8th October - Jacob Sam LaRose poem 1

For me, it was the sound—
the magic of the names my mother called
when speaking of a country left behind:
I came to know Kaieteur, Limlear, and
Albouystown, and Bagotsville; I knew
the way their music fit my tongue,
however distant they remained

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Comment by Stefany Anne Brown on October 8, 2010 at 6:51
Amanda Nindra Purnomo-Marki
Year 6-British International School, Jakarta, Indonesia

Every night, she told those tales.
Tales of bravery, tales of pride,
tales of loneliness and sadness.
But with every tale she told,
a piece was created
for the most complicated jigsaw puzzle
that only she knew how to complete.
Eagerly, I sat in in my chair, still as stone,
waiting for more to be told
about the country I will never trespass.
Then, there were the dreams.
Fantasies of the distant paradise drift through my mind,
Images of joy, sorrow and doubt.
Comment by Rosie Pike on October 8, 2010 at 14:03
My mother spoke mainly of love,
Love for my father.
My father who died,
He died a heroic death in the Great War.
She spoke of him so proudly,
As if he was a hero.
One day I came home from school,
Walking down the deserted street.
I froze,
There before was the man from my dreams.
At first I didn’t know who he was,
But then I knew.
He was my Papa.
I ran towards him screaming ‘Papa, Papa’
Tears ran down from my eyes.
Tears of joy,
Tears of happiness.
But most of all,
Tears of shock.
We hugged in the middle of the street.
I had finally met my Papa!

By Sam Hopkinson and Adam Cawthray Stern
Bishop’s Stortford College

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