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Extra Poetry and Short Story Competition 2017


Extra Poetry and Short Story Competition
It was very exciting this week to open the Extra Supplement (from the Otago Daily Times) and see that three of our students were placed in the national Poetry and Short Story Competition. 
Rocky was placed second and Louie third in the Year 5 & 6 poetry competition and Billie was placed third in the Year 7 & 8 short story competition. 
This is a very prestigious competition and is a real indication of the wonderful writing that happens in our classrooms.
Well done Rocky, Louie and Billie.


Back Beach  by Rocky
Seaweed dancing in the calm
Small boats looking at themselves in the water
The boats rocking to the bear of the waves
The power lines stretch out to each other. 

The View  by Louie
The sea trickles blue images
It paints a picture
The pipe disappears like a ghost form the past
The mist blurs out the power lines
Like an invisibility cloak
The gulls cry like babies. 

Tales from my unwanted by Billie
I shuffle the letters, my dry fingertips scratching the coffee-stained papers, most of them fluttering down to my feet like leaves way past their best before date. I’m debating with myself until I pick up a letter with alternating sweat stains like polka dots. I gingerly pick it up and open it despite the off-putting splotches, I read; Dear body, I’m a mix of many emotions, stirred in your body to create me. I try so hard to hide it, keep in the smell, but as pressure starts to build up, I suddenly burst. Spreading my atrocious aroma, even the strongest deodorant won’t hold my barrier. The longer I’m left, the more ‘rude’ emotions come my, or your way, up turned noses and saucy remarks. I weep for you, which I later realise is a big mistake as I start to fill every pore and curve.                                              

All my sympathy,                                                                                                                              


The next letter I spy is one professionally neater than the others, even set out and addressed in a swirly copperplate, looking very neat apart from the vicious drawings of un-accurate stingers; hello, I know you hate me, that’s ok though, I hate you too, You’ve tried to kill me, I’ll kill you first. I won’t go down without a fight, I’ll hover at your feet, disrupt every step as you try to have a romantic walk with your loved one, I’ll kill her too if you don’t watch out. I’ll haunt you like a ghost stalking your every step, I could build a nest wherever I want, it doesn’t matter, I just want to scare you. Well, you should be scared as I never leave my nest without my sting.                                                                    

Your greatest enemy,


I’m shuddering as I open the next letter, scared for my future, but get distracted as I start to read this letter covered in patches of smut, I’m afraid to say I was a bit of a smoker in the past and this letter is seemingly starting to bring back those days.  To the master, it quotes, firstly craved, the only thing on your mind, not wanted, but needed, it was meant to be. I’m relished, desired and loved until you carelessly threw me on the ground and vigorously stomped on to put out my only pride. I’m left in the gutter, clogging up water and being avoided wondering how I was ever loved.                                                 

 Once loved,                                                                                                                      

  Cigarette Butt

Already forgetting the last letter, I open up one written in a ‘technical’ font with numerous doodles sprawled over the crisp white page; it’s a control thing, I pop up whenever, it doesn’t really matter when, though I prefer when you will most likely when you’ll get annoyed. Mabey you’re at the very last step of a game level you’ve been working on for weeks, or maybe when you’re in the middle of some secret messaging on Facebook, don’t worry I won’t tell. Want to watch a YouTube video? You’ve got to get through me first, don’t blame me though, it’s my job.                                                                

 Mr. Pop-up Ad

The last but not least letter reads; Dear owner, so I’m started off by a single thin strand of spider’s silk, right? I Grow until I’m a grown up web, old enough to feed my creator, but only after very few hours, left, gathering dust and getting dirty looks by your visitors.                                                                                                 



I run my fingers through my bristly hair and rub at the worry line between my forehead, stabbing my blunt fingers on the phone buttons, deciding to book the next psychotherapist appointment a.s.a.p.



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