Student Poetry Competition 2024: Year 9-10 Winners

i miss the summer nights, back when i
couldn’t get your voice out of my mind.
i want eternal, seasonal love, want us
barefoot & dizzy on drenched grass tinged
in gǔqín notated sepia & myopic blur
no more western canon or classical sheets just
peking opera wavering through the rusted radio
aged powder fleshed out on your face.
because when we talked it felt like touching;
faux dancing at the overlap of our tilted shadows
gravity’s discarded sketches of us: shoulder to shoulder
my head hovering above the tan of your crossed legs
sable hair distorted by smudged pencil lines, makeshift halo.
the gǔqín is the only instrument where you can
slide fingers across the string in the audibility’s tender absence
fold space into rest, go where resonance no longer
registers to the human ear, only echo slightly in a hushed closet
& i could hear it, when i turned to face you
saw your fingers caught in the knots of my breath
gliding through silk, sound without sound
in a steam of heritage, a grave of incense.
the daylight will leave us with half-hearted scars,
streak our skin in dried, crumbling incarnadine, your life
escaping your body. but
for now, we are unaware. and for now
i miss you still, spinning out into the muddied snow
skimming my fingers over unravelling strings;
i can’t get your voice out of my mind.

When you get those first pair of jeans
You feel all grown up
A big girl now your mother coos
A tough girl, a mature girl
They fit a little weird in places
Loose around the waist but tight at the thighs
They are a bit uncomfortable
But you suck up the pain
Plaster on a smile
You got jeans you tell yourself
But why do they make you feel so odd
Big girls don’t cry
Especially about how jeans make them feel
They don’t look in the mirror and wipe the tears
But you can’t really ever erase the pain
And the way the hug you isn’t kind
Does my stomach really look like that?
The day the button doesn’t do up
It doesn’t just pass you by
It sticks
You go for a different size
Numbers hurt more than words
But when you slide them on
It’s like slipping into an old friend
You check them from side to side
Rivers running down your cheeks
Breathe in and out
Just keep breathing
You resign to them
They look ok
You just need to find the right top
Smoothing your hands down
You smile a bit
No one will know the size
You look fine
Fine
The word crumbles a bit in the mind
Fine will always have to be your best.

An ink bun and a golden shimmering ponytail,
Streets full of foreign faces each sculpted with intricate detail,
A new sun rises with warmth dancing on my back,
The pavement an empty canvas for my footprinted track.

Adventure calls and curiosity awaits,
Washing over all fear and debate.
One foot then another on this new street,
Where my life and theirs, fatefully meet.
First a family of acrobats holding an unwavering statue,
A peaceful, poised and perfected plateau.
But slowly like rocks eroded from pressure,
Shatters like a firing porcelain, cracked with errors.
A climb up the hill, is a crowd full of cheer,
Dancing, singing, holding each other near.
The melodies intertwined with rhythm and beat,
Hand in hand, a community complete.

An adolescent boy cries as I pass by,
Mum rushes over accompanied by his fleeting cry.
After a loop and a knot sits a ribboned shoelace,
Held together by a comforting, motherly embrace.
A few blocks away a lady’s hand extends,
Water, meals, and her care to lend.
Her shoes shiny red, his barely intact,
A kind, gentle smile makes a huge impact.
Below the lamppost, glowing heads hunch under light,
Falling behind a pleonasm of words- no mentor in sight.
Contorted, confused, and condemned melded faces,
Met with an abyss of empty lined pages.

In a small laneway stands a dainty French cafe,
The record sways to ‘Les Champs Élysées’.
Gentle hearts bewitched by glimmering eyes,
Neither one wishes to utter goodbye.
Not far away, there’s a quarrelling couple,
Love’s vibrant flame extinguished by their struggles.
A glinting ring at the bottom of the drain,
The only thing they’re bound by now, is pain.

Up the road, a teenager in a lavish store,
Her hollow heart spoiled rotten and immature.
Tossing her wanted clothes with disregard,
All her expenses coddled by daddy’s credit card.

A middle-aged woman with papers in hand,
Urging for payment; life’s harsh demand.
Swollen eyes, a crinkled linen dress,
Crumples to the floor- papers sprawled like a mess.
Two carefree skater boys’ whizz past me,
Their only trouble in life is their scraped knees.
Turning the curb, their little heads fly off into the distance,
The whole city echoes with their laughter for a brief instance.
The end of the street draws closer, step by step,
Accepting moments of life- the highs and the ebbs.
For this journey holds stories that shape us through time,
With life’s experiences and lessons intertwined.

Now I stand in this city before Sonder St.,
Each short instant somehow makes me more complete.
Breathtaking fragments, small windows of time,
Each passing moment, a note of life’s endless rhyme.
The unknown awaits around the curb,
Where my past, present and future will emerge.
With each step guided by cracked concrete, I roam,
The canvas is filled with footprints- time to paint my own.

I think of you often
Your name means ‘protector’
But they say your name with caution
Because you are a collector
Of men turned to stone
Stories are told by the victors, not the victims.
We need to re-write yours.
Men say you seduced Poseidon.
A Siren. Death-bringing, dangerous, soul-stealing mirage
That could bend the will of wise men
Jealous Athena, in her rage
Turn you into a monster
The victors are men, not women.
So the stories are told by them.
You can’t fight the tide
The sea is vicious and takes because it can
It devoured you and it was justified
Because he is a man
He can hurt you and they don’t care
Athena’s hands were tied.
So she made a trade.
Hair of venomous snakes as your aide.
Blue eyes to a crimson shade
An armour to protect you
Snakes: Wisdom from the earth
They don’t bite unless you step on them
Stone: Cold stealer of warmth
Trapped and stiff from toe to thumb
Your fate if you met her eye
Athena gave Medusa her sisters
To care for her
Through the warm summers and frigid winters
On an island with no one to fear
Safe and alone
You were loyal to her and she cared
She couldn’t do anything because the men were in charge
A son of Zeus came for her head
Her children from Poseidon appear
From her neck, a son and winged steed
There was no more to fear
From Medusa for she was gone
Athena put her head on her shield
To honour and remember
To show the power Medusa could wield
To make even the bravest surrender
To rough rock
They call them heroes, warriors, a champion
And call you a monster, the devil, a sinner
Medusa is still here.
1 in every 3 women live her life
Silenced by slurs and fear
How many men question her strife?
And twist the tale
She’s lying. She’s crazy. She broke my heart.
How many monsters have you made of women?
Tearing us apart
And making us less than men
Why are we the villain?
Medusa, my sister. I am here. I see you. I am your witness. You will not be forgotten.

Written poetry

• Prioshka Bari-Das, Lauriston Girls’ School – Never-ending Star Shower
• Susanna Brown, Olivet Christian College – I Wonder
• Noah Cooper, Pakenham Secondary Collage – Pigeon
• Sebastian De Marte, Christian College Geelong – Depth
• Jordan Dennis, Rivercrest Christian College – Comfortable Insanity
• Ella Gowans, Ballarat Grammar – Concrete Jungle
• Leila Hoogenraad, Mount Evelyn Christian School – This Beast
• Harper Reed, Eltham College – Mirror Mirror
• Samaira Venkat, Bacchus Marsh Grammar – My Defense
• Grace Wang, Presbyterian Ladies’ College – Eiswein Memories; the finale of your faux sommelier
• Sophia Zheng, Lauriston Girls’ School – The River Flows in You

Performance poetry

• Liliana Costa, Christian College Geelong – There Are No Winners in War
• Charlie Russo, Woodleigh School – Not At All
• Grace Sudjono, Harkaway Hills College – Her Silent Hymn of Love