Grade 5KEW

  The class were trying to persuade Mrs Kew not to give homework.  These are some of their efforts as persuasive writing!

NO HOMEWORK!

  Why? Why? Why? There shouldn’t even be such a thing as homework.  It’s horrible, plus we’re always too busy with sports.  It’s not right, stop the homework, stop the homework.

It’s too much for children to cope with and it takes up so  much time. I think it is much better to watch things that we are being taught on T.V.  Even my friends agree with me.  We get home late and then we get shouted at by our parents because we haven’t done our homework.  Why do we have to do homework when we have been at school all morning learning what we have for homework, it can’t be right.

But isn’t it easier for you Mrs Kew, because if we have homework you have more books to mark, but if we don’t then you only have a little bit.

Who in the world invented homework?  It is such a silly invention. So please don’t give us homework, it ruins the fun of school.  Please do what I am telling you – no homework!                    

                             Joanna Tipler

NO HOMEWORK!

Children should not get homework because it takes up precious time.  I think the teachers should admit that they too hate extra marking.  Think of it, we could have no homework and if we wanted a bit of homework we could use technology to do it.

All children really need to convince teachers and headmasters that homework is a waste of time.  I have thought about it. Your mom comes to check it, you’ve spelt words wrong so she crosses out the whole thing and makes you start again.   Homework really needs to stop.

No Homework would be great as it would give us more time to help around the house.  Only now I realize that Homework does not make me smarter.  All it does is take up time.

Children do need education but not so much at a time. All we need is for children to help us convince teachers that no homework is better.

                                                                             Leah Berger

NO HOMEWORK!

I think that Homework is a very bad idea.  It is a waste of time for the teachers and for the children. People are killing trees and making paper and 80% of it is mostly wasted.  Homework takes too much of children’s time and is too much for children to handle.  Most of the time arguments are caused between children and their parents because of Homework.  It causes stress and makes children and their parents grow apart.

With technology becoming more and more alive we do not need homework.  We all learn more things with T.V. On T.V. we can see things and learn in an easier way.

All I am trying to say is that homework makes you as soft as cheese.  Homework is a big bad mistake.

                             Francesca Marclay

NO HOMEWORK!

I think homework doesn’t help at all.  Maybe it does help us work without the teacher or parents say that children should never get stressed but we do, especially if we forget one or two books.  Homework causes arguments with our parents when we don’t want to start out homework.  Homework wastes a lot of special time.  Teachers seem to forget we also need to be healthy and fit.  Some times it will be so much that we don’t have time to eat meals.

Sometimes I don’t understand teachers.  We work a lot at school and we get homework.  I think there is a rule that says that school should be 6 hours but when we get homework it is like an extra hour of class.  It’s like we are carrying a dinosaur on our heads, when we get homework.

If you were to go around every school and ask them, if they like homework they will all say no.  If children say it is boring it is.  We learn more when its fun.

                                      Phiwokuhle Moyo

GRADE 7N PROSE AND POETRY

PLANE CRASH           By Humaira Esat

It was one squally night and the stars had vanished from the hazy sky.  The moon was illuminating the murky night and I had an intrigued feeling that something catastrophic was going to occur.  My family and I were travelling from France to Mauritius .  At this moment we were in the thick clouds.

Suddenly there was a spasmodic moment and we were all nervous.  I clasped my hands to the seat and took deep breaths.  The next moment all I knew was that we were heading down and going to have a fatal crash.  It was a blood-curdling feeling that will remain with you forever.  We all started screaming ludicrously.  Then there was a blackout.

After a few minutes I opened my eyes and the surrounding was nebulous.  There was smoke everywhere and blood was shed all over the ground.  It was a life threatening moment for all.

I slowly crawled out of the aeroplane trying to avoid all the glass and blood. The rest of my family were standing apprehensively outside.  We were on the outskirts of an isolated forest.  The trees were swaying to and fro and among the blood there were leaves scattered around.

I looked up to the spherical moon and had a strong feeling that this was meant to be.  We were all devastated.  We did not know what to do next. I tried to find my way to where we were sitting and tired to find my way to where we were sitting and tried to get all our belongings.  It was impossible.

I took out my cell phone and tried to call for help but my phone was smashed into tiny little pieces of an electronic item.  There was absolutely nothing we could do.  So we decided to leave all our valuables and started to walk.

The wind was rustling through the leaves as we could hear the howl of the werewolf linger in the breeze.  There were tiny insects scurrying along the earth’s soil.  The rain was getting harder and the clouds were spread across the misty sky.

We carried on walking and heard a peculiar sound coming from above.  Apparently it was a private aeroplane.  It was moving with hardly any speed.  We started to jump, wave and scream hoping they would notice us. Surprisingly they stopped and landed quite a distance from us.

We asked two men how they found us because we were in a desolated forest.  There was a station not far from where we were.

They saw a large amount of smoke rising and were very anxious to know what struck us.  They knew it was a fatal accident.

We went on the plane and they took us back to France . It was a long and terrible night.  This was one of the nights that I will always remember as a nightmare.

THE POISONOUS PEN          By Kyra Mirtle

The attic was dark and musty. Cobwebs draped every corner and you could hear the wind whistling eerily through the tiled roof.  It was a cold miserable drizzly day and I was bored, so I had decided to explore the attic in our new house.  Through the gloom I saw a small dusty wooden box, inlaid with ivory.  I blew the dust away and opened it.  Rummaging inside I found rolled up pieces of parchment, fragile with age, as well as an unusual looking pen.

The pen was glistening ebony with a crocodile inlaid in malachite.  I picked it up to examine it more carefully.  As my fingers touched the black wood I felt a jolt, and was filled with a feeling of power.  I felt compelled to write with it and took out a piece of the yellowed parchment. I clicked the top once and started writing, the ink was blood red and seemed to have a toxic look to it.  I wrote my name and the pen glided across the page, smooth and bold.  Suddenly I felt a sharp pain in my hand, burning as though I had been cut by a knife. To my horror engraved like a tattoo on my hand were the words “If you use this pen you will have life long misery.”  I threw it onto the floor clutching my maimed hand, the blood streaming from it as a ran down stairs.

That night as I lay in bed I felt a maleficent presence in the room and at my desk something seemed to draw me there, pulling with unseeing hands.

There on my desk was the ebony pen gleaming with a deadly sheen.  I felt compelled to pick it up and clicking the top twice, I wrote.  The powerful feeling seized me again and I felt invincible and cruel.  The ink was a putrid green colour and blotted and stained the page.  As my skin touched the ink, it started to blister and sting, and pus-filled boils appeared all over my hands and arms.  We could not find an antidote to the poison and I was left looking like a mummy wrapped in bandages. A victim of this poisonous pen.

The next day at school my pen had run out and as I scratched around for another one the green crocodile beckoned me to use it.  I picked it up and intoxicating feelings filled me. As I wrote it twisted the words into mean and unkind lies.  I was left without a friend having hurt them with my harmful words.

I had to destroy this evil implement before any more harm was done.  I stormed out of the class and threw it into the nearest dustbin.  Hopefully that was the end of it, but the next day Ryan came to school with big pus filled boils.

WHAT HAD I DONE?

 KYRA MIRTLE AND KELLY PETTICAN WITH WITH

TROPHIES WON AT THE GIRLS COLLEGE LITERARY COMPETITION

PLANE CRASH               by Kelly Pettican

Today, two years ago, I received the news that I was going to go on a tour of Europe .  I was excited, thrilled and exhilarated, as I was also going to go on a plane for the very first time.  I thought it was going to be wonderful, whizzing past snowy-white clouds and looking down at the glorious view.

Finally, after a long wait, the day came.  I arrived at the airport a couple of hours early and, at last, I got onto the plane.  I enjoyed the take-off the most.  The plane vibrated and shuddered as we slowly took off and rose steadily into the air.  To my surprise the clouds were below us and it looked like a soft, fleecy, springy bed.  The sky was a perfect azure and I gazed in awe of this sublime sight!

Then, just as I had settled down into my smooth, velvety chair, the plane wobbled and I saw the charcoal, slate colour of smoke flood the sky.  I looked towards the wing and noticed that it was on fire!  The crimson, vivid orange and gold flames were devouring everything in sight. My feelings that were once adrenaline pounding and rushing through my veins had turned into anxiety, apprehension and fear. We were crashing!

The pilot’s voice rang through the cabin but it was drowned out by the people’s ear-piercing screams. We ploughed into the still waters of the aquamarine Atlantic Ocean .  It had happened so suddenly that the passengers didn’t stop screaming as they plunged to their watery deaths.

I was pulled out of the wreckage and as I slowly regained consciousness, I was told I was the only survivor.  I was sad and sorrowful, but s I looked out at the amazing sunset, I knew that there was hope that things would get better.

THE WIND     by Kelly Pettican

The wind howls ferociously,

Then whispers in the trees,

The next is on a hot day,

A calm, refreshing breeze.

The wind roars on a stormy night

Lashing and thrashing with all its might

People huddle up and wrap up tight

Listening to the wind moan ‘til first light.

The wind plays in the trees

It teases and tosses all that it sees

It hurries through deserts and stirs up a storm

It brings us relief when it gets too warm.

The wind can be loud and shrieks fill the air

The wind can be gentle, almost loving and fair.

The wind is scary when it’s angry and crazy

But it’s also my friend when its hot and hazy.

AN INTERVIEW WITH COUNT DRACULA   by Kyra Mirtle

The mist was like a blanket, hanging still and white, covering everything. The steep, narrow, winding road cut a track through the dense forest, the trees pressing in from either side like an archway.  I hunched behind the steering wheel  trying to see through the foggy windscreen.  My car lights could not penetrate the thick fog.  Suddenly a massive black castle loomed out of the mist, a black flag fluttered from the topmost turret, its red bat insignia a vivid splash of colour.  Transylvania was not the friendliest place on earth.  I felt threatened and scared and I was shaking at the knees as I stepped out of the car for my interview with Count Dracula ….. 

I knocked at the large wooden door, which creaked on its rusty, iron hinges as it opened.  An ld hunched man beckoned me in and the door slammed behind me.  He led me to a large dark room where a big, red velvet armchair stood facing the fire. The heavy lead-wood coffin took centre stage on the black marble floor.  The hunchback told me my interview was scheduled for midnight when Count Dracula would arise from his coffin.

The clock struck twelve.  I was trembling all over as the hunchback lifted the coffin lid.  Out of the silk lined box stepped a tall, imposing figure.  His slicked back, black hair finished in a point in the middle of his forehead.  Big black rings framed his red-rimmed eyes and he had a very pale face that had not seen the light of day.

He has razor sharp teeth and thin, blood stained lips.  His long black red lined cloak swept the floor and the high stiff collar around his neck made him look like royalty.  I was PETRIFED!

Finally I gathered up enough courage to ask the questions I had come for and he sat down in his red, velvet armchair.  I told him that I was very interested in vampires and needed some information.  He told me that he could never let sunlight touch him or he would dissolve.  He wakes up at midnight and before the sun rises returns to his dark coffin. After a few questions I began to feel comfortable, his charming smile and manner made me relax and I started to enjoy our conversation.  He told me that his fangs only came out when he was about to feed and he preferred young women’s blood.  I asked a few more questions and our interview ended.

We walked to the door and I said goodbye and gave him a hug.  As I was about to let go he pulled me back and sunk his long white fangs into my neck.  It was excruciating, I tried to pull away, he let go and I ran out the door the blood streaming from my neck.  I dashed outside and leapt into my car and drove away.  I raced down the long winding road in the pitch darkness.  Suddenly I started feeling dizzy, my head was pounding, and then I realized, I was a vampire…………..  Sentenced to a life in darkness, patrolling the night skies, preying on innocent human blood.

THE WIND   by Kyra Mirtle 

The wind has many moods and faces

It blows and gusts in different places.

A windless day is oppressive and hot,

The motionless trees do not move a lot.

The saturated air is mute and calm.

It smoothens your skin like a gentle balm.

The still water reflects the sitting clouds,

They hang over the lake like a white shroud.

A soft gentle breeze whispers through the air

It kisses your cheek and rustles your hair.

A flutter of leaves as the tall trees sway,

They dance through the air and tumble and play.

A small ripple runs across the calm lake.

It distorts the reflection the sun makes.

A gusty wind blows full of bluster and cheek,

Taunting and irritating, bold and then meek.

The agitated trees shifting and swaying

As unstable leaves drop, sweeping and playing.

The advancing ripples on the choppy lake

Blow to and fro, no clear direction to take.

An impelling force as the strong wind lashes,

Howling and shrieking through buildings it crashes.

It pounds and pummels and thrashes the trees,

Whipping and forcing them down to their knees.

The wild, whipped white caps shatter the surface,

This gale force wind with destructive purpose.

2010            by Kelly Pettican

Viva Viva soccer fever!

The war cry that soccer fans call

The world revolves around a soccer ball

As South Africa hosts a global war!

Vuvuzelas split the air,

Come on teams, lets play fair!

Every fan hopes his team wins

Watch the captains as the coin spins.

Captains shake hands, they’re ready to start,

C’mon guys, lay with a big heart!

The referees whistle blows shrill in the air

Then the crowd roars like a lion from its lair.

The goals are coming thick and fast

The commentators’ voices are hoarse to the last.

The bets are on, the terraces sing

Now the tournament’s in full swing.

The tournament’s over and the best team won,

The euphoria fades in the setting sun.

20/10 has come and gone.

But the memories will live on and on.

2010      by Alexandra Randell 

The crowd roars they’re out of control.

They sing and dance as they score another goal.

The heavens open up it starts to rain

But they keep on scoring again and again.

The field is wet, muddy and cold

But they keep on fighting, fighting for the gold.

If they win this point the cup is theirs

And they’ll be remembered for years and years.

Now the game is finished and the people have gone

The match was exciting and the best team won.

The whole crowd got soaked including me

It was so much better than watching T.V.

And now we all celebrate the best game of all

Drinking champagne and having a ball.

The best team has won, we are full of good cheer

2010 in S.A. – an incredible year!

2010                                        by Catrina Kaufman

The airports are flooded,

With people galore.

The chaos increases,

Bags on the floor.

The tickets are selling

At an amazing pace.

Everybody’s eager,

To get the last place.

The crowds are all cheering,

They hope and they pray,

That their team will win,

The match of the day.

The last goal is scored,

The cup held up high.

The champions are singing,

Up into the sky.

And now it’s all over,

The fans disappear.

Big heaps of garbage,

That’s all that’s left here.

THE VOICES OF PARENTS CALLING, CALLING    by Humaira Esat

The voices of my parents calling, calling,

Echoes through the misty nights,

Looking out the window,

Wandering what still lies ahead,

Words of wisdom that guides me through,

All that is left is me and you.

I’ll be there for you my child,

You’ll never go astray,

Follow my voice,

I’m in your heart.

The voices of my parents calling, calling

Still leaves me gazing,

At the starry night.

The gates of heaven start to close,

I can hear my parents yearning for me,

There’s always a way,

And the soul will never leave my side.

My happiness starts to fade,

As the voices of my parents calling, calling,

Start to gently diminish with the mysterious wind

I will never forget the voices of my parents calling, calling.

MY COUNTRY ZIMBABWE             Humaira Esat

As I perch my aching body on one of the great baobab branches, I take a deep breath in and peer over the African beauty. With the blistering sun pounding its heat against the land, the trees cry for rain. As I watch the world go by, I wonder what lies ahead. 

I still fulfill the task of catching my breath inside my tiny chest each time my pearly eyes get a glanced at such beauty.  The feeling of love each time you breathe in fills your heart with joy.  The fresh air makes you realize all your stress is left behind in the city and you’re in a whole new world.  ‘The Wild.’

I now fly from branch to branch as I see a golden mane exposing a set of  pearly fangs followed by a monstrous roar.   Attacking his prey with no mercy.  I soar through nature’s breath and spot a spurt of crystal-like water meandering through the hills.

It’s now midday and I see a massive grey cloud forming above me. Abruptly I hear a great big rumble.  Well, I don’t think it could be that bad.  So now I carry on flying and soon notice the Zimbabwean savannah is a land of immense beauty, the crisp golden grass, the trees ascending to the sky, the lofty mountains giving an outline to my phenomenal view.  The vultures accompanying each other and gliding to the horizon, seeking adventure.

In the distance the granite rocks are just out of this world.  The ancient paintings just show how time has gone and what is still to come.

I love all friendly animals especially the bush babies that start at you with disc-like eyes.  The weather starts to change and the wildlife has gone.

The blistering sun starts to roll down the mountains and the stars come up banishing the sun away. 

This is what my country Zimbabwe is like and I am truly honoured to be a part of this wonder!

THE VOICES OF PARENTS, CALLING, CALLING     by Kelly Pettican

The voices of parents calling, calling!

Go, get to bed,

The deed that I have been stalling,

To nowhere I’d been led.

The infernal shouting fills the air,

My parents are truly an irritating pair.

Calling morning, noon and night,

My nerves are stretched and oh, so tight.

Moaning and groaning about their day’s work,

Giving me all the chores they have decided to shirk,

My plan is to bring all of this to an end,

My parents, ‘to peace’, I think I will send.

I think nothing too gruesome, you understand,

You can’t let this sort of thing get out of hand.

But there’ll be no more parents calling, calling,

Not after a serious lion mauling.

MY COUNTRY, ZIMBABWE      by Kelly Pettican

What do I think of when I think of my country, Zimbabwe ?  I think of ……….. 

Victoria Falls.  A beautiful display of crystal, clear water cascading down the steep rocks of a waterfall, the spray dampening the hot humid weather.  The bottom is dark, murky water where mysterious creatures linger waiting for their next meal.  A rainbow stretches across the waterfall, a kaleidoscope of  colours emerging from the eerie mist.

I think of the Chimanimani Mountains .  The majestic view of rocky landscapes, mountains and ridges all against an azure blue sky.  It is home to lush, evergreen forests in which live many animals.  Streams of fresh, pure water bubble out of the rocks and icy jets pour down sheet cataracts into bottomless pools.

Sipping cool lemonade watching elephants cavorting in the mud and the little ones eagerly chasing the buck and causing havoc.  A mighty lion stalking a buck grazing in the plains unaware it is about to be devoured.  A giraffe elegantly loping between trees chewing on deliciously crisp leaves.  These are Zimbabwe ’s greatest game parks a mesmerizing sight.

A hot afternoon sun streaming down on huge granite boulders creating immense shadows, a single source of shelter from the heat.  The long grass, verdant green hedges, unique rock formations, this could only be one place.  Matopos.

All these breath taking place could only belong to one country.  This is my Zimbabwe , my home, my country.

STARS, THE LAMPS OF HEAVEN   by Kelly Pettican

Stars shimmer in the skies above,

They fill the entire world with love.

They’re golden, dazzling, on fire,

And never, ever seem to tire.

They shine like the souls of the dead,

To millions of misfortunes they have had led.

They lie still in the dark night,

A single source of gleaming light.

The stars are the prisoners of heaven,

And surely there must be more than eleven.

Diamonds glittering on a bed of blue velvet,

But I’ve never ever felt it.

But stars do have another side,

Ever changing like a rolling tide.

They never fade in the skies above,

And make the world so full with love.

THE VOICES OF MY PARENTS, CALLING, CALLING  by Matthew Davies

  The sound of my parents calling, calling.

They woke me up from snoring, snoring.

I said to them ‘please go away,’

But they said, ‘you’ve got school today.’

I jumped right up,

I had to change.

But then I heard those voices again.

O they sound like they’re in pain.

Mum screeched from the kitchen door,

‘Breakfast’s ready,’

And yelled some more,

Enough to wake up the guy next door.

Dad’s croaky voice abruptly stressed,

‘Pack your bags and look your best.’

Hurriedly I gathered my books, my bat,

And that bad tempered voice shouted ‘and your hat!’

Now that I’m ready and in the car,

Mum’s voice becomes tender which I prefer by far!

Dad’s husky voice unruffled and composed,

Stays that way till the gate is closed.

MY COUNTRY ZIMBABWE             Kyra Mirtle

Dawn breaks over my country Zimbabwe . A land rich in natural resources, wild and untamed.  It is my birthplace, my home.  As the sun peeps over the purple horizon, golden edged clouds form, and a glowing ray of light touches the flame coloured earth.  A crisp morning breeze drifts across the thorny grasslands heralding a fresh new day. 

The electric blue sky beams down over our own natural wonder of the world, the mighty Victoria Falls .  It is here the great Zambezi river is constricted into a narrow gorge as the full force of this river plummets hundreds of metres down over a sheer precipice onto the black jagged rocks below.  The tones of sparkling water comes thundering down and then is sent spraying and spuming heavenwards making “Smoke that Thunders.” The saturated smoke creates a permanent iridescent rainbow framing this breathtaking scene.

Following the Zambezi downstream from the falls is a fisherman’s paradise.  This mighty river, home to Nyaminyami the river god, is also home to the ferocious tiger fish.  Screaming reels, adrenalin pumping exquisite sunsets and the haunting cry of the fish eagle makes this a special place in my heart.

Further south, beyond Bulawayo , the mystical Matobo hills brood.   Gargantuan smoke coloured, granite rocks, spray painted with bright yellow and orange lichen, balance precariously at impossible angles.  This ancient lace is full of magic and mysticism.

As the sun slowly sinks a fiery red ball in the flaming red sky, the horizon is shot with golden rays reaching up to the gods.  Silhouettes of the misshapen baobab tree are etched in black against a crimson backdrop.  The night closes in and the first bright stars peep out from the inky velvet.  An orchestra of frogs and crickets serenade my country Zimbabwe .

MY COUNTRY ZIMBABWE     by Justin Kersten

I am proud to call myself a Zimbabwean, this is the land of my birth, it is my heritage.  I was fortunate to be born in the “City of Kings ” and have lived in beautiful Bulawayo for the last twelve years.

Zimbabwe has a selection of exciting places for tourists to visit.  One of the most spectacular sites is the magnificent Victoria Falls .  When walking through the rain forest you can hear the thundering of the water as it crashes into the gorge below.   Victoria Falls is known as one of the “ Seven  Wonders of the World ” because it is the widest waterfall in the world.

Zimbabwe is privileged to have a variety of wildlife living in their natural habitat.   Hwange National Park is one of my family’s favourite places to visit.  One of our most enjoyable activities is to go down to the watering hole to see anything from an impala to a bull elephant standing side by side drinking from the pool of water.  There is nothing more thrilling than spotting a majestic lion lying under the shade of an Acacia Tree.

In eastern Zimbabwe lies the magnificent range of the Chimanimani Mountains .  It is understandable to think that you are in the middle of the Scottish Highlands because you are surrounded by the lush green forests that are covered in clouds of mist.

The climate of Zimbabwe is one of the best in the world. We are spoiled with the number of hours of sunshine we have each day.  There is nothing more exciting than the build-up to an African thunderstorm.  During the hot, humid days, people watch the dark thunder cloud forming and pray for the start of the rainy season.  Farmers hurriedly plough their fields and plant their seeds waiting in anticipation for the rain to call.

Zimbabwe is very blessed with mild winters.  As I wake up in the early morning and go to school, the cold air still bites at the end of my nose and makes my eyes water. The winter sun glistens on the dew that covers the grass and sparkles like the stars in the sky.  As the cold winter days pass and the warm summer sun returns, the Jacaranda trees begin to bloom.  When the flowers fall from the Jacaranda trees, they transform the streets of Zimbabwe into lush carpets of purple velvet.

The raging heat means that it is ‘tiger time’.  When you have packed the boat and ready to go, there is nothing more exciting than casting your line out and waiting for the scream of that reel and the spectacular tiger fish jumping out of the water with a flash of red and orange as it shows off the beauty of its colourful body.

The people of Zimbabwe are made up from many different races and religions but we all share a love for this country.  My dream for Zimbabwe is that it grows from strength to strength and will be peaceful forever.

THE VOICES OF PARENTS, CALLING, CALLING!   By Justin Kersten

I hear my mother calling,

“Wake up! It’s six o’clock!”

But my eyes are glued shut

I’m not getting up!

I hear my father calling,

“Come on sleepy head, breakfast is ready!”

I pull my blankets over my head

Maybe he’ll go away.

I hear my mother calling,

“Don’t make me get the bucket!”

The bucket, yikes!

I grunt, I grumble, I get up.

I hear my father calling,

“We are going to be late for school!”

I scrub, I brush, I dress,

Now we’re off to school …………. OH NO!

THE VOICES OF PARENTS CALLING, CALLING    by Vimbainashe Kuzanga

“Are you listening!?” my mother yelled at me,

Came out as a mumble faint and distant as can be.

Showing a sign on my face called “I Don’t Care!’

My dad hits me with a deep stern glare.

Nag, nag, nag, goes on my fussy mother.

Ah!  Why do parents always have to be such a bother!

Dad spitefully roars at me as if I am a cadet.

Like a human sprinkler leaving me dripping wet!

“Yes mum,” said I with a groanful meaningless tune,

Just hoping, begging and pleading it would be over soon.

My parents were painfully killing me on the spot,

Wishing on a paper I was a microscopic dot.

He then instructs me, “You should listen more often”.

As usual I return him a bored, blank expression which I call ‘NOTHING!’

THE VOICES OF PARENTS CALLING, CALLING    Alexandra Randell

As I stand in the graveyard in the middle of the night,

I hear their voices and it gives me a fright.

I hear the painful tone gasping for breath,

Trying to escape from the coffin of death.

My memories travel back in time to when they passed away,

We had no idea what would happen that day.

Fear in her eyes a gun pointed to her head,

She looks up at me and her face turns red.

She says to me in a low and frightful tone,

When I’m gone you won’t be alone.

My soul will be floating by your side,

She stopped and slowly painfully died.

The gruesome murdering went on and on,

Till both loving parents were forever gone.

Now they’re hidden from life, they no longer see,

But I still hear their voices calling, calling me.

STARS, THE LAMPS OF HEAVEN    Alexandra Randell

Stars are the lamps of heaven shining so bright,

The sky’s torches with the most magnificent

Stars are always there guiding the way,

You can see them at night but never at day.

When it’s dark and dangerous you’re never alone,

Just look at the stars and you’ll feel at home.

When you feel lost on a cloudy night,

The stars are still peeping through giving you light.

Gleaming and glistening, shining with love,

Staring down at you from the heavens above.

Light from the horizon pushes the stars away,

You watch in horror as night turns to day.

As the sun’s golden rays spill over the hill,

The stars must come back! I’m sure they will.

And once again I walk out the door,

The sun has come up and the stars are no more.

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