Winners Poetry Competition 2015

Samuel Elphick Amelia Elphick Lilly Deep Charly Thompson
Rosie Meares Casey Norden Anne Green Amelia Marshall
Rosalie Dale Anne Green

 

CARP IN MY RIVER
by Samuel Elphick
 
There are lots of carp in the Murrumbidgee River
Their scales are golden and shine like glitter
Carp are not nice to eat they are just no good
They taste like mud and old dead wood
To save our river we need to get them out
Or they will put our native fish in doubt
So when you see a carp
Get your hook sharp
Catch as many as you can
But don’t put them back again
Trout, Yellow Belly and Murray Cod
These are the fish I want on my rod
That old carp just get in my way
I hope My Murrumbidgee River will be free of carp some day

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MY RAINBOW PONY
by Amelia Elphick
I have a little pony and her name is Girl
She is brown all over with a little pink curl
She is my very best friend
We ride and ride until each days end
I ride her all over town
Up big hills and then back down
Her mane and tail sparkle everywhere we go
I pretend she has wings she can fly high and low
One day we want to go to the bush
We will see some wild brumbies and we’ll fly around them with a whoosh
We can imagine we are flying high in the clouds and over a beautiful rainbow
Because that what rainbow ponies and little girls do,
Don’t you know?

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Coota Volley Ball
 by Lilly Deep
Yellow sand, golden feet,
Shorts, t-shirts, singlets bright.
People, moving, jumping, thumping
Balls and nets and speakers pumping.
Music loud, it hurts your ears
Horn blasts honking, scary sound.
Fun and friendly Coota Beach

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Monte Cristo
by Charly Thompson
 
Read if you dare!
Look up,
Look down,
Look all the way aroundBoo!
You will never see again.
It’s fun but frightening and foggy
You will never see them coming.
You will want to say,
Help me!!!
As loud as you can scream.
But Blood walls don’t Help
Roar Boo!Your screaming again,
You don’t know what to do
You can’t get out of here
The dust roads you don’t know,
The ghost will haunt you
For ever

EVER!!!BOO!!!

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My home is a place of colour
   by Rosie Meares
 
My home is a place of red Suzuki paddock bashers engulfed in a swirling cloud
of dust, sunburnt noses, a red header whirring on a distant hill.My home is a place of orange fruit ripe for picking, toasting marshmallows over
flickering flames, orange sunsets blazing the paddocks in the evening.My home is a place of yellow haired grandchildren playing cafes in the cubby,
glaring sun overhead, bright yellow canola crops slowly turning golden brown.My home is a place of green dewy grass in the morning,
home grown vegetables for dinner, lush green wheat rustling in the breeze.My home is a place of blue skies on a cloudless day, rain over thirsty paddocks,
swim in a blue pool on a hot summer’s day.My home is place of purple Paterson’s curse along a well-known walking track,
overgrown artichokes flowering in the garden, deep purple clouds swelling in an
ocean of grey.My home is a place of colour.A grey city cannot compare.

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Gundagai 2nd XI
 by Casey Norden

Dimming nightwatchmen.
Middle-aged greying googlies
hunched in the slips or at silly point
guarding like the Dog on the Tuckerbox
to evade that marathon to the boundary.
Stretched extra large white polo’s
hiding the soft damper roll giving
deep extra cover.
A flock of all-rounder’s; being as wide as they are tall.
Sporting cherry red shiner stains
from the tomato sauce
that dripped down the sausage sandwich
at the luncheon interval.
Envisioning the post-match innings
at Sponsorship Hotel
because reserve grade cricket is such a thirsty game.
And the boys,
debutantes
skinny in their flannels
worn like a ladies tennis dress to the knees.
Swift as the Murrumbidgee,
field nymphs darting and diving through Snake Gully.
Little Dave dutifully enlisting to play with Dad’s bumbling brigade
of frothing beer bellies and overburdened hamstrings.
Long off daydreaming
to be the town’s next Brad Haddin.
Young bouncer’s visiting a man’s world
where initiation is the tribal tattoo ink
of a branding beamer
bruising purple.

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Water under the bridge
    by Anne Green

a plan to cross the river
a plan to span the plain
a plan to help the region
its confidence regain
a welcome princely infant
a vessel of commotion
scene of endless energy
constantly in motion
the grandest in the colony
the longest in the state
emblem of skill and confidence
making the nation great
responsible provider
solid on its beams
friend and guide and motivator
contractor of dreams
wear and tear eroding
determined still to give
trusting always in support
yeaming so to live
planks and bolts unravel
fragile now, a threat
a useless,  managed ruin
cause of endless debt
neglected by too many
respected by too few
Creaking, twisting, tumbling
replaced by something new
languishing and broken
but spirit undiminished
accepting. Acquiescing
changed … but never finished

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Cups of Tea at Midnight
by Amelia Marshall
When I think of you I miss
The light in your eyes
And cups of tea at midnight
And maybe I was never meant
To get stuck in the rut of another
Or to drag them into mine
And I see all the people
Just like me
And l want to run
Those wounded souls
Like demons
‘And you will suffer too,’ they say
‘And you will make the same mistakes.’
And they grab at my ankles
And l scramble like the kitten
So afraid of constraint
And I long to be free
But when I think of you I miss
The light in your eyes
And cups of tea at midnight

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Drama in the House Yard
    by Rosalie Dale

It wouldn’t’ve been so bad, y’know,
lf the house cow had survived…
lf she hadn’t caught the collywobbles,
Then just up ‘n died.
She’d been the wife’s pride ‘n joy
Since she were just a calf.
Poddy fed ‘n hand raised,
She wasn’t spoiled … not half!
She’d follow the misses’ round the yard
Just like a flamin’ dog.
The trouble was she didn’t know
The yard was not a ‘bog’!
The cow-cakes stuck to shoe ‘n boot
‘n caused no end of stink.
But the missus’d just smile sweetly,
Givin’ the cow a wink.
So, when Bess kicked the bucket
The wife went off her rocker …
You’d think the stinkin’ Poms’d  gone
‘n beaten us in the Soccer!
I tipped me hat, ‘n scratched me head,
Watchin’ the missus cope.
Jingoes mate, she was pretty much
At the end of her flamin’ rope!
Till I land home one arvo,
And find the gateway barred
By a whacking great goat with horns and beard …
I took it pretty hard!
She-who-must-be-obeyed convinced me
To give the bludger a go.
He stank to high heaven but ah well,
Small price for some peace at home.
M’Y-fronts have been chewed to bits,
The grape vines are no more.
It’s crook when ya mates can’t visit
Unless they ring before.
The goat poo sticks to shoe ‘n boot
But… what do you jolly-well think?
The missus just smiles sweetly,
‘n gives the goat a wink.

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The Speech
by  Anne Green

His thank you speech has left me out
How can I be an oversight?
I want to kick, I want to shout
I’m trying not to sit and pout
I know I did my job just right
His thank you speech has left me out
I did my best there is no doubt
I slaved and slaved with all my might
I want to kick, I want to shout
I must accept I have no clout
Not see this as a damning slight
His thank you speech has left me out
I don’t know what this is about
My role was vital far from trite
I want to kick. I want to shout
I want to punch him in the snout
Protest, put up a fight
His thank you speech has left me out
I want to kick, I want to shout

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