Given Poems – National Poetry Day 2023 – Under-16s

Here is our selection of the entries for Best Poem by Under-16s for the Given Words competition for National Poetry Day. They all had to include the following five words: broken, reflection, disappear, path, and paint.

You can read the winning poem The Broken School by Boh Harris along with the judge's comments here and the poems from the Adult's category here.

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Non-Euclidean Geometry

              Abstract
              Beautiful
              Curious

Let me paint a picture;
Where the shortest path
              A to B
                            Is not a straight line,
Where linear reflections
              Are not necessarily linear,
The edge of geometry,
              Where logic breaks;
Where common sense
              Is useless and alien;

Let me paint a picture;
Where an object can
              Disappear, and reappear
In somewhere new;
Where discontinuities
              Are continuous,
Where angles need not
              Sum rigidly;
              Where angles in triangles
              Need not sum 180;
But can be fluid;
A flowing river
              Of mathematical ideas.

Let me paint a picture;
Where two parallel lines
              Meet;
Where the cornerstones
Of geometry
              Break;
Where nothing can ever be
              As it seems.
This picture
              Not rigid;
              Not fixed;
              Free to do whatever;

This picture,
It is
              Abstract,
              Beautiful,
              And of course,
                            Curious.

Luke Manson, aged 14
Ōtautahi Christchurch

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Snow

Snow paints the mountain
the colour of kōtuku.
A forest grows
the cloak of Tāne.
A kea scales
high above the messenger
of the mountain.
A path disappears
into the reflection
of ice
A sky in the broken
sun

Alfred Lash, aged 9
Ōtautahi Christchurch

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A Shadow Is Not A Reflection

Oh mystic mirror, who is fairer:
you; bathed in golden light,
or I, your twin, who lurks
in your darkness behind.

I watch as you dab gentle blush
across your alabaster cheeks
and I paint blood on mine
to copy your every move；

to try to even be half the person you are,
because I know that you,
the angel of that utopic reflection,
are good, while I am not.

Though one glass divide,
you squint at those flaws of mine
then you pull cloth over your eyes
and pretend I don’t exist.

Don’t you think that it would be better
for me to disappear? Of course you do.
It is better than broken boundaries,
better than shattered glass and of course:

The Truth: that you and I are one identity,
two sides of the same wall, and you
had simply gotten the better side,
and with that, my better side.

But I know that, with the truth, you do not agree,
I know that this is the path you chose,
and I do not hate you for wanting
to be our facade which others see.

Miranda Yuan, aged 13
Ōtautahi Christchurch

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Broken Reflections

I sit and listen
to the sounds of the waves
as they calmly crawl up the sand
while I watch the sun disappear

a broken reflection
in the endless sea

the sunset paints
an autumn colour in the sky
orange beams shoot from above
creating a path
to nowhere.

Laylah Broughton, aged 12
Ōtautahi Christchurch

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My Sandcastle

On the side of my sandcastle
I place little pieces of broken seashells
as small as a newborn baby's palm.

The painted path is small chips
I stole from my sister's lunch.

On the top of my castle is
my mum’s small makeup mirror
in which I can see my dripping wet reflection.

But then in comes the mighty tide
causing my beautiful sandcastle
to disappear under the wild waves
never to be seen again

Soon after I can hear my mum ask,
'Have you seen my mirror?'

Emily Halliday, aged 12
Ōtautahi Christchurch

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Sparks Fly

Sparks fly into the starlit sky,
casting an orange haze over the lonely town.
Flames lick at the peeling paint of the worn houses,
eating the rotting wood like a hungry animal.
A matted grey dog darts out of the smoke,
pausing to examine the danger before
it disappears behind one
of the few untouched houses.
The flames continue to swallow up buildings,
Devouring everything in its path.
The dog yelps as sparks fly towards it,
trying to get away from the amber glow.
It scrambles into a musty puddle,
gazing at the water as the reflection
of the flames grows bigger.
The wind howls,
throwing handfuls of orange flurries into the sky.
The dog bounds away,
leaving the broken town behind.

Amy Gilbert, aged 13
Ōtautahi Christchurch

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Dear Traveler,
Please paint.
Paint me the world.
Paint the sky in Norway
and the snow globe of Iceland.
Paint the stars in Chile
and the circus tents of Mexico.
Paint Lake Matheson
I want to see your reflection among the stars.
Paint me comets and
paint me the path
of Parisian winds
paving avenues.
Paint the Inca Trail and
one day I’ll join you.
We’ll count mountaintops from the Lost City and
we’re going to swim
in a cenote.
Do you think of me?
I want you to paint Dubai.
You last wrote to me from India.
You said you might just
disappear
into the orange sunset
of their sky.
Paint me castles because
I hear
you’re in Bavaria now.
I hear you’re looking for
dusty windows and polished tales.
Paint them.
I don’t care if you aren’t an artist
or if you can only trace broken lines
under broken stars
and a broken sky.
Paint it for me.
I always wanted to see the world.

Brianna Searle, aged 15
Ōtautahi Christchurch

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Rollicking Words

Writing makes
    A path
Between
    broken mirrors
    mocking phones
    gruesome groans
Between
    chirping birds
    whispering breeze
    swirling leaves
Between
    roaring nights
    gruesome fights
    angry lights
Between
    colourful paint
    buzzing bees.
    cool green trees
Between
    evil stares
    raging thunder
    gnawing hunger
Between
    sky-blue days
    beautiful names
    reflections smile
Between
    you and me
    this and that
    yes and no
It never ever disappears.

Saoirse, aged 12
Taupo

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Dear Grandma

It was sad when when we needed to leave your sight
and disappear from sri lanka

I look at my reflection
the spark in my hazel-brown eyes
and I think about you

Now I feel like the path to you
has broken

I really wish that you can stay in new zealand
forever and do fun stuff like painting

Tenushki Rangasinghe, aged 7
Ōtautahi Christchurch

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Hollow

I feel sorry for her,
her innocent smile
was disappearing,
her eyes
once lit up with happiness
are now filled with hollow
emotions,
her perfect mask,
slowly breaking
and no one can blame her,
the golden path she painted
was crumbling,
taking everything she achieved
with it,
I feel sorry for you,
I say,
staring at my reflection
in the broken mirror.

Pranisha Chetri, aged 13
Ōtautahi Christchurch

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Te Wheke Marae

Morning dew
Pīwakawaka leave
A path of feathers

Golden rays shine
The marae gleaming
Carefully engraved pāua

Shimmering fountain
reflections in the water
Paint the cover of the cascade

Levelled log
Broken bark
Beetle bungalow
delicious kai
Hunger disappears

Libby Foulds, aged 10
Ōtautahi Christchurch

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Memories of the mirror

Broken glass on a tatty burgundy carpet
Forgotten in the attic’s corner
Winds a path over the ruined fabric
Mottled images merge and disappear
Painting a shattered, shapeless image
Sharp edges hidden by cold beauty
The golden frame grieves for the splintered glass
Remembering a small girl
Smiling into her reflection
Remembers being moved to the attic
The dusty air clouding its shiny surface
The crash as it shattered
The cat as it scampered away from the mess it made

Amelia Finlay-Smits, aged 12
Ōtautahi Christchurch

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My oasis

Standing on the path of Jasmine
The flowers flowing in the breeze
A warm flow through the canopy
The pinks are like paint
Splattered all around
Walking slowly down the path
To the clear crystal lake
Sitting down on an iron rock
Staring down at my reflection
Suddenly the stillness has broken
An old duck has landed on the lake
With an old broken wing
If you were there you would look at it
And worry
But when I look at something like that
It makes me calmer
As the duck swims around it fixes its wings
And flies away from the lake
It disappears
I walk away from
My oasis

Hannah Phillips, aged 11
Ōtautahi Christchurch

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Something lingers

A broken legacy, memories flutter.
A whisper of what was and what was not.
In an old rotting house up on the hill of Anapai beach,
a reflection of mother, daughter and the ones before them.
A blank canvas paints a path to the past.
The old kāinga shimmers, silver and gold
as if bound by memories.
Some scurry, huddling close to the safety of the walls.
Some run across green fields, proud to be free.
For centuries the old house endures, forbid they disappear.
The call of tūī lost in the wind.

Zoey Skelton, aged 11
Ōtautahi Christchurch

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The Mirror

There was a magic path.
It was leading us to the mirror.
The mirror was broken.
The reflection disappeared.
We painted the wooden frame.

Manheer Singh, aged 5
Wellington

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Hey Dad

Hey Dad,

Sometimes, I wish I had your skills:
being able to paint well;
walking straight tall and proud on the path;
able to make problems disappear;
and never breaking dreams.
I wish I was a reflection of you—
that would be awesome.

Jimmy Kitchingman, aged 13
Ōtautahi Christchurch

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The Daisy Will Grow Again

Sun falls
Ocean quiets
Sky darkens

A glimpse of sunlight
On the water
Reflects an image

The hair of the hill sways
Dancing on the path
Up, Up, Up

A silhouette
Walks with another
On dirty shoes

She slowly starts to fade
Once the sun has disappeared
'It’s time to go to bed'

He grasps on to her words
Looking at the empty space
Where she once was

She is gone
Gone with the sun
To reappear tomorrow

Now only
A distant memory
A song that plays

Feelings shattered
He tries to look for a reflection
In the stars

She is broken
Looks from a distance
But can’t touch

The sun will rise again
She will return
Only to leave

A delicate hand
Reaches out
To paint

The canvas remains
Empty
Forever will be blank

She will always return
Her canvas blank
The ocean in her ears

Sofia Tivers, aged 13
Ōtautahi Christchurch

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Thanking the trees

Walking through the path
my light brown hair cascades
down my back
My wispy bangs touch
the bottom of my eyebrows
blowing around in the wind
The reflection of the trees
dance in the river
The broken sticks crunch
The slim kahikatea roots
disappear deep underground
Leaves fluttering to the ground
paint this poem

Parker Ma, aged 11
Ōtautahi Christchurch

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Waiting for the Turtles

My hands disappear into the cold sand,
I look at the ocean

The reflection of the blue moon
paints a broken path
across the water

I feel as cold as the waves

Max Bell, aged 11
Ōtautahi Christchurch

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Broken Hearts

There is a silence in longing,
That only comes about when you pretend to be beautiful,
With vanishing time and a bout of
Silence.

Painted faces,
Hold yourself together,
Painted hearts,
Broken hearts,
Wallow in silence.

The day you disappeared,
My bones had never ached as badly,
As when stormy winds were blowing,
Tearing travellers from the path,
From the path of what?
The path of golden-silver silence.

Forget-me-nots,
Your favourite flower,
Remember me,
Do not forget me,
It is past those weary days,
Now we sit in silence.

A cold reflection,
Shattering mirrors,
A hollow mask,
Listen to the nightingale scream,
A paint marked ivory heart,
Forked tongue in a poisoned mouth,
You are not the same,
Dancing in a darkening silence.

Gold bound,
Stream dancing,
See the song birds whispering,
A wretched return,
Of vanishing things,
Staggering down the rabbit hole,
I am sick of the silence.

Make it up,
Made up,
Fantastic and frantic,
Silent.

Two theatre masks,
Dead birds and withered flowers,
Spit out poisoned words,
Cracked bones,
The paint has washed away,
Silent.

There will be no more silence.

Jasmin Prior, aged 15
Papakura

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After the shock

The puddle ripples as the ground shakes.
Screams flee the city
They disappear into a cloud of rubble
A fragmented path crumbles at the touch
Paint flutters of the cathedral
As it falls to the ground
The shaking begins to stop
The broken reflection of the puddle
Staring back at the cracked city
10 years later
The same puddle cracked but repaired
Buildings rebuilt to stand
The Tuis sing once more
Leaves fall as the seasons change
The wounds left behind
Healing by the second
The puddle ripples
Now becoming a pond
A home for a family of ducks

Almu Cameron Parra, aged 11
Ōtautahi Christchurch

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Arctic Ice

Broken ice
crashing into
cold, dark waters.
My reflection
rippling through
the ocean.
Polar bears
disappearing as fast
as ice cream
in the sun.
Paths obliterated.
Snow
paints the ground.

Aneel Bartlett, aged 10
Ōtautahi Christchurch

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Sanctus

a view projected to disappear
the narrow stone path
green tunnels
reflections above the
bird bath

silver droplets
cascading down
the broken wood
beyond the grand piano
walls of light paint

she lies next to the searing fire
with a cup of tea and a gingernut

Sanctus
Sanctus
Sanctus
stolen land
stolen memories
stolen peace

she remembers cows in the garden
the welcoming hole in her fence

her fingers write stories
on the keys of her grand piano

the beams hold the past
the old farmers watch over her
through pink skies

Violetta Dacre, aged 14
Ōtautahi Christchurch