A Collection of Original Poetry by Students of Ladysmith High School

Saturday, 17 September 2016

Silver Awards




The Last Breath


He takes his last breath of air
The air which the scent of her perfume
once contaminated...

It was such a sweet smell.
The smell of his desires
falling so effortlessly into place.
The smell of affection
tainted his nose for 6 months without fail...

Until the clouds arrived
and the rain washed away the fire
within their souls
Leaving nothing but the pungent smell
of charred heartbreak.

Its ironic: they once said that they would dance in the rain.

Now it's time for them to extinguish their emotions completely

For what once was
Will never again be.

So he takes his last breath of air
as his depersonalised spirit fades
soothingly out of his body...
and away from hers.

She was his oxygen
- never again will his lifeless corpse breathe.

Nash Aniruth 
Grade 12

* * *


The Past is a Foreign Country


The past is a foreign country
in the cities of our hearts
but our foundations are built
and shaped
town upon ancient town
and is the  past really lost?
or does it play on around
us in ways we cannot fathom
or hope to fully understand
does history whisper to us softly
in the chilling breeze
and the souls of thousands
delivered by death from the
hand of Cruelty
plead with us not to make
their same mistakes
Do the ancient, foreign worlds
lapped over by the
passing of time
hold the forgotten wisdom of
ancient mistakes
What could we learn from the land
of the chill in the breeze
 Could we sail through oceans of pride
 and ignorance to the shores of
 the land where choices, mistakes
 and courage are set in stone
 so we could build new foundations
 firmer, stronger.

Chéron L'Estrange
Grade 11

* * *


Predator vs Prey



Readily bounding forward
A life to look towards
Into a trap he was lured
Away he ran without a word
Otherwise he would be skewered
From all his flaws be cured

Stealthily he stalked
So slow he could have walked
Or even stopped and talked
Yet into two, his paths forked
Almost free was life, but he squawked

Of Time, he was unaware
Yet instinct told him to prepare
To pay with life was quite a fare
So heavy a burden he would have to bare
For Time was quite unfair

Stalking Life was a skill
Following quietly, waiting for the kill
Quite a gap he would have to fill
Conquering obstacles like a drill
The quest for hunger he would fulfill

Catching a scent of the pursuit of Time
Reality turned sour like lime
No number of live, even nine
Would ensure he would be fine
There was no time to whine
For Time would drink his blood like wine

At his prime, Life increased his pace
Too afraid of what he had to face
Begging Time to stay off his case
Yet for drastic end, he must brace

For Time, he was no match
His breath, soon, he would have to catch
Had he had the endurance

He would have beaten Time's experience

Banele Kubheka 
Grade 10

* * *


The Past is a Foreign Country


Lost are the memories of my past
Lost in the cobwebs of my mind
The endless abyss of my heart
But not lost by chance
Left in the past
That foreign past of mine
Moulted out of my former self
To begin a new life
So I can leave behind my former worries
My former strifes
I am a new person
A new me
Adapted to life
So the future I can see
Start a new life and own it
Be the King, be the Chief
Because everyone deserves
To turn over a new leaf.

Uwais Coetzee
Grade 10

* * *


The System


Studying,
memorising,
attempting to understand
the knowledge prescribed
so you can be like everybody else.
The words of the page,
be it a microscope stage
or Hitler’s rage,
to digress is unethical,
to suppress is theoretical,
the highlighted is delighted
while discrimination is the imagination.
Saying “True education
is having ‘out the box thinking’”
is impetuous linking
between reality and desire
of the educational empire.

To implore the law
to let the mind explore
is subjective suicide.

Schools search for seamless,
clinically cut
and boundary bred
robotic thinking machines.

But not even the ocean
has been discovered to its
deepest depths
let alone wine which still art on the vine,
the locked potential,
a trapped voice in a
secluded crowd.

Caitlyn Reddy
Grade 10

* * *


Predator or Prey


Deep within the mighty savanna jungle,
lies the man ready for an ensemble.
For a delicate angel from heaven,
awaits her knight in shining amour.
To many people see it as childish,
but to him he sees something furnished.
What makes one feel this way,
can only be answered in a cold may.
At first it was all for a good time,
but now when I look at her I feel like a mime.
If only I could tell her how I felt,
the words would make her melt.
If only she knew what lay inside,
could be the safest place to hide.
To never fear of what comes next,
is going to be very complex.
If only she knew....Oh how much I love her!

Uvir Govender 
Grade 8

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