1981 School Magazine

The Mary Alexis MacMillan Prize for Verse Year 8 TIME Time is an endless streant, A mountain that grows lor the sky, An inescapable dream,

A rose that never will die. What do you see with time'l A nran rvith a long beard and scythe'? Patterns and weavings that rhyme And llorv through the endless night'? Me. I see lvith tirne, An hour-glass iilling with sand,

But mainly an ernpty night Black, never-ending, bland. But is tirne real'J I ask. Really, can anyone say?

The Betty Woolcock Challenge Cup Years 1l and 12 Kathryn Mainstone Swelling soltly as she glides toward the sand, The glassy crest holds sweet secret The hour ol her release, Until. in ecstasy ol life and love, Spills forth her inner soul In one brief burst ol light, So srviltly to grow dint. I lilt my eyes, and fix upon another peak Much like the lirst Yet claiming in her time-born strength, The right to search for Truth and Life In no-one's name but hers. My heart leaps out and for brief instant She and I are one. Tu'o kindred spirits engulfed by tide ol Fate, Propelled by I'orces deep and strong, We move lrom common source

To catch it's an endless task. And it rvins in the end, anyway. We who catch not a glimpse, Ol- the thing that rules our lives, Many think they rule this imp, But they do understand, when they die.

The Mary Alexis MacMillan Prize for Lyric Years 9 and l0 Kathie .leays. l0A AFTERNOON RIDE I push the strap f irmly to my flattened chin h,ach linger curls discreetly around the damp leather, till in un ity They grasp with falso confidence. I manouvre him to niy desperate advantage, prepare lor futility. I mclunt. N!iraculously he takes only one stiff, straight-legged step and tensely halts. I re-arrange nty knotted limbs behind what rvould be scapular, ls in lact sleek-heiir-hidden and lost to sight. Subconsciously rve grip. My mind retains for me time eternal, scent of seaweed and stockholm tar. I turn him back. and slill his hooves are silent in a muddy wasteland. My nerves erupt, my body crouched in agony anticipates the phantom t'all. The hLlnching muscles ease my lubricated legs down the slippery-slide to sand. Prinrary colours mingle to black, pathetically I lind the strength for recall. Ilook. The horizon, broken by just tu'o triangular pricks of black, remains For an indeiinite time, and then, losing downwards to the greater unknown. We stand motionless, and the pressure of where it stains. hope, trickles the air touches Wind rustles down my throat; my voice box whistles, its un- changing tune, "Rohan".

Along our varied paths, Direeted yct directing.

Conlined by that which drives us, Storms come and windless days Impatience eats our soul, Then bright blue hours, Like crystal as we gaze, We clutch them tight In vain to seek the perlect peace.

But shore lies lar ahead. And hlue drrys come again As f orrvard must we go.

Yet gentle is the flow I see, As changes lollow change, And on the sand the time-forced wave Makes snaril-bright path and fades.

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