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Sophie Boules
St. Aloyius' College, Carrigtuohill, Co. Cork
Winner Senior Category
Night Man
Night man in your one size standard,
peaked team member hat,
toss a weary head right back
and simply start to laugh,
even as the moon may scorn the night,
I'm keeping you alive, I'm keeping you bright!
Forget the words of Orientation Day,
where they threw you a shirt,
said something to do with limited pay,
when your hands first touched cold metal pipes,
and the roster said that you'd be here,
from the morning, noon to the deep
cold dead of the night.
Remember as you sit down to a hurried lunch of
greasy bacon, hard boiled eggs,
don't roll the eyes, ignore the shouts,
ignore their insolent cries of 'Here comes Petrol Legs!'
Ignore upturned noses, disgruntled faces,
putting on their falsettos, and airs and graces,
when the only thing to comfort you,
is the big bold man, the one behind
the thing they call the moon,
think of blades of grass as it touches ebony fingers
fierce August suns,
your soul along the hills away from sounds of engines
whilst the memory of laughter lingers.
Fiona Reid
Loreto Secondary School, Clonmel, Co. Tipperary
Winner Junior Category
Dear Diary
Dear Diary
A new girl joined my class today,
my friends and I won't let her play.
I knew she didn't look the same
as Mary Anne or Kate or Jane.
Miss said she lived quite far away,
I wonder if she's here to stay.
I can't remember quite her name,
I know that it's not Kate or Jane.
It's not a name I would have heard,
I think it's strange and quite absurd.
Miss says we've got to let her play,
and help her till she finds her way.
If I could just think of her name,
I could if it was nice and plain - (like Mary Anne or Kate or Jane.)
Her skin I know is different too,
it's not like the one on me or you.
Instead of being the colour of light,
it is the darkest shade of night.
A new girl joined my class today,
my friends and I won't let her play.
Maybe she is quite like me,
maybe that's what I should see.
Maybe that's what I should see
Night-night.
Love Sarah
Xxx
Dear Diary
I started a new school today,
the other kids won't let me play.
I wish that I did look the same,
as Mary Anne or Kate or Jane.
I used to live quite far away,
but now I'm here I'm here to stay.
The kids, they do not know my name,
I wish that it were Kate or Jane.
It's not a name they would have heard,
they think it's strange and quite absurd.
Teacher says I've got to play,
and settle in and find my way.
I could if they did know my name,
they would if it were Kate or Jane.
My skin I'd like to change that too,
to white or even green or blue.
It is the darkest shade of night,
oh, everything's perfect if you're white.
I started a new school today,
the other kids won't let me play.
I am unique, I know I'm me,
if only that's what they could see.
If only that's what they could see I'd be, I'd be, I'd be
Goeie nag
Penzi Mariatu
Xxx
Vivienne Sullivan
Loreto College School, Clonmel, Co. Tipperary
Winner Merit Award
Ethnically Cleansing the Orchestra
We'll have no foreign instruments
away with the cymbals
a bang and a clash,
we're clearing out the orchestra,
let's throw out the trumpet
along with the trash.
We do not want these instruments
get rid of the shakers,
the xylophone too,
they're not of Irish origin,
the horn, and the oboe
to name a few
they are not welcome anymore.
The timpani, tuba,
the flute and cello.
Return home to your own countries.
The trombone, the bassoon
and all things mellow.
We do not want no Spanish guitar
no loud African drums.
The end is quite near.
Eh, sorry, are we clear?
Oh - there's no music here?
Kerri Ward
Assumption Girls Secondary School, Walkinstown, Dublin
Special Mention Award
Silk Sari
As a child, my smiling father spoke
of places even my dreams didn't dare venture.
His words were cargo-ships
to my eight year old mind;
laden with spices, jewels,
tea fields and pretty maidens
in silk saris sown with spun gold thread.
His stories pushed boundaries -
anything was possible.
His eyes, though tired,
shone like the Indian rupees of his home,
like the clear gems and red earth
He spoke of how one day, I would smell them
see them
touch them
with my own childish hands, and him by my side
Everything glittered. Everything gleamed,
and I was blinded
to the gauntness of his young face
and the steady paling of his skin.
He never did bring me travelling.
I still dream, sometimes,
of distant skies and Indian spices,
though my father lies under the dirt and dust and beer cans
of this land that owns the half of me
that can no longer dream carelessly
as it once did.
The wind whips my hair
and pierces me through without sound,
and a group of teenage schoolboys throw abuse
at the girl in a silk sari
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