Jennifer Niven – (Year 13, Samuel Marsden Collegiate, Wellington)

Life Cycles

I found a foetus in my egg
A fleshy body slopped into the bowl
Where a fat yellow yolk should have been
No sunny side for this guy

What’s up with you said dad
Period pain I said and went outside
To sit on the cold back steps
And listen to the six o’clock news
Drifting
           from the silhouette of
                     old Mrs Reiher’s open window

Then I found my little brother
(In his fat yellow fireman’s hat)
Hugged him, in case he didn’t know
That shit happens
And when you’ve grown up
You’re not supposed to cry about it

Laura Lincoln – (Yr 12, Karamu High School, Hastings)

So here we are

What’s a few men
             who throw their arms around me
                         when you are not here
                                     to connect my dots

Tell me you need me
            I’m losing my touch
                      playing snakes and ladders
                                 on the back of my hand

Give me a reason
             to change it
                          to fall at your feet
                                     knee deep in solution

Make me want to
             remove your coat
                           and let you
                                         warm your hands
                                                      on my stove

Lilian Yong – (Year 12, Epsom Girls Grammar School, Auckland)

Cellar Door

This is the Age, you say,
and elbows send the bitter cup
that scrunches your eyes and shrivels your cheeks
into a precarious tilt.
(You said that it would grow on you.)

Oh, I say,
your excitement not catching.
Things are still, stagnant.

The best days of our lives, you continue,
and later, when you can't get the window
open fast enough, I see that you
had carrots, discoloured, descending
in a thin soup of acid and wine.

And later, between more facial contortions,
you say it will only get better,
and I can't help but smile.

Lisa Cochrane – (Year 13, Epsom Girls Grammar School, Auckland)

Ray

I paused when I heard,
via long distance call,
that you had moved from my world
to another,
secretly glad that I could have my mother back
to make cut lunches.

I said goodbye later that night,
hurried into and then out of a room
where children should be neither seen nor heard,
too scared to ask questions,
a few minutes to make my peace.

Nine daffodil heads opened that week
– one for each of your girls.
We cut them;
the symbol of your battle.
We carried them that day
till they were droopy and worn
when we left them with you.

Three years ago
you slipped out of my life.
At the time I was secretly glad,
confused only
that my mother
put Salt Shakers into your coffin
for 'later on'.

Michael Trigg – (Year 13, Wellington College)

Act One

Zips up, buttons buttoned,
Put on someone else’s face.

Do re me

Stretch the mind, the body and the voice.
Silent, one sided conversation in a corner.

Fa so la

Breathe in through the nose,
Out through the mouth.
Each breath in filling you with someone else.
Each breath out, emptying you of yourself.

Ti do do

Look around, recognise faces
And acknowledge their presence.

Ti la so

Briefcase.
Umbrella.
Hat.

Fa me re

Anticipation.
Blaring silence.

Do

Curtain up.

Michaela Ball – (Year 13, Cashmere High School, Christchurch)

Scarlet Lips

Lips tainted scarlet grate against my own
like bruises and grapes and
like the colour you think a laugh might be.

The words I’ll bow my head in silence
resonate in my ears, but now they’re red,
and I don’t think I can listen anymore.

Sharp, rugged rocks were splayed across
the beach,
              night-time,
                         summertime,
we had a blanket because it was cold,
fingers, hands.

And now, the smooth, hard surface is scratched.
The moon stole my vocabulary,
and left me with a pair of red gumboots

I’ll dirty the ochre-jelly soles,
and pretend I’m someone

else.

Sam Wells – (Year 12, Wellington College)

Lazy Boy

Warmth and softness,
the cat purring,
the fire crackling.
It’s funny what you see
when your eyes aren’t open.

Because he can still see
the business suit at the end
of the tunnel.
The constant colour of green.
The gold man on the water.
The ease with which the knife cuts through the butter.

But the butter is cold.

His favourite feeling is flying.
Being a hot knife
floating, weightless,
with everything and nothing beneath.
Chaos under him continues,
but not near him.
He is flying.

And all this about a boy
in the cold,
on the couch,
inside me.

Sarah Wilks – (Year 13, Samuel Marsden Collegiate, Wellington)

Little Sister

After stories last night
I couldn't help but notice
The perfection in your milk white cheek,
The smooth and absolute softness of it,
Like a mound of icing sugar.

Then, erupting with laughter,
Your eyes glimmered
And your mouth grinned open,
So I was washed with the smell of toothpaste,
As your warm body twisted away,

Leaving me cold.

Sarah Zydervelt – (Year 12, Nayland College, Nelson)

A Leaving Message (For Eriko)

It is easier for the particles to move under.
The wind carries you off.
Gliding, the air hostess remembers her tray.
Music takes you back.
Summer watched the playful, her salty eyes form memories.
The sea looks wispy from your perch.

Change.
I miss you.
Music takes me back.
Kayaking trips make me smile and how we sung like idiots.
It’s easier for me to feel sad.
Isolated in a little town filled with empty space.

I could be swept away in a dream.
Carried off by pretty phrases and fitted with silver wings,
But you will always be my heart and on the phone.
I guess I’ll see you soon enough.

I don’t get to watch history as a brick carries you away.
I’ll say goodbye and pretend to smile.
My saline eyes reveal all.
Change stains the leaves of my memories as they swoop to a resting point.
We are good at hugs and cheating.
This box cheats gravity.
I love our sneaking and missioning.

I'll heart you soon.