

I am utterly besotted with you.

Is it even possible to feel this deeply about anything?

You take me to another world,

Relieve me of my stress and worries.

When we are apart,

I feel so empty and lost.

It is as if someone has ripped out a part of me.

I even gave up the one thing I treasure most

for the great delight you so easily give me.

There is no life without you.

I cannot keep this a secret anymore

the world must know

I love BOOKS

.

- 21 -

Watching my neighbour’s house burn into flames

Tonight's forecast,

a cloud burst of flurries

with a chance of scattered showers

lies, lies, lies.

A seemingly clear-all nightfall,

not a smidge in the sky

except for those

lingering glimmers.

Bright soulful stars

shining oh so certainly

in a particular

playful way

contrasting against

clean crisp

whisper winds

flowing freely against

an infinite current

of man-made light

illuminating from

a buttered bulb.

A sigh of reassuring relief

overcomes me

as a slight drizzle

starts to trickle

followed by a riot

of quiet engine roars

being swallowed by the night.

Jenny Zheng

Grade 10

- 22 -

Five

I am in the fall of my fifth year.

Filled with excitement,

Kindergarten is here.

First day of school,

I look in the room.

Small desks with crayons in baskets,

all in neat rows.

Giant alphabets hang on the walls,

each letter turning to a word.

The day goes on.

We make paper leaves, decorate them

and put them on the walls.

The room is filled with different colour leaves:

Red, brown, green, yellow.

Snack time.

Juice boxes, apples, oranges and cookies.

The teacher tells us to line up in order.

When we get our food,

we go to our desks and enjoy our snacks.

We sit on the carpet,

excited about story time.

The teacher reads us hardback books.

We laugh and clap all the time.

The teacher laughs and smiles,

our enthusiasm is contagious.

As the stories end,

we fall asleep,

each of us in our own dream world.

The end of the day.

Time to go home,

To play,

Jumping into leaf piles,

Throwing them around.

Bedtime.

Time to dream.

Stories coming to life.

Dreaming about tomorrow.

Jacky Leung

- 23 -

Grade 11

Rainy Mornings on Victoria Drive

The rain falls,

Canceling the sound of the bird's desperate call,

She struggles to be taken out of the bird bath shaped like a swan,

The cloudy sky rains down harder and begins to dawn,

As the stop light turns crimson,

It stops the colorful noisy stallions,

For a brief moment you can hear the water flow,

Down the side of the road leading to a spot where it all grows,

Careless cars cut corners creating confusion,

Making death’s allusion,

Pitter patter goes the rain,

And the stallions begin to travel again.

I step outside to save the bundle of feathers,

She squirmed and hopped scared of the frightful weather,

Drowning in the small bird bath with soaked feathers,

I pick her up as she pleads to be dropped,

Settling her down on the wet floor,

She hops up and dives in again for more,

I realize she likes the rain,

It’s the best time for food to be attained,

I go back inside as look through the door,

And I see her feed as the rain pours,

With the worms that crawl up when it’s wet,

The oddest sight I’ve seen yet.

Dinushi Arachchi-Wickrama

Grade 9

- 24 -

Now Think About Pools

Inquisitive about this new form,

lean over,

discover yourself.

Fresh, innocent,

naïve.

undisturbed.

Yet

this painting is far from what you expect.

Obscure,

eerie

seemingly one-dimensional,

there is nothing

but a glassy façade to reach for.

Come now, concentrate.

Penetrate this veil of deception, and sense

the churning

Insanity.

Collapse

into millions of voracious, deceiving arms.

Excruciating, ice cold

needles pierce through your swelling bones.

Contracting

there is no longer thrashing motion.

Eerie stillness, silence

not serenity

but glassy façade.

Winnie Tam

Grade 12

- 25 -

Happily,

the boy is jumping.

He jumps

onto the streets.

He gets hungry

from all of the jumping.

He feels light

from wearing his blue shirt.

From wearing his blue shirt,

he feels light.

From all of the jumping,

he gets hungry.

Onto the streets,

he jumps.

The boy is jumping,

happily.

Melvyn Alelis

Grade 8

- 26 -

Let the sun be your heat,

let the moon be your light,

let the rain be your music,

and let me be your rainbow,

to guide you into a world full of colours.

Natalie Leung

Grade 10

Alone

Isolated

Dark

Surrounded by trees, taller than the eye can see

The deafening silence pierces your ears

Suddenly, a faint noise is heard

*crunch* *crunch*

It slowly approaches.

Panicked, and sprinting,

Trying to get away,

BOOM!

Tripped by a tree root

Stumbling, and trying to continue running,

Realization

The noise is gone.

Calming down, resting

Slowly, little by little

Struggling to keep awake,

Falling deep.

Mike Lam

Grade 10

- 27 -

Masquerade

Afore the first breath and the initial thump,

The tender babe knows the most subtle art

In fashioning masks and professing false.

Come time, and supposed maturity,

We readily don this permanent mask

And prepare for our masquerade.

From birth, through life, into death,

We prance and twirl with disguised eyes.

All the world's a ballroom,

A dancing hall host to life's eternal masquerade.

Yet when do we throw away this ragged mask

To rest our aching body

And relieve our visage of its burden?

Nay! This is an act of Nature, I hear you cry -

Then, pray, tell me this:

Does the cockerel, with masked intentions, crow,

Despite the true hour, which it knows?

Let's stop this frantic bourrée, then –

No! No, we must not stop!

Let us don our masks again! Let us polish our veneers once more!

Come; let us dance in this masquerade,

This feverish gavotte, this never-ending waltz.

Lu Liu

Grade 12

- 28 -

Hope is

A misconception.

A delusion of happiness,

That one day we will collect

All of the fragments

That will make life whole.

A necessity in our lives

That is meant to motivate,

Yet, all I see is a fleeting flame;

A sign of doom once kindled.

Streaks of dauntless red, vibrant orange and swaying yellow,

Mesmerize me with an image of fearlessness and vulnerability.

It lures me in,

The pellucid hands implant a fragile dream

Within my deepest sorrows.

Igniting me a dim flicker of persistence,

Burning steadily against lies told of

Promises, forgiveness and meaningless words.

Faint fragile fingers trickle a caress upon my senses,

Nurturing an embryo of anticipation.

Oxygen gives breath to hope,

The lack of it torments me.

It suffocates my waning flame,

Making it difficult to breathe,

A pain in my chest, ringing in my ears,

Walls pressing in around me,

I extinguish into the empty abyss.

Left hopelessly hopeful.

Anita Kong

Grade 11

- 29 -

A shrill screech is heard overhead,

They desperately scramble in search of shelter.

Smoke and grit fills the air,

Cries of pain heard everywhere,

A crater scars the lifeless land.

The chaos resumes as the dust clears up,

Projectiles flash by like streaks of lightning.

Countless bodies are bloodied and wounded,

As once beautiful terrains are completely ruined.

At what price does winning a war cost?

There are no true victories

Only one huge loss.

Victor Keu

Grade 10

June

Exquisite.

Her hair comes in the form of the leaves,

Fluttering in the warm breeze.

Spirited.

Her personality is reflected off the laughter of others,

Free-flowing and playful.

Rewarding.

With her comes the completion of a grade, the end of the school year and

start of the holidays.

It is with you that I choose to enjoy her visit,

For I wish so dearly for you happiness to exhibit.

The purpose of her presence is to relieve stress

To have fun and laugh, never to press

And it is with June’s arrival that I wish to see

If a long lost smile with appear on your face so very beautifully.

Jennifer Thi

Grade 8

- 30 -

Struggle

Thump, thump, thump.

I’m so beat, broken, and battered.

Shattered,

Into a million pieces,

Like a torn up thesis.

Unwanted,

Haunted,

By the memories of the past.

Trying to keep the rhythm fast,

Struggling for life,

Yet where does this strife,

Lead us to?

I can’t keep beating for you.

Peace finally settles,

I’m set free.

Serena Chen

Grade 9

Circles

You don’t know where a circle starts

Or where it ends

Follow it

The path can lead until eternity

Or not

You can’t draw a perfect circle

Only with time and practice

Throw a circular object around

Once it hits you

Leaving you blind and confused

You old it

Looking at it

You realize it is something whole

Irene Huynh

Grade 10

- 31 -

The Enemy

I stand back and count and count again

One, two, three, four, five...

A grand formation, like a flock of unified geese and

their engines roaring through the heavenly skies,

loud and deafening , yet beautiful and swift like

a plastic bag gliding through the wind

The airmen in their confined cockpit,

faced with deadly flight, face the enemy head on

With fear and boldness, they fly through the clouds in the midst of battle

over the desolate ocean

The sounds of gun fire ring through the sky simultaneously

Like dancers in the sky with zero gravity,

they maneuver aerodynamically like an acrobatic show

to out maneuver their foe

The adrenaline that has consumed their fear take over them

and all that is fixated on their mind is the enemy

It goes quiet, the gun fire stops

They roar through the clouds leaving a trail of smoke behind them

Planes damaged with rounds ripped right through them like paper

I begin to count

One, two, three, four...

A few pilots short

Gavin Zeng

Grade 10

- 32 -

The Mirror Maze

While looking for the way out, all we see is ourselves

S t r u g g l i n g

Fighting against the binds that hold us

From being free

We work and sweat under

The watch of gilded eyes

Yet, to no surprise

Do we accomplish anything.

The world is hollow

With our inescapable thoughts

And fears

Our empty actions or inactions are left,

Permanently stricken on this world.

We try and we try and we try

But to no avail

Do we ever fulfill

The expectations set out for us,

The character we were born to be

Because life is a constant, unyielding

Struggle

Where people like me

Weren’t meant to be

Harwinder Dhaliwal

Grade 12

- 33 -

Goddess

Created by an artist

Her life began.

From small rough strokes,

To gentle smooth strokes.

Lines and circles

Were the first to appear,

But later on

She began to appear,

First her tremendous dress

Second, her silky long hair

Third, her gorgeous face

Finally, her heart melting smile.

Another artwork is

Complete.

And there she was:

A goddess.

Amanda Chow

Grade 11

Outside my Window

Once in a while

I look out the window

green leaves turn yellow

as blue skies turn grey

flowers bloom, blossom, and grow

just as fast as petals die away,

as seasons change

time remains constant

never changing

Brian Chen

Grade 10

- 34 -

Burgundy

Blue, the eyes that speak of bitter countenance,

those that pierce my lips from uttering what I do feel,

truth.

Blue, the sky that showers treacherous, ill-guided and dumbfounded hazards,

that I do travel upon.

Blue, the veins that pump the blood that reaches a consistent viscosity,

that allows me to establish this state of being.

Those moments,

where you're caught in between the inevitable reality,

and your subjective, self-taught sins.

Both, judged and to be marveled at.

Captured in this maze of blue.

Farisha Buksh

Grade 11

Deceit

Stuttering toes tipped across marbled floor

where her heart drops.

thud.

amidst the haunting shadows.

Reaching high

like the sun's first glimpse of morn.

finally.

Fluttering away

like a raven feathered wing.

sweeping across the sky

until flames prick fingertips.

Mimi Nguyen

Grade 10

- 35 -

Breakdown

Rapid, shallow breaths,

clammy palms, jittery hands,

she stands out of sight.

Isolated backstage,

she hunches over, flailing around,

slumping to the floor.

Her cheek rests on the planks of aging wood.

The vigorous heartbeats swarm her eardrums

triggering her unstable mind.

She wrings her arms until they bleed red.

Frantic and nervous, she clutches on to herself.

Eyes shut tight, she gently rocks back and forth,

slowly regaining her composure.

Taking deep breaths, she calms herself.

Stepping onto the stage and into the spotlight,

she begins the play.

Vivian Jung

Grade 10

Time

Sometimes I feel like I’m being sucked into your wrath of harsh words and vigorous

symphony of depressing love songs. Prayers and blessings, crisis and downfall.

Milliseconds can go by and you will change things. Travelling on your path of words and

detours. A gift, but also a tragedy. You confuse me, but we would be without meaning if

you didn’t exist. Unstoppable. You swallow me up piece by piece until just the ticking of

the clock remains.

Zoe Tees

Grade 8

- 36 -

Empty

Boxes and boxes

Fill the room

Unable to feel comfy

In my own home

Bare walls all around me

Colourless, lifeless

No memories

Bright stars shine past

My double glazed glass

Leading me to a view,

A place I had bid adieu

Tears stream down my face

I wish I never agreed

In the first place

Staring down on what used to be

Across the street, miles away it seems

Lies a sanctuary,

Once holding private memories

Images fly through my mind,

Now all trapped in a place,

No longer mine

This new place,

Everything I wanted to be

Now a reality, not a dream

Yet I still feel I’m living

In a mind not of my own,

In a distant place,

I cannot call home

Unfamiliar faces

Walk in my life

Feeling displaced

And feeling distraught

Finally pacing my thoughts

I remember my childhood home

No longer mine, it had been bought

Pauline Yeung

Grade 11

- 37 -

The Rise and Fall

Well.....

Gold rays pierce the thick veil of darkness.

The shadows fade, away.

But, this once great golden figure has fallen deep within death's valley.

Crimson blood patterns the tearful sky.

The man appears, mocking the dead king.

Four hours the world sleeps, a deep sleep.

But, the golden son returns and strikes the moon back.

The moon and shadows, fade away.

The world awakes to golden glows.

This, my son, is the struggle of the golden sun.

Daina Baker

Grade 9

A simple smile can hide so much.

The truth that lingers behind.

Mistakes that haunt you day and night.

Regrets that are unforgiving.

Vicky Do

Grade 8

- 38 -

Tick Tock

Time, a savage thief

cheating our precious moments away

time is ticking

with one year to go

grade eight was just yesterday

walking through the halls

I saw myself suffering

terrified beyond belief

foreseeing the future

here I am today

still suffering

but appreciating these last few moments

with one year to go

time is ticking

Benson Tang

Grade 11

Sitting on the Stairs with You

Sitting on the stairs with

bowls of rice in our hands along with little plastic

spoons.

We eat the soft rice.

We talk about the silliest things.

But now, we moved and you are different.

No more eating together on the stairs.

No more talking about random things.

No more childhood innocence.

Susan Zhou

Grade 9

- 39 -

Playing The Piano While Hundreds Of People Stare

The sky is blue, filled with white fluffy clouds,

creating shapes – yes, shapes of objects.

One cloud looks like a tree,

while the other looks like a fluffy circle – cotton ball.

The grass, green – part of nature.

Slowly moving from one side to another,

flowing freely to which ever direction the wind takes it.

The Sun, high up into the sky,

shinning brightly, making it a beautiful breezy day.

Crows, flying around in circles just enjoying the fresh air,

enjoying the brightness of the sun shinning all around them.

Flying around freely, without any doubts or concerns.

The butterflies, flying around, landing on the flowers,

making themselves stand out beautifully.

Just relaxing on a bright sunny day.

The sun, shinning happily with no doubts.

Keanna Siu

Grade 10

- 40 -

Every Last Jelly Doughnut

every last jelly doughnut sank,

further and deeper into my pores

adding calories to my love

and weight to my smiles

letting powdered pearls melt on my trust

and jelly drown my anger

into a suppressed red cherry glaze.

as they dug deeper through my skin

causing holes in my brand new life

the sugar tainted my brain,

from admiration to a feeling of taste.

my eyes looked, my tongue tasted-

tasted the ingredients of a soul mate,

of my heart beating and my stomach turning

I allowed every last jelly doughnut to sink.

Azais Gagnon-Watson

Grade 12

- 41 -

The Musician

Stranger, who are you?

Your passion is distracting me,

Your melodies possessive.

I must blot out memories of your unfaithful lyrics

Each so seductive.

With your rapacious hands and devouring smile,

Your calloused fingers strum the strings over the sound hole,

The hole in my heart.

Just one more heartbeat throbs,

Its rippling ebbs away my grip on the strings of reality.

You pause.

Lifting your head to take in a smoke,

Your wild eyeballs glance at me;

A wisp of smoke flows from your mouth.

As I inhale as much as I can of its ashy sweetness,

I cannot resist anymore.

I let go, plummeting from sanity

Deeper and deeper into madness.

I cannot escape the inky notes of your song.

You bow,

And it is over.

You’ve left me to lament over the truth

That you will perform again.

For someone who is not me.

Marinah Zhao

Grade 10

- 42 -

Silent frosty air

Soft, white, solid water flakes

Land gently with all

At the right moment

Fragile veins drift down, rustle

Then shrivel like all

A rain rhapsody

Clinking coins dropped into glass

Splatter and wet all

Rays of soft sunlight

Stretch and release their magic

Harmonizing all

Fresh long threads of green

Sprouting strongly against wind

They all stand firmly

Anna Nguyen

Grade 10

- 43 -

Nostalgic Reflections

The pitter-patter of tiny feet all around the schoolyard.

The games of hopscotch, skip rope, four square, tag and Marco polo

that seem to never end; always starting again once the bell rings.

Boys and girls whip out their Gameboys,

as the ones without act as spectators,

with their eyes gleaming and brains eager to provide assistance.

They constantly debate over what they believed to be the most pressing matter of all.

Time flies by,

and the eyes once filled with innocence

are polluted, and dampened from the harsh truths of reality.

For as you are young, you act as a sponge,

absorbing every detail and noticing the trivial matters,

filtering, yet clueless.

You compare photos, memories, and the thoughts of your younger self.

Wondering how on earth

you concocted the idea of being a fireman once you “grow up”.

Those shoes you once wore

could probably fit a few toes now,

but not a whole foot like it did back then.

That younger part of you never truly dies,

for we reminisce,

eyes twinkling at objects and characters we once worshipped.

The memories are kept snug within the heart

like the pages of a diary.

Winnie Li

Grade 11

- 44 -

Dropping a Fifteen- Pound Bowling Ball on My Friend’s Leg

Thoughts of food fluttered

Throughout my mind

Freshly made French fries

Dipped in delicious, hot gravy

Made my mouth water with hunger.

Impatience brewed violently

In my starving stomach.

“Give me food!”

It yowled fiercely.

“What’s taking so long?”

I screamed to the cashier.

“It’s coming, ma’am.”

He replied lazily.

Ten minutes passed,

And no sign of food coming.

Finally, in the distance

A waiter comes towards

My table with a plastic platter

In his humungous hands.

Nachos, cheese, salsa, fries, gravy

All placed finely on the big plate,

Its smell extinguished the polished alley

And caused my senses to tingle.

Anxiously, I grabbed the appetizers

And stuffed them greedily

In my mouth.

Grease and oil

Covered my stubby hands.

Hastily, I wiped it on

Vanna’s violet shirt.

Cathy Tran

Grade 10

- 45 -

The Party

Dressed to impress,

He's wearing his best plaid attire.

Underneath, a dashing argyle vest

and a fresh long-sleeved shirt.

"Rock & Republic" black jeans,

and also a classy, red formal affair tie.

Upon entering the club,

He's ready to have fun,

and a couple of drinks, oh joy!

On the way, he's gettin weird glares,

but he don't care, cause he's feelin pretty hot tonight.

Until his boss points out, that his fly is down

and everyone can see his "Hello Kitty" boxers.

Bryan Lei

Grade 9

Moon Shine

Good morning, moon.

Since when did you shine so blindingly dull?

Never ceasing to dim against the morning star.

The discontentment of gloom and woe looms

Upon your scarred guise.

The sun never shines.

Only your brother, your other half

Who is no more beautiful than you are

Gains the glory from the light of the giant star.

When the day is done, his job has come.

In an opening gambit, he ignites.

Light the way to escort sorrow filled souls

Glistening every once in a while, with a glimmer of amber

A monotonous hue, with an aspiration full of joy.

Still, you remain hidden with imminent despair.

Dwelling in the shadow of another

Oh how we are the same in numerous ways.

Good night, moon.

Ryan Wong

Grade 11

- 46 -

Erase me

Her breath spits acid desires,

feeding on earth's vague secrets.

Worn out boots press against

the cracked seams of an open heart.

Shadows fade intensely into

the polished morning star.

Frivolously, she disappears

into a neverending muse.

Nadia Le

Grade 9

Painting

Dabs here and a splotch there,

Ambition and creativity overpower me

as I decorate with the bristles.

Outbursts of fascination are seen

as they settle on the empty field.

Illuminating colours are shaded in

and the lands I create are brought to life;

as they blooms with elegance and purpose.

Kevin Qiu

Grade 9

- 47 -

In My Hands

I reach out for a thought

The thought that led me to this train wreck of our subconscious

Reaching,

pulsing,

wanting,

I grow exceedingly impatient

My hand,

still outstretched,

shivers beneath the force of fateful gravity

By design, it does not release its grip from my hand –

it simply sways the truth away from me

My hand,

falling,

silently crashes at my side

I glance up warily

Face undiscerning, calm –

no longer dreading the grasp –

sees you

Our eyes greet one another with a sense of clarity

A raging happiness

Your gaze saunters from my eyes towards my rapidly beating chest, then

my hand

The colour drains from your cheeks

Now white as marble

Instinctively, I move my hands behind my back, ashamed

And as I notice that you take one step closer, I see

your hands

They are smooth, strong and sturdy

I glance at my own

Coarse, meek, and feeble

But as you quirk a smile,

my hands become full,

full with the thought,

the thought that led me to you

Janina Dziewulska-Soto

Grade 11

- 48 -

Finding the Light

Dark days filled with storms in the summer;

blood

streaks across the pavement and

fear shadowing every move.

Fear of her, fear of them

and those earsplitting words

that got etched

into my skin and flowed in

my veins.

Just need to hide,

to get away from those glares

when my feet pave the way

down the halls.

The prominent distrust and disloyalty

forever in my mind.

The attitudes, the misleading behaviours

all made me forget happiness.

Forget what it was like to

play

run

smile

be free.

Made me forget

who I was.

Filthy

annoying

different

useless

was who I was now.

Not believing in happy

endings,

hating myself and

hating

you.

I wanted to die

but somehow I survived...

and now it’s

okay because I found the

light

and I hope that one day

you

will

too.

Lakshmi Soundarapandian

Grade 10

- 49 -

Ebb and Flow

A temptress by night, outshone by day,

Always watching, But not always seen.

Fuel of the spheres.

Commander of the seas.

Ceaselessly chasing your Other.

Wind does not affect thee

Nor water, nor air,

But time?

Time chisels away at your fair face

Until there is no more,

Then reconstructs, flawlessly

Only brighter,

Atonement for its absence

Kendra Lennie

Grade 12

Odo Ital

Nothing.

Unknown.

No feelings,

No heart,

No desires

I, am nothing.

You,

You fill me up,

Give me substance.

Full of you.

But you are full of another.

So I must be,

Nothing.

Nothing more,

Nothing less,

Than a

Friend.

Kendra Lennie

Grade 12

- 50 -

Perfect Stranger

The raise of your brows,

The pop in my chest.

The epitome

of a clear-cut, level-headed young woman

frays with a single gaze.

Oblivious to reality,

Naivety leads me into believing—

Believing in the tenderness

that flowed through your eyes,

that prompted me to pour my heart out with every

exhale.

Every flutter of your lashes,

a message in Morse—

and I want,

more than I can bear,

to let my voice intertwine with yours,

rather than leave, entire conversations,

lingering

by the door.

A smile from those lips,

and I am jubilant.

Carelessly releasing my crossed arms

to embrace the wind, the chance.

Caution will not hold me back

Making my approach,

leaping across the gorge

I am one with the v a s t n e s s of headless hope—

swiftly deflated and

submerged.

Kathy Thai

Grade 10

- 51 -

Tea at Midnight

Hot. Bitter. Pungent.

Sweetly wafting

an organic scent

Just how deceitful is your fragrance?

The sizzling heat that sears my tongue,

warns me not to try again.

Yet,

strong herbal clouds sweep my resentful face—

easing me to a calm.

Delicate china,

my lips graze the edge.

Nerves: Pulse. Shake.

Endless anxiety.

Is the taste worth such pain?

I inhale the comfort

of chamomile and rose petals.

Soothed—

I try again.

Kathy Thai

Grade 10

- 52 -

Goryzia

Death-eating armies march

And on earth-crusted backbones

Trammel up blood-dust

And dreadful tear-soaked jackboots

Sing the beating drum of the river styx

Destroyed earnestly by a blanket of bullets,

A suitable pall

A waltz of gunfire to harmonize with the din

And whistling wings of shrieking, sailing,

Explosive joy

Falling derisively

On mama's little boy

Tragic players with blistered eyes

Aiming high for promised skies

Dying for the moment to live

But marching on the enemy's crib

Now at home again

And soft-hearted pianos

Tonk away with listless intent

Played by soft-hearted ladies

And fiancées of the departed

Weep in solemn pride

Fathers fight back against the eyes of women

Accusing, opaque orbs

As though drawn in with oil paints

Reflecting a direful bottle with a malicious, tempting gloss that reflects

Just drag my buddies out of the earth's razor blade scars

And let me be done with it.

Dylan Fraser

Grade 11

- 53 -

Image from the Heart

As I lay my head on your chest,

I hear the musical rhythm of your heart.

My frozen hands slip into yours,

letting the warmth defrosts them.

Pink and fuchsia sky encircles us,

we watch the floating golden sun set slowly.

Tangled together sitting on the flourishing green grass.

Magical sparks exploding between us in silence.

Not a word spoken;

we both know what’s on our minds.

Only us—

You and I.

Amanda Suen

Grade 12

The Bear

a day to never forget

a grey sky

a trained bear

could break at any moment

I’m risking my life holding this rope

a very thin rope it is

Hey check it, I’m wearing a top hat

I feel so important

Ryan Okeymow

Grade 10

- 54 -

The Love Bug

I am ill;

“I’ve caught the bug,” one might say

night by night depriving me of sleep

consequently, making me feel weak

I’ve tried everything;

I’ve listened to “so called” experts

I’ve read thousands of books

I’ve even researched it online

yet I found no cure

no cure to this cancerous feeling

a feeling I get whenever you walk by

with glimmering eyes

and contagious smile

Yet you are so carefree

Oblivious that your very presence

is like a dagger in my heart

always leaving me bleeding in pools of my own blood

for my biggest weakness is you

Thyrza May Toledo

Grade 12

- 55 -

Friend

Beside the structure

of eroded bricks framing

the Yonge Street Book Store, there was

a lady, drowned in gloomy

clothing; a deluge of smoke-coloured

hair spilled from her hood, resisting

containment; her

razor-sharp eyes subdued

in whirls of thought.

Every Monday, she waited on

the solitary bench without fail, her feet

sheltered

by lavender rainboots, her mind

armoured against forces of nature.

Every Monday, I adorned my feet

with indigo rubber boots—I

squeaked past the gnarled oak

around the corner to pass

the lady and her silent feet without fail

my footsteps pushed out by traffic.

Her eyes trailed my path by

the bench; speaking the universal language,

we connected.

She was my constant,

familiar and dependable.

I turned back to secure her image

into my mind.

Goodbye, friend.

Grace Lam

Grade 11

- 56 -

My Grandma was...

like a tree on the beach,

looking out at the horizon.

The bark old, wrinkled

the roots anchored

strong in the ground

The surroundings brag with adorable little lights

jumping up and down

on the majestic waves

the soft and smooth sand

the bright blue sky

the calm wind whistles through the leaves

A fresh spring sun wraps the tree in a warm aura embracing everyone around it next to

the tree

a little garden with raspberries

a little fountain

exotic red flowers

Little birds come to rest

in the wide branches

animals sleep in the cool shade

The tree carries big black cherries

and is pleased to see

the happy faces of the two children who taste the sweetness of

the fruit.

Out of the empty spot, where the old tree used to be, a new, young tree takes root

for the children and animals.

Jan Lemke

Grade 10

- 57 -

Second-Guessing My Answers on a Science Test

The colour of the concrete walls is a dull cream yellow.

It is in a desperate need of a new coating.

On the walls hang posters:

A picture of a plant cell, a labeled microscope,

The periodic table, works of students,

and the water cycle.

The green chalkboard is filled with the teacher’s messy writing

homework, science equations, the notes and graphs

all written with a yellow chalk.

The tables are arranged into four rows

all nailed into the floor,

The tables have a black surface, with many drawings and carvings

heavily vandalized.

Some wrote “hi”, some drew a smiley face, and some are obscenities.

The chairs are tall and rather uncomfortable.

They are very unsightly, in my opinion.

My classmates are all quiet, minding their own business.

One is biting his nails

The other has his brows knitted; concentrating hard.

Two have their head down on their arms

taking a quick nap, I suppose

One is tapping her feet,

and the one beside her is clicking her pen.

Many are furiously writing.

The teacher is sitting in front of his computer, typing away.

Is he playing a computer game?

Tick-tock, Tick-tock, I look at the clock.

Quarter past one; twenty-five minutes until class ends.

I look back at the sheet of paper in front of me.

Now is it a, b, or c?

Natalie Yiu

Grade 10

- 58 -

The Kids Who Keep Throwing Their Ball Into My Grandma's Garden

Every time when the weather was decent,

days with clear, blue skies or thick gray clouds,

it didn't matter which,

I would hear loud voices coming from outside.

Laughter and cheers filled with too much enthusiasm

Instantly, I knew the owners of these voices,

THOSE kids who are a fence away.

The games would change from time to time,

but a ball was always involved.

One time, they were playing a game of volleyball,

another time, they were hitting each other with a red rubber ball.

Don't these kids ever get tired of these games?

Why can't they spend their time watching TV and doing homework like normal kids?

When the animated voices suddenly change to low grumbles of complaint,

that was a sign that the ball must have landed in my grandma's garden.

Who would be the lucky one that will retrieve the ball this time?

Not my grandma, that's for sure.

Lara Sam

Grade 10

- 59 -

My Mind is Set

My mind is set into motion

with that ancient vase

There is something about it

that just captures my heart

Takes in my soul

I cannot convince my eyes to travel

onto the forthcoming masterpieces

The thousand others dotted

down the hall of the exhibition

Too attracted by the vase

My eyes, my eyes linger

at the dancing strokes of blue ink

streaking across the white porcelain body

like the bold blood veins

running under my pale skin

I reach out, extend my pinkie

I trace the fine lines on the delicate artifact gently

for fear it will break, shatter into a million pieces

pieces of ancient china glass

scattered all across the glossy tile floor

I tiptoe, I peak in its blossom-shaped mouth

The neck is not the usual round shape, rather

hexagonal shaped expanding to the glazed body

of imprinted blue trails

embedded into the curves of the vase

The design is hysterical and mysterious

With expressions and senses

Never underestimate

the creations made from the hands of mankind

Powerful, expressive, intimidating

Paula Chang

Grade 10

- 60 -

Her Eyes

I don’t know how,

But I was with her yesterday.

The sky was bright blue.

My heart was electric.

I could feel her ambience.

Her aura was tangible.

I don’t know how,

But I loved her a bit more yesterday.

The car was quiet.

We had a conversation

The only way a conversation should be

had.

Her voice was ice cream for the ears.

Her voice was divine.

I don’t know how,

But I made her laugh yesterday.

The moment wasn’t that funny,

That much I know.

I couldn’t park the car,

Totally killed the flow.

But her laughter made me happy.

Her laughter made me so happy.

I don’t know how,

But I sat next to her yesterday.

The darkness broke to her light.

Okay not really, but

She was the most radiant thing in the

world.

Then she smiled.

Her smile stopped my heart.

I don’t know how,

But I touched her hand.

The truth is I did know how.

We shared a smoothie –

Purple berry something.

Her hand was smoother than any

smoothie.

I don’t know how,

But I gazed into her eyes yesterday.

The world stopped,

And I was brought to a safe haven.

A place where you are only allowed

To feel joy.

Then the lights went out.

Her eyes were gone.

Her eyes were gone.

I don’t know how,

But I wrote this poem for her today.

The memories have already diminished.

The little things are gone,

but her eyes are still here.

Her eyes are still here.

Jackson Lai

Grade 12

- 61 -

I See Him

I saw him again.

The autumn leaves dipping towards

the ground were vibrant

against the soundless sky.

He held his hand against mine,

our steps unsynchronized.

He wore thick-rimmed glasses,

and layers of flannel.

I glittered pinks and reds.

His gray hair tucked under a ball cap,

my pigtails springing with

every motion I took.

I saw him again.

He walked me home from preschool

with a goofy grin,

a cane in his hand,

and mine in the other.

My adolescent-self beamed bright

with the sky.

But then the colours

began to collide

and the leaves

and the silent sky

vanished in the blink of my eye.

My slumberous vision cleared

as my eyes opened

there, fell a tear

but at least,

I saw him again.

Grace Le

Grade 11

- 62 -

What Makes You Wonder

I am a mirror

Only the reflecting image of those

Who dare to look into me

They say I make them feel beautiful

Or ugly

What do they know,

When they look into me

I only show you the truth

Not what you want it to be

Your emotions through the reflecting glass

Have a feeling of being lifeless

As you gaze longer

You start to see the glass

Slowly shatter into a million pieces

Right before your eyes

As you wonder why

I am a mirror to those who

See they’re reflecting image

As they want me to show them

I can turn your smile

Into a gash across your face

Am I a mirror,

Just there to convey

A different story

Then how you tell it

You have never imagined

Unexpected

Who are you really?

what makes you wonder?

Danielle Silos

Grade 10

- 63 -

An Endeavor

O’ how not do I praise thee,

for no man but derang’d would.

What essence of a maiden

if they canst not give a smile, even so;

jowls may blush and bathe of any fair red-red rose,

but none dare compare to temper’d rubies on thy cheeks.

Twin’d hair, satin and laced with Raven crest;

thou art painting lunar night for ornamental suns,

by which they sling beside each cheek-

no stars found, not even quintessence,

but a glint near the hemisphere on thine eye doth shines.

O’ how sweet is sound when thou serve lyrical dishes

that drum into my subtle ears.

Yet it twere more ideal if thy hand clasp’d upon mine

as honest lips compliment th’other-

and doth sooth with airy taste of bliss.

An axis I am, placed sincerely adjoint

while thou art a heavenly soul encompass’d.

And even if thine orbit doth stray untenably;

my affection compar’d no less than centripetal force

shall perpetually align to encircle thee-

o’ how infinite is mass, to keep thy presence nigh.

Tis now my soul aches for the acceptance of thee;

no parting may further refine, nor token can ever explain,

for I bare all my love hath proved.

Alas, I profess and pray for thine heart to fall.

Eternity I’d pluck, to have thee all.

Vinh Nguyen

Grade 12

- 64 -

Listen

a river melody

in which,

your worries

drown in silence

and you float

amid familiar fantasies

Heart.

Beat.

echoes like the harmony

intertwined in flawed unison

it

caresses your skin

with fusion of colours

potent and immortal

music is your companion

Anette Yanken

Grade 10

Blossom Petals

The wind blows tiny pink boats off the trees, onto the top of the pond,

where they are carried further

They reach their destination, touching the edge of land

There they wait for the wind to come again

and take them on yet another adventure –

an opportunity for them to venture.

Dinushi Wickrama Arachchi

Grade 9

- 65 -

The Seasons

A single soft, gentle sigh passes my lips

as I’ve finally sought out in my simple, subtle life

the seasons Spring and Summer suspended in time

the air sweet and soothing

But to my surprise

the month of September has sprung like a sudden snap

and yet again the sun is suppressed

behind storms and clouds that do not shine

I wake from my slumber on the seventh hour

as I’m reminded how I’m not satisfied with my life

for I remain skeptical and sullen

until my days become starry and sparkling

once the seasons shift once more

from Winter, Spring, and Summer.

Shawn Thai

Grade 8

This I Believe

I believe in miracles

and that dreams will come true

I believe in happiness

and friendship will never die

I believe that when I cry

My tears are not in vain

I believe that 2012

Is not the end of the world

I believe love

Is the greatest gift of all

I believe in being strong

When everything seems to be going wrong

This I believe

Selena Nguyen

Grade 8

- 66 -

The Other Side

Exhausted,

melancholy buildings,

chipped brick walls,

nonsense murals.

Peeling paint flakes

dangle, clinging frailly

to boarded shutters,

openings to a world

beyond crippling walls.

Disjunction.

Moss,

stealing up walls,

Glance down,

scorched buds congregate

in dozens

littering, complimenting

crusted pigeon droppings.

Limping, lugging,

listlessly, aimlessly.

Battered quilts,

trodden boxes,

swollen, pleading eyes.

Angst, resentment,

overwhelming

Reiteration.

Winnie Tam

Grade 12

- 67 -

Amphigory

Like shards of ice, our pierced skin flails in the water as each pore is viciously attacked.

We writhe, clasping our necks and praying to the angelic heavens for a haven,

our mouths muttering altiloquent verses as we sink, ever so slowly.

A twig snaps— bearing light upon our clandestine deaths;

Feet thump upon the floor, a wild haze of thrush and bush,

fingers, linked in serpentines, minds, in a state of amentia.

We dose off, drifting deeper and deeper,

no longer caring about the antiscii surrounding us.

Maria Gladkikh

Grade 10

Drama

finger pointed at her

whispers surrounded her

rumours spread

and that pain in her back

what is it?

oh nothing, just a hundred knives

from her so-called friends.

she realizes that it is not those painful words

that hurt the most

it’s the loss of friendship

but she’ll be fine

she knows that in life friends come and go

and what matters most

are the ones who stay and love her for who she is

she keeps her head held high.

Tiffany Wu

Grade 8

- 68 -

Running my fingers along the many books on the ebony shelf

until I have reached my destination

a large, tattered brown spine

with golden letters inscribed, slowly fading away

“A must read!”

“A best seller!”

but to me, it is simply

my favourite.

Kristine Shum

Grade 9

Years I Yearn For

sun’s golden rays shining down on us

flip flops flopping and hair flying around our faces

chased by vicious monster

running for our dear lives

we vaguely heard our grandma’s voice

over the fast beats of a ‘Sinhala Baila’

warning us to slow down and catch our breath

but we couldn’t stop; the brutal monster was closing in

we snapped out of our fantasy world

only at the sight of our darling aunt with a tray full of snacks

the monster was soon forgotten and we were busily gobbling

down delicious fries and sipping sweet Cream Soda

the world looked utterly happy and perfect in our naïve eyes

life was carefree and there was nothing that could steal our joy

in a few mere minutes we were back in our imaginary kingdom

being chased by yet another monster

Supun Kotteduwa

Grade 11

- 69 -

Four-Word Heart Breaker

I don’t understand. How can people who love you spit such hurtful words?

Every syllable intensifies the sharp pain and tightens my chest.

It hurts to inhale; it hurts to exhale.

Without knowing it, my cheeks are damp.

I didn’t mean to cry.

Crying makes everything more real, more real than I want it to be.

I know words or protest are leaving my mouth, but I have no control over what I’m

saying, not that it matters, no one is listening.

No one is listening because what I say doesn’t matter.

All that matters is what they believe is right, but they’re wrong.

They don’t have me figured out.

I haven’t even figured myself out, but we’re both aware of my weakness.

Through multiple episodes, I’ve learned that I’ll never escape the misery it brings, and I

will always be at the mercy of this one four word sentence:

“You are too skinny.”

Amy Ma

Grade 11

True Intention

They say that the eyes are the windows to the soul

and for that reason, he keeps them blank, dull, and without feeling

They say that the mouth is the door to the soul

and for that reason, he keeps it in a constant smile, wide and frightening

They say that one who declares he has nothing to hide, has everything to hide

He declares he has nothing to hide and never will

Lisa Liu

Grade 8

- 70 -

Age

is just a number, a label, unnecessary

so I was upset when you restricted me

because I was too young

but I listened and stayed home, with a dictionary-like book and read,

through my blurry vision, or rather tried to, to block out the unpleasant

My distress escaped onto the inked paper, soaking, drying and forming

permanent crinkles.

I complained and you said, “wait”

So I waited

hypnotized by the tick tock

Days, weeks, months, years went by

I was still waiting

until the day of departure

with the packed bags by the doorstep

I knocked the door to your study

“It’s time.” I said

the lines on your face deepened with a frown

tears threatening to escape

“Already?”

“I will never be old enough in your eyes, daddy.”

You forced a smile

“I guess you never will be if I don’t let go.”

Goodbye my child

Angel Li

Grade 12

- 71 -

Your Little Angels

You see them laugh

you see them cry

as you see them start to crawl

you think you are so lucky to have them all

when they start to walk

and try to talk

you know they’ll soon run

and you and them

will always have

fun

but when they

grow up faster

than you think

as they drive away

you know they’ll

come back to visit you

someday

Jennifer Phi

English 8

Falling In The Canals Of The Strawberry Fields In Baguio

The cold breeze of the fields blew at me and my family as we walk…

The fields were in bloom,

With scarlet fruits,

And emerald leaves…

We walked and we walked,

But nothing transpired…

All we could see were people picking berries…

I felt bored…

So I teased…

Again and again and again…

All too ignorant to see…

The slippery slope ahead…

Angelo Jerro C. Saplala

Grade 10

- 72 -

Candlelight

The sparkles of brightness shine in your eyes,

stare at the candle and watch as it dies.

The cold winds are blowing, but the fire is bright,

keeping your world from the darkness of night.

Hot wax is melting, dripping, quick to the ground,

the matches are gone, nowhere to be found.

Keep the flame burning, don't let it decrease,

the warmth and the light maintain the peace.

Gaze at the glow as it dwindles away,

it vanishes quick in a distinct array.

The blackness of night embraces your soul,

alone, uncertain, and out of control.

The thing that has kept you from falling apart,

has blown off in the distance, leaving you in the dark.

Sarah Lowery

Grade 11

- 73 -

Honesty

It’s eating you inside out

a little monster

this time there’s no hiding

escape is futile

these are the lies that keep you up all night

at day you cower in the crowds

for you detest the silence

because it screams the truth

you bathe in the sunlight

faking smiles and laughter

trying to enjoy it while you can

when it rains

you glare at the window

praying it isn’t true

one day you go to a party

and try to cope there

somedays you hug yourself

trying to keep it all in

hoping that your world won’t break

somedays you think like a realist

those are the days you fear the most

but also welcome

the pin has dropped

you have torn yourself into a million pieces

you rush out into the pouring rain

you cry

you scream

you speak

Fanny Hu

Grade 8

- 74 -

Guardian Angel

The drained room washed of all colour by the moon

Held a boy with silver fine hair standing by the window

With his wings tucked tightly to his back and shoulders slumped

It was the look of a defeated warrior, a fallen angel

But as dawn approached and spilt rays of sunlight

Everything changed with a blink of an eye

The room danced with colours of the rainbow

It all would have been beautiful, if not for the boy

Shining gold hair framed an angled hard face

A thin white shirt barely concealed his lean hard muscles

The plain of his smooth back interrupted only by wings

Feathered wings that were as white and soft as snow

Suddenly he cast his wings as far and high as they would go

Sparkling like jewels where ever the sun touched

He turned gracefully around with a smile that could melt ones heart

Pieces of hair flew into his sapphire blue eyes by a gentle breeze

His eyes smoldered with certainty, his body oozed of confidence

And there, he did not look defeated, he did not look fallen

He looked swift and strong like a guardian

He looked beautiful and powerful like an angel

Bneeta Parmar

Grade 11

- 75 -

Music From Nature

Drip, drop, drip, faint splattering sounds.

Droplets leaving a trail behind,

as they roll down the dark glass.

Harmony forms with taps on the pane.

Amy Du

Grade 9

Remembrance

leaves start falling

I watch birds escape

The incoming cold

My remembrance

A jar of colourful shells

Irene Lozada

Grade 10

Storm

flashes of lightening

the sky is brightening

gusts of air

the clouds are fair

cracks of thunder

make me wonder

why are we so afraid?

Kate Moberg

Grade 11

January

out my window

there it stood

high in the sky

dull and grey

covering the world

with a cold mist:

January

David Liang

Grade 8

- 76 -

Glistening Greens

the grass shimmers

as gentle winds rush

reflecting warmth of sunshine

Joanna Tung

Grade 12

Spring is Here

flowers blooming at night

animals come out

down comes rain

Iris Liu

Grade10

Rain

teardrops in the sky

wash away the memories

of the dreary day

John Le

Grade 11

No More

I’m so very tired

anymore crying will cause

my eyes to fall out

Meaghan Frison

Grade 11

stars hang in the sky

paint the night we see so high

in the darkened time

Michelle Nguyen

Grade 11

Life

forgive and forget

live, laugh, love, experience

risk with no regrets

Nancy Pham

Grade 12

Rain

the soft pitter-patter

light touches

feed the nation

Alex Neiman

Grade 9

jagged stone lying on the earth

reveals marks endured

and unseen blotches of forces met

Nixon Kwok

Grade 12

- 77 -

grey clouds pollute the sky

rains quench the ground

all Vancouver sighs

Tasia Schell

Grade 12

Soil

soft, tender sturdiness

overlooked, innocent

lifeless, yet made of life

Sharon Wong

Grade 12

the crowning barrette to any tree

a blossom upon sweet delight

here it tickles my darling sight

Vinh Nguyen

Grade 12

Cherry Blossoms

the blossoms spread

their wings in the warm breeze

absorbing sunlight

Jessica Lao

Grade 9

the cherry blossom

down into the ground’s embrace

next year comes again

Tony Huang

Grade 11

Raindrops

from the sky they fall

down into the valley deep

forever gone

Tony Huang

Grade 11

- 78 -

Him and Her

Him

It had been two years since they started going out, and he thought it was about time

they broke up.

They went shopping again. They always went shopping. She always decided where

they went for their weekly date. She really was a rather pushy person, so he stopped

trying to offer opinions a long time ago. Why bother?

He followed her into the same store they went to last week. She must have really

liked that store. However, going there every week was getting kind of tedious. He had

always hated repetitive tasks. He followed as she ventured farther into the store, glancing

around, and winced as his eyes were assaulted by racks of brightly colored clothing, the

scene a duplication of last week.

“What do you think?” she suddenly asked, holding up a bright yellow sweater.

“Nice,” he replied reflexively, though the sweater reminded him of a moldy lemon.

She really had bad taste. But she would probably not like her choice to be challenged.

Women were like that.

He held the bag containing her new purchase as they walked out the store. As

usual, they walked in silence. Why won’t she say something? Aren’t women normally

very chatty?

They really should break up; they had absolutely nothing in common. But she liked

him so much and he’d feel bad to just suddenly dump her. There was technically nothing

going wrong with their relationship.

There she went again, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. She must have

been anxious. Thinking back, he realized that she really was dedicated, never missing a

single date. She must really like him.

Maybe he should wait for her to break up with him instead. He smiled politely in her

direction. She’ll want to break up with him eventually. His thoughts continued as she

smiled back hesitantly.

Her

It had been two years since they started going out and she thought it was about time

they broke up.

They went shopping again today. Once again, it was her decision where they went

for their weekly date. She really wished that he would offer some kind of opinion. She

really wanted him to contradict her at least once. But even if she asked, he would

probably just give an incoherent answer. So, why bother?

She walked into the same store they went to last week. Originally she figured that if

they went to the same store every week, he would offer some form of objection to their

repeated visits, but so far. . .nothing. She hated repetitive tasks—it was getting tedious.

Venturing further into the store with him wordlessly following her, she lazily surveyed

- 79 -

the same selection as last week's. She grabbed a random sweater off the rack and turned

to face him.

“What do you think?” She asked, holding up the bright yellow sweate