Balmoral Hall School - Optima Anni Yearbook (Winnipeg, Manitoba Canada)

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ESKIMOS They come and go Through perpetual winter's cloak, Trudging, dreary, weary through the blinding snow Never yielding--no, never a word. Their faces rimmed with native furs, Their shining black eyes, deep wells of emptiness Their teeth--upspringing white flowers in the soft warm earth. Trapping, hunting, fishing--year in, year out They come and go Lorraine Murray, Form IV First Prize Intermediate Poetry NIGHT IN THE FCREST The silence of the woods is broker. By the call of the wild geese flying Across the moonlit sky. A hunter's Shot echoes through the lonely night. The Peaceful lake is still, except for small Ripples washing up onto the shore. Deer bashfully walk out of the edge Of the forest for a moonlight drink. Occasionally a fish may be Heard splashing in the water. A loud cry Warning the animals danger is Approaching. Finally all the creatures Have settled down and gone off to sleep, And now the forest is silent except For an occasional rustle, splash, Or perhaps a cry from soome sleepless Animal. Nancy Lemon, Form ll First Prize Junior Poetry BONJOUR MONSIEUR PUSSYCAT Bonjour Monsieur Pussycat, Que s'assit upon my mat. Comment tu est beau today, Peut-etre you should s'enaller. Le grand chien is over there So lave vos pattes tout de suite mon cher. ll n'aime pas cats near chez lui. ll est mechant. lsn't he? So au revoir mon pussycat Cherchez-vous une autre mat. Louise Nebbs, Form Il Third Prize Junior Poetry LOST The dark street glowed with the last hours of dusk. It then began to grow darker and the cobble- stone grew colder. The narrow street was lined with tall, town-houses, whose overhanging second stories caused the street to be dark and gloomy. The bustle of the day was settling down to quiet and rest. The darkness seemed thick, like a heavy fog, as it settled slowly over the village. She fell once, then twice and drooped her weary head from utter exhaustion. Her name was Sarah. She was a tall, slight girl with a small, curved mouth, and large, brown eyes which were framed with thick, black lashes. Her delicate and fine-boned face added much to her rare attractive- ness. Her main feature was her long, glossy brown hair which hung, tangled, to her waist. Sarah wore a thin and faded blue cotton dress that hung loosely on her small shoulders. It was almost completely soaked through, and was badly in need of some mending. She had no shoes and her bare feet, which she tried to keep warm by tucking under herself, werevcold and wet. Earlier, she had wandered out from the warmth and shelter of her poor home, to escape from the noise and fuss of her ten brothers and sisters and, in a short time, had found herself lost.

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LIKE A TIGER Like a tiger, spring slyly creeps Upon us. lt moves closer, it waits To pounce, as winter its rest seeks. Quietly, stealthily it brushes The foliage lightly, as it passesg Leaving behind a drop of life. Leaping from trees to grasses It lands noiselessly on soft pads. And startles the unsuspecting Frost and snow. And all thaw In a shower of sun, eating Away the cold, like a tiger. Jane Briggs, Form V Third Prize Senior Poetry MAG ESTY The high pines of the northern slopes Soar in the sky with majestic might. They are the kings of the forest And tower over their domain Bearing the seeds of future kings On their wide furry boughs Their slim bodies blow gently Honourable Mention Senior Poetry THE SKIER From up above, the swirling flakes danced down And into my eyes. They helped me lose the Balance that was so important to my sport. The minute town at the base of my mountain Looked up and judged my talents As one on skies. And I realized that control l may not have but the spirit welled-up in me And I hoped the exuberant feeling inside would Not give way to fear that was aroused when I Gazed down the slope. The vast white expanse looked up from below And in eagerness l dug my poles into the ground Pushing behind me the makeshift plateau of the snow Where I had been standing, till then stable and Sound. My few moments of flight were all too Soon complete . . . and I waited in line for a tow At my mountain's foot. Laura Johnston, Form VI Honourable Mention Senior Poetry Bog H1051 -X 11305 Kiss -I-hz B-bf' has Sydney Kennedy, Form VI E PGEM The beat is there. I can hear so clearly Yet interpretation is not in words. My head rolls in thought. The Doors open my mind, I am stimulated by the Vanilla Sound, colour, and sight are there. Are they real? Yes, this isn't The End Pam Dangerfield, Form V Honourable Mention Senior Poetry - 'Y .SAWJSJNEEREQJR 1-H5 BARON There was once a girl called Baron That was consistently angry with Maren When asked the reason why, She would quickly say good-bye, And then Baron would chase after Maren Maren Hansen, Form IV

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Sarah's mind was in a daze and her frail shoulders shook as she sobbed. Her face was sore and the beautiful rose colour had been drained from her cheeks. The lights of a nearby town-house flicked on, and in a matter of a few minutes, the door creaked open. A short, plump figure stood silhouetted in the door- way. Sarah tried to force herself to her blistered feet and then to run, when a woman's gentle voice called out. Sarah's feeble limbs felt almost useless, although the gentle voice gave her more strength and helped to reassure her. She remembered little after that, for her mind seemed far away. However, this did not prevent her from knowing that these people were kind and would help her. During the next half hour she was reclothed given a hot drink and put into a warm, comfortable bed. Although she was not yet home, she felt less worried and her mind was clearer. The door was shut, excited children were hushed, and the room was left dark and silent. Her eyelids felt heavy and her lashes closed together as she drifted asleep. Iane Lawson, Form l First Prize Junior Short Story c.oui.o ae Q-lawn It mama B I . Z. --FT: ? I It 1 'I A PEBBLE There l lay on that pebbled shore With millions of others just like me. Mixed and mingled as common pebbles So no one was better than his fellow. This was my simple life Until Fate saw me, and picked me up To throw me upwards as hard as he could. l rose like a soaring eagle Up to the top of the clouds, To the peak of my life. The road upwards was fast and straight Following the path of my ambitions and hopes. l reached the clouds but could not stay for long Because they could not hold my weight. Slowly l fell through, leaving about me, Scattered remnants of floating clouds. My memories of the peak of my ambition. I fell gently as a feather down to Earth into a mirrored pool. l made a splash as I sunk, My mark of glistening ripples Ever fading until at last they died. As my memories died a lingering Death after I was gone. Now nothing is left to show That I was there. Donna Rogers, Form lll Honourable Mention Intermediate Poetry TR, 'rue BELLOQ 2. Loveel? YOLL