Winners of this year’s The News poetry competition were announced recently during the Poetry Open Mic at Across the Bridge arts festival in Bannockburn. Winner of the adult section was Annabel Wilson, of Wanaka, for Begin Being. Adult runner-up was Jasmine Cuthbert, of Cromwell. Winning the children’s section was Hannah Bisset (15), of Cromwell, for Our Plastic Planet. Children’s runner-up was Molly Christiansen (15), of Cromwell.
Begin Being
BY ANNABEL WILSON
It’s the same moon, but it’s different –
these mountains you’ve known as long as
you’ve been knowing, who knew you before you
even started to know, look different now. Your
new glance is slant, askance as you take in
this autumn miscellany:
manuka, matagouri, an empty beach
slate-grey sand in ribbed
corrugations beneath your feet
Also known as wild Irishman, matagouri is the only
native plant with thorns. For much of the year, it has
few leaves. But it’s the stems and thorns that
let light in
Keep walking til you’re
knee deep in the lake, walk
til you’re standing
in blue clay. Meanwhile
somewhere near Hororata
a farmer drives north, in his green ute
with his dog on the back. Dust follows
the truck as he cuts his way across
the Canterbury Plains. Irrigators rush past
like giant strands of DNA. He’s listening
to Dire Straits, Love Over Gold
and when Telegraph Road plays
when he passes Darfield’s Telegraph
Road, he laughs. Then came the churches,
then came the schools, then came the lawyers,
then came the rules, then came the trains and
the trucks with their load
And now the texture of what you’re standing
in changes. It’s lost its firmness. Much of the year
you’ve felt the ground has been like this. You
think about the mud we chucked at each other
as kids, then made into sculptures left to dry
on the rocks on the shore. Keep walking
towards the blue line
which was once the edge of the world, the ledge
where things get deeper and darker and you can’t
see the bottom anymore.
Didn’t you keep your clay man for a while, in your bedroom?
Didn’t he sit, grey-blue, watchful on your window
ledge, looking out to the lake? And was there a moment
when you knew you couldn’t keep him, knew
he couldn’t stay? (Was that when you began being,
was that when you knew?)
Now it’s night. There’s a Southerly. A pale blue poukana moon
holds a tricksy vigil over the bay. A curl, a frond, a biscuit, a scrap:
You saw me standing alone. And the farmer keeps driving north
and he’s never coming back.
Our Plastic Planet
BY HANNAH BISSET
Hey Look!
A new discovery of a brand new island!
Found near the coast of North America
A new place for vacation
A new place to live
Deserves celebration
It’s big too!
Three times the size of france
Twice the size of texas
Let’s take a glance
That’s weird
No tropical trees
No soft sand
No nice sea breeze
Here’s the catch
It’s the great pacific garbage patch
And it’s not an island
It’s a layer of plastics
Lots of it
One point eight trillion pieces
Like a toxic blanket covering the ocean
“It’s biodegradable”
In slow motion
Like a poisonous potion
Brewing in our ocean
But still we apply it
Like lotion
Where is our emotion?!
Why do we do this to our planet?
It’s beside our lakes
On our grounds
In our forests
On our beaches
Our planet
Our earth
Our home
Why
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