Works below are from both the Fabrications I and Fabrications II competitions
After The Burning
by Tella Osler (Grade 11)
I have seen a tree reborn
by fire;
Cindered pages peeling,
Exposing a soft white beneath.
For a tree to crack open
its skin
and dance,
Naked as a newborn
Out of a lie I thought was death:
This is hope.
The Way It Should Be Done
By Celsian Cirisse Stephen (Grade 11)
My spine starts to tingle, tension’s looming, I can feel
it in the air. Something will happen, I know, because of physics. My eyes meet
his and his mine and we both know that it will strike but neither of us is willing
to guess when: In case we’re both wrong. All elements are present: I blush
—heat— and he grasps my shoulders —pressure—…
which are slightly wet with anticipation —moisture. His throat purrs,
the approaching rumble, and both sets flash, mine blue, his green —but
who really cares anyways? Colour’s just a product of energy…. Anyways,
they flash, and with shocking velocity we crash… slowly, then with escalating
speed and desire, in a torment of Zeal and Wild Zest.
We left no prisoners.
Sadly, the storm of passion ended, as does most real storms, weak and dreary;
there was no real finish, no true last kiss, just sad, silent darkness. If I
had my way, storms, and kisses, would die with gusto; literally go out with
a BANG! Leaving the world in reverent contemplation: What more is she capable
of?
From:
Any Devil Arose
By Chelsea Theriault (Grade 12)
This poem is written in cantos, but due to its length only a portion of Theriault’s autobiographical epic poem is given here. In the first seven Cantos, our heroine speaks with the Greek goddess of wisdom, Athena, who informs her of a great task that she must undertake (but which is kept from the reader). In Cantos VIII-XIII, Chelsea buys a pencil and paper. We have included Canto XIV because it is when Theriault reveals the quest that she is preparing to embark upon, and this sets the stage for the remaining 57 Cantos.
Canto XIV
As spring rays of sun dance sweetly on the water,
Students pray for success, and for it to get hotter.
I sit not outside but shut up in a tomb,
Otherwise known as my Brentwood dorm room.
While nymphs gallivant, and rowers row,
The stress of the season in me starts to show,
And although I wish for a life somewhat better,
Than the one I live constantly in my school sweater,
I am prepared for the task which I now must face,
Something on which depends the fate of our race:
So at my desk I sit, after many lamentations,
To begin the quest of composing Fabrications.
Athena hath warned me, goddess from on high,
That if I do not win our future is nigh,
Since in the stars it is writ that if I do not succeed,
All earthly peoples should thenceforth take heed,
Since devils will flock, evil never seen before,
And arrive on earth to start unimaginable war.
I say to myself, “I must win that prize!”
And then begin chanting “Lies, Lies…”
Yet nothing happens, though I thought I was sage,
After two hours I still stare at a blank page!
This is worse than when Eve’s apple was tasted,
Or when my Ipod’s battery is mistakenly wasted.
“Urania, Gentle Muse,” I call at the top of my voice,
“Athena hath left me without a choice,
So prithee, help me and deliver inspiration,
Or I will be responsible for Mankind’s condemnation!”
Then so swiftly that my head started to swim,
Appeared at my shoulder a winged Cherubim.
“My name is Phydius,” he said with a squeak,
“And I am the helper for all who are weak,
Or those without courage who freeze up in shock,
In your case I will remove all writer’s block!”
Overjoyed I was then as he whispered in my ear,
After a few of his words it all seemed so clear,
How silly of me to get stuck over Lies,
When all I needed to do was open my eyes!
These pants hardly look slimming or nice on me,
And it’s so obvious that my haircut was free,
Green eyeliner isn’t really “coming back in”,
But worst of all, I do have a double chin!
White lies, worse than any other falsehood,
Make people believe that “Shouldn’t” is “Should”.
My peers have been lying to me every day,
With this topic I’ll surely swing “1st Place” my way.
I thanked Phydius, and he left in a flash,
Only after he said “I’ll take Visa or cash.”
But Phydius I did not bother to bribe,
So I grabbed my paper, a most diligent scribe,
And hastened to begin the story I would pen,
When “Snap!” my pencil lead broke off again!
“Oh Gods above,” I pleaded with sadness,
“Why do you subject me to this madness,
When all I want is to create an amusing story,
And restore my culture to its former glory?”
The sharpener lay distant across the room,
Somehow I felt the beckoning of doom,
But I ignored this feeling and hurried to the table,
Of sharpening a pencil I surely am able!
I grabbed the device to use it to my best,
When suddenly I realized, “This thing is possessed!”
It came alive in my hands as it bit and it nipped,
Yet the worst damage was to a nail that was chipped,
But the Devil was exhibiting his many powers,
Since the sharpener and I grappled for hours and hours.
I could recite long details about all the fighting,
But to you it might not be very exciting.
It thundered and rained throughout our micro-war,
It finally quit when I simply hurled it at the door,
And I screamed “Never shall any devil arose,
Inhibit me from writing Poetry or Prose!”
The thunderclouds parted, and nymphs returned,
And the rays of the sun once more lovingly burned.
Whoever said, “Mighty contests rise from trivial things”
Might enjoy the events of this one day in spring.