Can you imagine a world with no writing? No books? No film scripts? No Whatsapp messages?

It’s unthinkable.

Writing is a wonderful thing that deserves to be championed, which is exactly what Eastbrook students did by celebrating National Writing Day and getting creative.

The theme of the day was ‘Connection’ – which after a year of separation due to Covid seemed particularly relevant.

Miss Malherbe’s and Ms Lotter’s classes wrote short poems that conveyed the micro-connections we all have with one another – the kinds of small connections that we rarely reflect on. Miss Paul’s class focused on prose writing, composing the opening to a story using at least three words from a prescribed list. Here are some of their offerings:

 

Polka dot lady (Andrea Adams)

I wonder if you feel those curious stares

When you wear those flamboyant dresses with a care

Polka dots, stripes, velvet and fur

You’ve probably worn even more

 

I see you perform on the big screen

I see you drinking tea with the queen

 

I wonder what you keep inside your high large hair bun

Would bats fly out if you let it come undone

 

You never stop to look back

You just keep walking forward

 

The Mother (Stanley, Ionut, Emmanuel, Christopher)

I see you on the 174 every week,

You rummage through your bag to find your oyster,

You look lifeless and weak,

Your face dry, with no moisture.

 

Children running and playing,

Your temper failing and flailing,

They run up the stairs in a hurry,

Knocking over other people`s money.

 

The pressure is starting to take its toll,

The children keep acting big and bold,

As a mother you started to play your role,

Now you are finally in control.

 

The Boy on the Bus Stop (Rubaida)

I see you everyday

Mask on your face, standing at the same place

You seems to be tired as always

 

I can tell that you are lonely

I wonder where are your friends

 It’s really sad to see you like this.

 

Are you shy? Are you bored?

 It’s really funny how you wear your jacket, makes you looks like a nugget 😀

 

The look on you face, makes me wonder what’s your case

You don’t even say hi,

even though we meet every day

Are you okay?

 

I see you every day  (Stefan, Toki, Ugne)

You walk so elegantly

Yet you seem in a rush

Your sharp footsteps echoing

Across the street makes me think

If you are going to catch a bus.

 

You have this presence, this aura, this essence, as you emit this funny, friendly feeling

yet never seem to talk.

You looked rushed, yet ready to rush with style.

 

I wonder where you buy your clothes

Cause I too, like that style

Your wonderful attire so beautifully patterned

The polka dots on your dress bouncing out at us.

 

Your hair is a red wispy flame, so mysterious, yet so tranquil

Your locks of hair so delicately curled, looking so sensitive, yet so glamorous

As your hair are embers rolling towards your eyes

On other days you sport bright blue hair,

so reflective, as the sun beams upon your head- smiling eagerly at your face.

 

I wonder why, why you walk down this street

I wonder, why, you are in a rush.

 

The Old Lady with her Black Cat (By Tatheer and Precious)

I always see you everyday, walking ever so slowly,

with your black cat, hissing at me.

It’s funny how your glasses steam up,

With your mask all crooked up.

I wonder if you’re okay,

why your black cat is staying away.

Maybe one day, you get to know me,

and notice that, even though we don’t know each other,

we are connected.

 

Story based on three words (Monica Ajala)

I lay nonchalently on nylon, the newly pampered grass eagerly reaching out for sunlight but prevented by my being. Shrooms, flowers and trees surround me, welcoming me into their home, flaunting their beauty. A rabbit, usually timid, joyfully approaches me doing motions I didn’t even know animals could manifest. A sign? A key to something perhaps? I hadn’t had a clue but my instinct takes the wheel, running every traffic light, every red flag, never once stepping on the brakes. I run, desperately trying to catch up until I fall face first in a family of mushrooms, releasing a pink and yellow cloud – a product of my impact. I wheeze and cough – hyperventilating in fact – and after barely regaining balance I feel a sense of euphoria.

 

Woman with five little kids (Subham Gurung)

You always just focus on the little baby,

The other ones get attention sometimes maybe,

The other four get to roam around the bus,

You hope they don’t cause trouble they have your trust,

You always only tell the little one to hush,

You always seem to be relaxed though, you’re in no rush,

All the regulars on the bus know them as the noisy five,

They are noisy but it makes for an enjoyable ride.

 

Grief down the road (Kelly-Louise Mason)

I see you down the road, each day at 7:30am,

I see you in that black outfit, looking down,

I used to wonder why you would tearfully mutter,

Until I noticed that wedding ring on your finger,

 

I then recognised the grief shown in your actions,

Always pacing, always fidgeting,

The tears in your voice were apparent, obvious,

I wonder what they were like,

 

Yesterday you finally looked up at me,

Didn’t say a word, but you made eye contact,

The pain in your eyes brought tears to mine,

I wish you the best in life, and remember,

They’re at peace now,

So don’t be “Keith down the road”, as the kids call you.

 

Story Based on Three Words (Melissa Torvenyiova)

The winter had tortured the whole province. Icy breezes rushed by, coating a blanket of coldness on the hiker. His feet sinking into the pool of snow, struggling. His hands are pale and flaky, an indigo tone captures his skin as his fingers tremble. His shortened breath escapes his mouth and swirls into thin flames, vanishing into the air. Grey clouds had rolled over the sun, snow violently falling from them, scattering on the coat of the Earth. As the snow got heavier, he had begun to approach a cave.

 

Well done to all the writers today! Some really lovely work.