It’s my birthday, yay yay yay,
what a special day,
Now I am ten,
I can finally build my den,
who will I invite then?
Will it be Charlie?
will it be Tyler…
the little smiler?
The day my sister rode her bike into the pond,
Of her bike she was very fond,
It probably wouldn’t have happened if she had had a tricycle,
But she didn’t, she had a bicycle.
Dad rushing in, for my sister he would save,
Under the water it was as dark as the darkest of caves.
As she climbed out dad is still looking,
He came up to take a breath and saw that no one was watching,
Angry he got and in his back he created a knot which has stayed in his back ever since.
The moral of this poem is never to ride into a pond.
Christmas Eve then Christmas Morning,
Christmas Eve night there was a snoring.
Santa climbing down the chimney,
And always, at the bottom, a blazing fire that burns his booty.
When the morning comes, children wake up,
They sneak downstairs to peak at their pressies,
They see they have a stick for hockey and the DVD of wall-E,
Then they go upstairs all cheery pretending,
to sleep until they can open their gifts,
Spending the rest of the day trying to lift themselves
from the guilt of knowing what the presents were.
Hopefully next time this child will learn.
We Surrender
We want peace
One by one
We end the fight
No more bullets, bombs, or guns
Just candy, games and let us play ball
Let us have a party and make some noise
Parade the streets with glee and joy
For WW2 shall be no more
Open windows and let the fresh breeze in
Get rid of all our dirty rags
Let us raise the flags
All the countries are at peace
Germany will not be left aloof
Every September 2nd, let us sit down and recollect
Memories of our ancestors
Let us learn from their mistakes
Peace, happiness, and joy, let us spread, instead
We dance
We celebrate
One by one
We strive for peace
Competition Winner. Well done!
Today my socks were sticky
as a candy cane
I put on my shoes
they were sticky too
Then I walked to school
and the floor was sticky
WINNING POEM
Mum, you are really kind.
Mum, you shine like a diamond.
Mum, you are as beautiful as the queen.
Mum, you are amazing.
Mum, you shine like the stars.
WINNING POEM
Bespectacled octogenarian
Streaks of grey hair
Like the ashes from Mt. Vesuvius
A thick, fat moustache
Coupled with a rich baritone
Retired Professor of Geography
In love with the Himalayas
Loves to travel; physically and virtually
Michael Palin’s travelogues give him company
So does the morning newspaper
Storehouse of stories from days afar
Cricket buff; Lords is Mecca for him
Loves music; sings aloud in good mood
Hollywood action films are very close to his heart
Has a handful of friends for good company
Lives by the philosophy – live to eat
Loves his coffee and assorted nuts
Steaming samosas set his mood right
A big fan of potatoes and cauliflower curry
But generally picky over food
Always up to some mischief and fun
Hides the bitter gourd on his dinner plate
Steals sweeties in the dead of the night!
Loves pulling grandma’s leg
Copycat par excellence
Follows his religion but never too rigid
Loves animals big and small
Thus, prefers being a strict vegetarian
Diabetic; counts his medicines regularly
Loves a good afternoon snooze when tired
Laughs a lot; often at the silliest jokes
The jolliest person on earth
Has a radiant beam which spreads joy
Above all very humane and kind
My one and only Grandpa.
WINNING POEM
I love my mum
I love her lots
But what’s special
is her smell.
Her smell
takes me away
and If I could
I would take
her scarf
with me,
I would.
I would
put my face
in her scarf
and smell
her special smell
It takes me away.
Sometimes I smell
her when she kisses
me goodbye and
it takes me away.
WINNING POEM
I followed my nai nai’s* heels
The lilting sound of the Chinese flute
Guides the Tai Chi movements
Light-hearted. I was eight.
The sound of the pans clanking
I sit on a bamboo stool waiting for my jiao zi**
Marinated ginger and vinegar bursting in my mouth
Satisfied. I was eight.
Matching crimson qi pao*** with nai nai
Banging on relatives’ traditional Chinese wooden doors
Gobbling steaming new year cake in every house
Dazzling in Chinese flame red silk. I was eight.
The wrinkled hand held my wrist softly
Guiding me to light the Chinese lantern
The full moon reflecting on the jade colored ocean
Enchanted. I was eight.
The clicking sound of mahjong filling in the room
Just turned 80, Nai nai sits at the head of table
Peach buns, long noodles and eggs in every dish
Sighing in joy. I was eight.
Kneeling next to a white carved coffin
I sobbed while I held a yellow chrysanthemum
The burning of fake money filled the air
Following the loud music of the funeral band, I was pulled away.
I was grief-stricken, eight.
*Grandmother
**Dumpling
***Traditional female dress with distinctive Chinese features