Only Falling
 
There is something beautiful that i
have to write, but
i do not know what it is. i know
there are skies melting into oceans to
create a song, but
i do not know where the sky is.
 
i only know that i will fly there
one day. But for now i
am a cat,
 
chasing
 
butterflies and birds,
digging my nails into trees as if
they deserve to be punished.
As if when i
reach the top branch i will be flying.
But i am not, i am only
 
falling.
 
i
am a cat and
cats do not have hands to grip a pencil,
cats cannot tell you that i love you, cats
are kicked and yelled at because master is
 
angry
 
and cats cannot carve a hole in
my skull to let the words out.
 
i curl up on the bed, dream
of catching butterflies, only so i
can sew their wings to my back.
 

by Hayley Russell
Rangi Ruru Girls’ School

The Green stone
 
You are so shiny and beautiful.
Yet I can not find you.
It is like a mystery.
I feel like I am getting closer.
Yet I am so far away.
I will find you eventually.
But I can not wait for that day.
 

by Nikita Ward
Paraparaumu College

Being Pakeha
 
Wha Nuke, Rereke, Tautoku.
It’s supposed to be my heritage.
I wish I could understand the words printed on the walls of Taraika,
But I can only stare.
Tutuki, Tapu, Whakaaro.
They hold a sacred meaning.
The words are alive, I can feel it,
Yet they stand meaningless in my mind.
 
I very nearly went to the Kapa Haka meeting.
They would all have been experienced – full-blooded Maori
Trained in the art from birth.
I would have been embarrassed.
 
I almost circled Maori on my subject choice sheet.
The other students would have laughed at me.
The teacher would have laughed at me.
My own parents probably would have laughed at me.
A Pakeha could never learn Maori.
 

by Lachlan Dixon
Wellington High School

Grace
 
I think in ten-point turns,
walk past myself,
blow steam on the windows
without drawing pictures.
 
You say I shouldn’t worry
because anyone who can spell
onomatopoeia
is destined for great things.
 
I think in lines and boxes.
You think in clouds and curlicues.
epiphanies and animation.
 
You say
“I was born like this,
look.”
And cross your eyes.
One fat curl unwinds itself
onto your cheek.
 
Puddles are happy,
you say.
Happy friend puddles.
Because they always land
in groups
you say
then grab my arm
and pull us into one
together.
 

by Alexandra Morris
Karamu High School

Note for My Singing Teacher
for Frances
 
But your funeral filled two church halls.
 
Tom playing for you, still wearing his coat.
the school jazz ensemble playing you out
like you planned.
 
i don’t lament over things.
i’m not worried about the Swedish haircut
or even the incident with the door.
 
Sorry never does any good, sorry,
but I forgot to dance in the aisles
 
better get hit in your soul
when they clap the clap
syncopation with a sax.
I forgot to dance in the aisles
 
so by the church on Church Road
I listened to the clapping
Zita wore chilli lipstick and danced
without thought, without weight.
You could say she danced for all of us.
 

by Amy Barnard
Taradale High School

Brother

A baby’s cries
beating the crack of dawn
Heartbeat
Heartbeat
The yeast of life made an excess
of dough to birth every time
you grin
In dusty days we all hold
the small wonders:
burning flicks upon thrumming ant
traffic steeping in your brain
All the way up to the stars and all
the way down again
Be good
Keep warm
The raveling of a defeated
seamstress as you leave red-cheeked
in your Velcro shoes
The blows of the dandelion clock
getting wonky and avaricious,
spitting pips down your throat
Thereafter: a clamber
To gather
When the night sky is bulky
swelling
I slip a grin
into my pocket
just to hear the thud of
Heartbeat
 

By Chelsea Lund
Te Kura – The Correspondence School