The Council of British International Schools is pleased to announce the winners and runners up in the 2010 COBIS Student Poetry Competition. More than 200 poems on the theme of ‘Home’ were received from students in British Schools around the world. The competition was divided into three categories: 10yrs and under (Category A), 11-14yrs (Category B), and 15-19yrs (Category C). The poetry competition was sponsored by Galore Park Publishing, Red House International School Book Club, and TTS Group Ltd. The winning entries are printed below. Winners and runners up are pupils of British, Czech, Korean, and Swedish nationality studying at COBIS schools in Italy, Turkey, Czech Republic, and France.
Category A (10 yrs and under)
Winning entry: Eleanor Bufton Lowe, St George's British International School, Italy
Runner up: Noemi Kornova, Prague British School, Czech Republic
Category B (11 - 14 yrs)
Winning entry: Ye Won Nam, The British International School Istanbul, Turkey
Runner up: Linn Boldt-Christmas, Mougins School, France
Category C (15 - 19 yrs)
Winning entry: Alice Brooksbank, St George's British International School, Italy
WINNING ENTRY - Category A (10 yrs and under)
My Roman Home
Eleanor Bufton Lowe (nationality: British)
St George’s British International School, Italy
I live under the arches,
no, not the railway line.
I live in an aqueduct,
from the Roman time.
Emperor Nero had it built
to carry water down. . .
to his Golden Palace
where the Colosseum stands now.
A Russian Princess lived here
in the nineteenth century;
I never cease to be amazed
at this house’s history.
A talented musician,
who loved to sing and dance.
Now, like that Russian Princess,
I play my songs and prance!
My piano and my flute,
played like a princess should;
music has echoed around this house
as long as it has stood.
Birds sing and frogs croak
in the garden where roses grow.
The wind whistles in the night,
as the trees shake to and fro.
Outside the sirens wail and screech,
car horns like trumpets blast.
These, the howls of modern life...
not the sweet sounds of the past!
Music’s in these bricks and tiles,
so what I’d really like to know
is, did the Romans sing here...
two thousand years ago?
WINNING ENTRY - Category B (11-14 yrs)
A Sonnet for a New Home: Istanbul
Ye Won Nam (nationality: Korean)
The British International School Istanbul, Turkey
What kind of city is this Istanbul?
A place which teems with life, where life is cheap;
A place which can be garbage or a jewel,
In which existence, like its hills, is steep.
Here, day is punctuated by the mosque
Generous smiles matched by generous hearts;
More questions here arise than we can ask
A whirling mix of endings and of starts.
Many hours I’ve spent around this city,
And there seen things I’d only read in books:
Sights I have seen which filled me with pity,
Others which had me laughing at their looks.
Yes, this city, this place of strange delight,
This Istanbul that fuses dark and light.
WINNING ENTRY - Category C (15-19 yrs)
Home
Alice Brooksbank (nationality: British)
St George’s British International School, Italy
He sits, alone.
The hard chair seizes his frail frame in a cold embrace,
As he stares morosely at the disused oven
Missing her.
Sepia-toned photographs adorn the discoloured walls which surround him,
Grinning faces which mock,
Constant witnesses of a man’s slow decline -
Left him behind.
If he squints, looks beyond the shafts of hazy light
Cast from the dusty window,
The particles of dust dance around her,
A bustling figure preparing the Sunday roast.
She’s singing.
A high voice carried harmoniously above the
Clashing of pots and pans,
A hymnal melody accompanied by the hiss of steam.
Now he can smell her.
A faint blend of lavender fused with powdery talc
Clings to the air around him,
Comforting.
Shifting forwards, his brittle bones bash against the hard surface of the chair,
He struggles to stretch an arm to stroke her golden hair -
Blinks and she’s gone.
A cruel apparition of what used to be.
He shuts his eyes,
Forces back the familiar film of liquid forming.
He can hear her calling him now in her soft Devon burr,
A calm smile framed by plump cheeks.
The corners of his thin lips rise into a weary smile,
The delicate head droops and the cup of tea held in
Trembling hands is still...
Smashes to the tiles below.
He is home.
RUNNER UP - Category A (10 yrs and under)
Home
Noemi Kornova (nationality: Czech)
The Prague British School, Czech Republic
I remember the salty smell of my plate filled with fried fish I could nibble.
I remember the joy of seeing my new born baby sister.
I remember the touch of my beloved mother’s raspberry flavoured kiss.
I remember the distinct taste of mangoes from our only tree.
I remember the strident shout of my amusing brother.
And then came the sound of fragile homes shaking and crumbling into pieces.
Windows shattered, glass pierced my skin.
Bricks crashed, stones rolled, dust veiled my eyes and wood splintered.
All I can see now is devastation.
I can no longer feel the touch of lips that used to kiss me good night.
My taste is of bitterness.
RUNNER UP - Category B (11-14 yrs)
Home Poem
Linn Boldt-Christmas (nationality: Swedish)
Mougins School, France
The sun is rising, glowing through the glass
First golden rays on fresh cut grass
Good morning daughter, good morning son
Toy box still open, the eggs are done
A gentle hand on a gentle cheek
Her smile is mild, her voice is meek
The day has dawned, we have things to do
I love you mummy, I love you too
Cream-white walls and mahogany floors
Bright furry carpet to silence doors
Building blocks hide under desks
Porcelain dolls in treasure chests
Their mother holds her chin up high
She hears a crash, she leaves a sigh
Another mess to clean, surprise
Another child to tell her lies
Why can’t they learn, she cannot learn
That money’s not a breeze to earn
No, my dear, we cannot buy
The world for you. You have to try
Harder every day, they say
Maybe you can pray, they say
You can’t prepare for parenthood
You’ll have to learn, at least you should
And later, she smiles, that’s all well and good
I think I can, and I think I could
...But it’s not my fault he misbehaves
...You could blame his dad who never stays
Oh, it’s not my fault that we never speak
It’s not my fault that I feel so weak
It’s not my fault that the bottle helps
To block out all sounds, ignore the yelps
A raging hand on a gentle cheek
Her smile is twisted, her clothes all reek
The day has set, there’s nothing to do
I love you mummy, shut up, you two
The sun is setting, glows through the glass
Last golden rays on thick-grown grass
Good morning daughter, good morning son
Toy box still open, the children gone
