The Storm

I wrote this poem in year 8 for school


The rain beating against the roof
The wind howling through the trees
A crack of lightning cuts through the darkness
Thunder rumbling, grumbling through the sky
Like a giant who is kept awake by the storm

On the coast, the waves crash against the rocks
As if trying to escape onto land
The lighthouse desperately tries to save any boats that go astray
Seagulls' feathers are ruffled by the force of the wind

In town, there is the beautiful smell of water on tar
A powerline is defeated by nature's anger
Houses feebly protect the owners
And as it begins to hail, a car is wrecked

But where I live, in the country,
The rain is soaked up by the grass
The wind beats against the windows,
demanding to come in

And while the giant grumbles
And the lightning brightens up the night,
I sleep peacefully
Completely comfortable in the midst of the chaos

For the storm is my element, it is the weather that I love
It is the greatest music to my ears

Waiting

He stood in the rain, looking down both ends of the street, waiting. The freezing water came down in sheets, making sure there was no chance of him staying dry, even with the use of his old umbrella. The street light flickered, illuminating his anxious expression randomly. It was so late, or perhaps early, and there was not another person in sight, not a car on the road. And he continued waiting. He heard the pounding footsteps of someone trying to escape the downpour. His head whipped around to the direction of the sound, the only sound apart from the unrelenting rain. A figure came into sight, carrying a briefcase over their heads as if it could help. And they continued running right past him, and he looked back to the ground. He took a deep breath, trying to focus on the relaxing smell of water against tar. He rested his hand on his stomach, which was filled with butterflies that refused to settle down. Would this be worth the wait? He was beginning to think not, but if there was even the slightest shred of a chance... He had been confident at first, but was no longer so sure.
Suddenly the man stopped shivering, for he was now numb to all but one feeling. The street light flickered out once more, and this time it didn't turn back on. He was plunged into darkness, with only the rain as his company. With one long sigh, he sunk to the footpath, dropped the umbrella and let the rain claim the last of him. She hadn't come.

Ken The Rooster

This is a poem I wrote with my mum once when I was young


Ken The Rooster

Ken had a life in suburbia,
But the neighbours didn’t like his crow.
He started up at 4am,
Just to let them know
The sun is coming up,
Get ready for a brand new day!
But the neighbours weren’t ready for a wakeup call,
They had him sent away!

So Ken came to us in a cardboard box,
To live with our free rangers.
We kept him separate for a while
Until the rangers were not strangers.
Ken was full of self-importance,
Although a scrawny little boy
He strutted up and down the fence,
As though a wound up toy.


He was a little Belgium bantam,
All the way from town you see,
He was black, with white specks on him
His wings were quite droop-ie
Ken was half the size of all the hens,
But did not seem to care,
He wanted to get amongst those girls
He thought it was not fair


And so we let him in,
With all the bigger hens,
He could strut around night ‘n’ day,
Then start all over again.
Ken started crowing at 4 am
But we all just ignored him.
He thought that he was the king, the boss,
That all the girls adored him.
We hadn’t the heart to tell him the truth,
Out there in the paddocks of home,
That that poor little guy
Had short man’s syndrome.

Then the tragedy happened,
It made us oh so blue.
We found that Ken could not be found,
We knew that it was true.
The great big carpet snake,
That had been eating all our eggs,
Took Ken away for dinner
And ate those scrawny legs


We miss that little rooster,
That cute little guy,
So if you ever own a rooster
Be careful!
… The snake may come say hi!

The Windchime

She sat in bed, a place where she had not left for 2 days. Never had she felt this depressed or lonely. Everytime she closed her eyes she would see his face. Every detail would be clear. The stubble on his chin that suited him so well, his thick brown hair, his beautiful green eyes. And she would remember him speak. She would sink into the sound of his voice, the voice that was rich like dark chocolate.

There was this one particular memory, the memory of these two lovers meeting for the first time. She had been looking in the windows of a junkshop, curious to see what little treasures would be inside. A wind chime near the door of the shop lit up the air with its metallic yet delicate clinking. A man inside the shop appeared on the other side of the window. Distracted, she looked up at him. It was the first time she had ever seen him, and had no idea in the slightest what an impact he would have on her later on.

But she no longer wanted to dwell on the past. Using every ounce of strength and determination, she slid out from the silk sheets of her bed and slid right down to the floor. It wasn't much, but that first move had given her the hope that she really could get over this. So she picked herself up off the floor and finally found herself in an upright position. She glanced at her desk, now in a layer of dust, and saw the small, blue Chinese box. Inside would be two metallic balls painted with the symbols of ying and yang, and with little bells hidden in the middle of each ball. She used them whenever she wanted to cheer up. The sound they made when the little bells started chiming was like nothing she had ever heard before, so they didn't remind her of anything. No bad memories could be brought up from the sound of the bells. She would be able to choose her thoughts. They helped her to be in control of her own mind.

She went over to the delicate box. She picked up the two little balls inside and started to roll them around in the palm of her hand. Soon she would be happy, content. But just as she started to smile, something happened that had never happened before. The balls made her think of a memory. Those little bells she had relied upon sounded just like the windchime that had been outside the junk shop, the day she had met him. This was one memory that always brought tears to her eyes. The last of her hope evaporated. Like a balloon losing its air, she sank to the floor once more, not sure if she would ever rise again.