I sit here watching the irresistible enchantments of this island.

The creamy cascades of ferny daydreams.

The momentous ocean’s swirl.

The filmy, flaked decorum and the sufficient jumble of clarity.

The wind sounding like a boiling kettle and the ceaseless bright dreams of jelly, ice-cream and more luxuries that ache my very heart.

The vivid content of bananas and sticky fruit I’ve never heard of.

 

My heart is utterly infinite, cradling in its arms that little word of hope.

 

They call me batty, these self-indulged boys,

Who loiter in their wallow of self pity.

Their egos bulging, swelling song to stop and melt.

But also on this island there are slithering shadows and creatures 

dog-eared and unusual. 

Soon we will see mirages of wanted things that we will bitterly overlook.

The curt obtuseness filled with nightmares slipping through the lagoon.

 

Taking in and spitting out that little word of hope.

 

By Dixi Taylor (Year III)

 

When at first we arrived on the Island, it all seemed irresistible. 

We imagined all of the enchantments,

And the splendours of the Island - our Island! -  in momentous clarity. 

The sky was bright and vivid,

The sunlight seemed ceaseless, as swirls of light came down and indulged us. 

I for one was utterly content, my heart melting as the ocean waves crashed down,

And the water in the lagoon bobbed gently in the breeze.

And then, as quickly as they had started, my daydreams stopped. 

The infinite challenge of living on an Island suddenly hit me.

 

It was obtuse, terrifying, ridiculous. A group of boys living on an Island. 

The area which was buzzing with talk went silent as we thought back to our homes and loved ones. 

Our mothers, who used to cradle us in their arms, at home, alone; our fathers out at war. 

No more jelly or ice cream, 

No more tea from the kettle.

All we have is silly old bananas, bunched curtly in jumbles at the top of tall trees. 

 

The sun was almost vertical in the sky, and there were no shadows.

It suddenly dawned on us how hot it was.

As the days went on our skin began to flake;

We started to become scurfy and dog-eared.

We started to go batty, seeing mirages and suchlike and our hair became bleached by the sun. 

It was an unusual situation.

 

Everyday we watch the tide swell, then loiter for a while,

And then eventually in the evening slither down the beach with the tide. 

We spend our days wallowing in the brine, looking bitterly out to sea,

For that speck in the ocean,

That boat.

 

By Molly Davidson (Year III)
 

 

They indulged themselves in the bright irresistible sunlight

amidst the momentous swirl of the ocean. 

The clarity of the water was enchanting, the cream-coloured spray a refreshing mist. 

Awake from his day dreams, the jumble of banana plants and flakelike leaves showed no decorum. 

His heart was beating steadily, even paced, as he arose from his bed.


The vertical palm trees, cradling their fruits, drew shadows on the infinite beach. 

The melting heat was loitering covertly, and the unusual obtuseness of the mirage, bulged over the slither of beach.

 The lagoon was the only escape from the utterly unbearable heat. 

The ferny leaves were dog-eared over the sides of the swelling water; the sufficiency of brine water made it distasteful and bitter to the dry throat. 

After he had wallowed in the vivid blue water for a while, he swathed his body in tatty clothes. 

He walked along the sandy beach and curtly emptied the contents of a coconut shell of all its water – furtively, so not to draw attention to himself. 

He knew he was doing wrong, but he was tired and in a destructive mood, tired of life in this new home. 

 

All he wanted was his real home, 

the one with jelly and sweets which he missed so much and could only dream about here. 

H e longed for the whistle of the kettle and the call of his mother when his tea was ready. He would get rescued sometime soon or so he dreamed…

 

By Francesca Hill     IIIs