Competition Results from Past Years

The English department enjoys the challenge and interest generated by Competitions. It is stimulating to write for an outside audience. Here are some examples from former competitions.

 

SATIPS 2009 Poetry Award Winners

In the Years 5/6 section of the Competition, Alice's "Orchestra Explosions" was second overall and the judge, James Carter, said, "What a fantastic conceit : sunset as a piece of music! The poet, so neatly and imaginatively conveys the subject through an intimate knowledge of music. The phrasing is just gorgeous - 'volumes of colour legato their way across the sky' and 'the lightness of touch is piccolo'. A very fine poem."

In Years 7/8 section of the Competition, Jemima's "Grandpa" was a Joint Winner. The judge said "This poem is a tour de force. The poet has such a way with imagery, that Grandfather becomes a 3D figure, flesh and blood. A very moving piece too." Both have £10 WH Smith tokens and certificates, and Julia and Issy have £5 tokens and certificates for being runners-up in the Years 5/6 section.

 

	Orchestra Explosions
	I peer up at the dark sky On a cold frosty night, A crescent shaped moon, another place, The night time sky a blackboard Or an artist’s sketchpad On which to paint a sea of colour. In the distance the feint sound of an orchestra, The midnight show begins. Volumes of colour legato their way across the sky. The lightness of touch is piccolo Teardrops of colour Gliding and swirling through the frosty air. The clarinet echoes through the night The acid colours leaping from star to star, Peppering the night-time sky. The wail of a rocket screaming upwards, The screech of a violin. Notes burst apart and scatter. The orchestra thunders Trumpets spitting out golden coins Spirals of silver from melodious flutes. The crash of symbols, an explosion of light, The conductor bows Sunset - tonight’s performance is over. Alice

 

	Grandpa
	A silhouette of Big Foot, he sits down, A soldier on rewind. A life-size teddy bear he protects his fort With echoes of snoring Deafening anyone who crosses his path. He breathes with ease as his beachball head Wobbles from time to time On his unsteady frame. His elf ears swerve outwards To detect any sound, As his eyes squint Flashing a hazel torch at you, Putting you in the spotlight. Arms of steel and hands of talons Stretch for the unreachable Mars bar, A true professional at eating this chewy delicacy. His shirt, looking as if it’s stuffed with feathers, Rests on legs that dangle from the antique chair Magnetised to the ground By clumpy leather clown shoes And muscled thighs that are long retired Supported by a walking stick Enabling him to reach his destination. With a laugh to be heard a mile away His teddy tummy trembles tremulously. This is my bashful Grandpa. Jemima

 

	Sloth
	Macaws erupt from the dense canopy Like iridescent fireworks. Monkeys cackle and shriek As if demented. The sweaty jungle pulsates With the hum of a million voices. From behind a tree choked with vines A tiny head emerges slowly, A squashed face with soulful, wide-set eyes And a bewildered smile. Imperceptibly, like the hands of a clock, Its dishevelled pelt comes into view, The tousled, shaggy fur Like a doormat, Tinged with moss. The oversized arms hug the tree, Pronged claws like giant salad forks Grip the mottled bark. An oasis of calm surrounds this misfit, Slightly disorientated in this overpowering place, Yet blissfully unaware of any sorrow, With a peace of mind others can only hope for. Julia

 

I Dream of My Childhood - The Treehouse

Front row seats To a theatre in the sky The stamping of feet in your ears Among the ancient oak trees The thrill of the slide Whips your hair into your face On which rests the radiant beam of a smile An explorer Walking the rope-ladder of the mountains Bark chippings on the dewy soil Like breadcrumbs That Hansel and Gretel left Only for the birds to eat. A jungle of children. The area smells like a fresh, winter pine forest Cleansed by the downpour That murky grey afternoon. The adventure of my childhood. Issy

SATIPS 2008 Poetry Award Winners

Having won the SATIPS Poetry Competition for three out of the last four years, it was perhaps unreasonable to expect us to do so again. We were, therefore absolutely delighted to hear that Ruth’s poem “Standing” was the winner of the Years 7/8 section of the competition, and that Jamie, Fenella and Max were three out of only ten runners-up, and William was a runner-up in the Years 5/6 section. All these pupils were presented with books and were congratulated on the excellence of their poems. Well done, indeed.

Runner-Up in the Years 5/6 Section

Full of Surprises                                                                       

He is:

Yellow trunks in a swimming pool
A fire in a damp sitting room.
A fizzy, sugary coca cola
And his colour is brilliant blue.
He is like a leopard springing on am impala,
A Ferrari racing along on a motorway,
A magnet in the middle of a circle of iron nails.
He is like a rainbow on a stormy day,
like a bouncing ball knocking everything over,
Like a penguin sliding on its belly on ice
He is. . . .
My friend.

 

William, C Form (Year 6)

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Runners-Up in the Years 7/8 Section

Full of Surprises           

Over by the lake, two lovers are gazing at the clouds
With no thoughts but for each other.
To my right elves and pixies are up to no good,
Annoying the fairies and the woodland folk.
In the cottage, Thomas is dying, his pain unbearable,
Alone with none to care for him; but I can’t help.
The sun is setting in a beautiful shade of crimson;
Suddenly it is gone, gone until morning.
Approaching the forest, through the silence,
I hear the call of a wolf; it chills me to the bone.
Out of the darkness, a unicorn trots up to me,
Her silver mane and tail glittering in the moonlight.
I can feel the magic in her, surrounding her.
Slowly, she turns and walks away.
I close the book for the night.

 

Fenella, A Forms (Year 8)

 

The Pig

King of the pork
I roll in any filth
Even my own.
I’ve two purposes:
To eat,
Then
To be eaten.
It’s a sad life.
I’ll eat
Whatever rubbish I get.
It’s good no matter what.
You could live off me.
My delicious taste.
My talk isn’t pleasant.
Neither is my sound.
Some call me a Hog.
I have a snout to sniff
With a small curly tail.
I’m thick,
With stumpy legs.
They call my teeth tusks.
If I’m stressed I might eat my young.
You could rip me clean.
I’m made to die.
It’s not destruction.
You disgusting things
Can’t let us live.
Beware I won’t spare
You from
My disgusting pong.

 

Max, B Forms (Year 7)

The Sea

We are going to the sea today:
Down the path, through the fields,
Over the bridge, over the stream
And up the hill. As we walk,
The path changes from dirt to sand.
The dunes are in sight now
And soon the sea.
We can hear the waves crashing
Against the soft sand.
Finally we can see it, the sea,
The deep blue sea.
We hurry down the dunes
through the soft sand,
along the beach, to the sea.
At last we can hear the small ripples.
Hesitating at the slight chill of the water,
I dip my foot in and wade out until waist deep.
I take a deep breath and dive into the water.
It is cold but refreshing on this hot summer’s day.
Underwater this place seems deserted, vast,
As I look round myself at the endless sand
Through my blurry underwater sight.
Gliding through the water,
I see a distant blur of a rock
Tumbling with the current.
I pop my head up above the water,
Turn and head for shore.

 

Jamie, A Forms (Year 8)

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Winner of the Year 7/8 Section:

	Standing
	Looking down on the valley, Searching for what could be my home, The rain drizzling and pattering my face, I huddle to my father, And he wraps his arm around me. We stand in silence Watching smoke drifting away from cottage chimneys. I feel my father’s arm tighten, And his kiss on my hair. A tear brims in my eye, Then falls onto the muddy ground, where my welly boots are planted. I look up at my father’s understanding eyes, And see that he is close to crying too. He hugs me; we become closer than ever, joined, never to be separated. He tells me to be brave, but it is hard to be, As tears cascade freely down my cheeks. He will be gone in the morning, And I shall be wishing that I had gone with him. I bury my nose in his coat, breathing in his familiar smell, Sniffing, then wiping my nose, embarrassed. He takes my chin and I stare into his eyes, Looking at my reflection And I know that this is goodbye, But he shall come home again. As we trudge along the track, towards home, I grip his hand, Never wanting to let go. I know that later my hand will be alone, Or wiping tears from my eyes, But I know that I shall hold it again, someday.   Ruth, B Forms (Year 7)

Foyle Young Poet of the Year

The Foyle Young Poet of the Year Competition is an annual international event organised by the Poetry Society. It is Britain’s most prestigious poetry prize for young writers between the ages of 11 - 17. Entries come from all over the world, from state and independent senior and prep schools. The event is sponsored by The Times Educational Supplement. The poet Jo Shapcott is President of The Poetry Society and Vice Presidents include Simon Armitage, Roger McGough, Ian McMillan, David Mitchell and Benjamin Zephaniah.

 

This year there were nearly ten thousand entries. We are thrilled that Flora has been chosen as one of the fifteen overall winners. She attended the award ceremony in Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre on National Poetry day, 5th October, 2006, and has been offered either a week’s residential course at the Arvon Foundation or the opportunity to work with a poet in school. Her poem will be published on the Poetry Society website and will be published in the annual Foyle Young Poets of the Year anthology. This is sent throughout Britain and the world to schools, libraries, bookshops, arts centres, newspapers, poetry landmarks and to young poets who enter the competition in 2007. This is an astonishing achievement from a prep school pupil and we send Flora our sincerest congratulations!

 

Down in the Greenhouse Summers ago I went tomato picking in the greenhouse. I remember it so well - The hot, sticky smell of the air around us Contrasting with the cool, strangely calming smell of the fruit, Shiny, red and speckled, Wonderfully different from all others, It was the one for me. Small and round But hard at the same time. My sister always gulped hers down Quick as a flash. I remember her face. Not me. I peeled off the skin Oh, so very gently, One strip at a time, Then placed it on my tongue And shut my mouth. I heard the buzzing of the bees In their own world Working for their queen, The rustling of leaves, and My mother laughing at our messy faces.   Flora