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Musings

Lincoln High School students wrote these pieces after a field trip to the museum, art gallery and the Botanic Gardens. We publish them here as part of The Pulse Pilot project.

New More musings added September 2009

Maia Visnovsky

Poem based on Gary Hill’s ‘Up against Down’

FEET, ARMS, FACE, BODY.
We cannot see what this mysterious man is doing. All the body parts are separated. It’s cold. Shivering because he is naked. His skin exposed to the cold.

*
Flowing glowing colours
From fountain, it’s splashing.
Everyone is getting wet.

Sunny sky’s rays
Shining upon the water.
The fountain will be glowing
At night time.

On the bus

Comfy blue seats. Cameron’s balloon flying around the bus,
Bus stopping. We’re here!

Singing songs on the way home,
That everyone knows.
Falling asleep, while everyone is talking.
Chatter, chatter, sing-song.
All the way home.

Shikha Thakali

A poem based on ‘The Dutch Funeral’ by Patrus Van der Velden

Family and friends of the late fisherman have gathered
together in the early mist of winter to mourn
his death. They have all dressed up in
their warmest black clothes. Black is the colour
of grieving. Although poor, they have managed
to get a black coffin for late fisherman, carried
by friends and families.

In the chill of dawn, log fires and soup have warmly
filled the air. Church bells are ringing, friends and
families are crying, mourning through the crunchy
snow. This usually safe and happening village, also
has sad and cold days. Although freezing in the
European snow, they have come to pay their last
tribute to the great fisherman and bury him in
the ground…

Cold, chilly tears rolling
The grey sky hides sunshine
We’ll keep spirits high!

Lost

Orange, red and gold
The sun’s finest rays fall
Eyes closed they lie- dead?

The sea shore’s past them
So wild, so fierce – it shrieks
They don’t give a damn.

The sun’s fading – no care.
The sea is screeching – no care.
Lost – in their own world.

Beth Williamson

Vines drooping sadly,
Footprints stitched onto the floor,
The pathway to peace.

Tumbling clouds, dark sky,
Distant roar of the steam train,
Lonely man awaits

Leaves fall in a shower
Steam flows out of the living
Frost blanketing the ground
Puddles lie frozen, gradually melting.

Ashleigh Taylor

Green swirls entwining
While curling in on themselves
Korus on the fern

Native trees and plants
Footprints in the rough gravel
The pathway to where?

A coal black top hat
Perched on top of
His shiny bald scalp
Business-like and dressed
In a dull grey suit.
A pipe in his mouth
Smoke drifting around
His beard and moustache.
Neatly trimmed today.
Peering down the track
From the worn platform.
Waiting for the train.

September 2009

James Galloway

Ancient birds of prey
Feathered prophecies undone
Rocky turmoil

Erupting icily
Rips and tears at my skin
Blood curdling scream

Charlotte Binks

Poem based on ‘White Sunday’ by Nick Hastings-McFall

The calm after a heavy snowfall,
Light pouring through the glass.
Clouds blocking yellow rays,
Only white light allowed past.
Snowflakes drifting past the pane,
Droplets collecting on the sill.
Temperature dropping low.
Until,
Frost arrives to block the view.

Casey Gousmett

Hung up in a house
Bold colours of the rainbow
Beautiful paua

There is no escape
Padlocked shut, a dull steel door
Prisoners suffer

Haiku based on Takarangi by Shane Cotton

Ancient rocks misplaced
Feathered prophecies reborn
Rocky turmoil

Tom Brooks

Based on ‘My sister, My self’ by Michael Parekowhai

A black seal
Did a deal.
If he balanced a chair
With no fear,
He would receive an awesome wheel.

Lush, green grass spread through the paddocks and backyards like a colossal blanket, houses and buildings litter the roadside.
The freshness of pure country air, mixed with the smell of cattle, lingers around the small township.
The groan of a powerful diesel engine rumbles through the misty air.
It feels a peaceful place if you hone out all the hustle and bustle of the township’s daily life.
The sun is struggling to break through the thick fog rolling through the hills.

Shannon Head

White is bold on black,
Lightning strikes as minds think,
Everything is so unique
Individual pictures,
Thrown,
Mixed,
Splattered onto the wall,
Ending up as art,
Beautiful art.

Samantha Walker

Inspired by John Gibbs, ‘Shades of Evening, the Estuary’

The moon but a sliver in a pale blue sky
Wispy clouds remembrance of the day
Triangular silhouettes against bleeding horizon
Who cut the ending of the day?
Who copied it into the lake?
A broken boat just waiting
For a broken child with a half present flag.
Water stretched far across the landscape
The scent of rotten sludge in the air.
Tussocks cut carelessly at his soles
Pain contradicted by comfort from the soft mud
He wishes he could reach the sky
Capture the last of the day and hold it to himself forever
Nearly as much as he wishes he could stitch back together the sky
To prevent it from bleeding any more.
If only it were to be that easy
If only he could capture the fading light with needles and thread
But it’s not to be
Slowly but surely it’s swallowed by darkness
He clings to the light how he clings to his life
So tight, but it slips like smoke through his hands
His life isn’t like the day
Because his breath won’t be coming back in the morning.

‘Facades’

He stares beyond her
Her façade dissolved by him
Eyes black from crying

Haiku from the Christchurch Botanical Gardens

Charlotte Binks

White plate, yellow prong
Hidden within grown cover.
Stalk holds head up high

Shannon Head

Multiple colours
Bright golden yellows and browns
Autumn time has come

Tall pointy elf hat
Bright green foliage, stands tall
My favourite tree

Casey Gousmett

Green in the garden
But yellow in the fruitbowl
Banana-like tree

Entwined like a maze
Monkeys like to hang about
branches, like brown plaits

Tom Brooks

Plain, greyish colours
Dense, outerspace molten rocks
Tumbling from the sky.

Sam Walker

Sunlight breaks the dark
Leaves still, bark rough, limbs reaching
Outlines broken trees.

‘Boundaries’

Fences line the green park
Holding in the many playing children
Keeping out the unwarranted trespassers
And always reminding us
Every place has boundaries for a reason

August 2009