Green Point Primary Students Awarded in Write-On Competition

Green Point Christian College is delighted to have two students receive awards in the annual 2020 Write-On Competition for students in Year 1 to 6. 

The NSW Education Standards Authority (NESA) competition gave students the opportunity to compose an imaginative text of up to 500 words using a selected image as the stimulus. Imaginative pieces may include letters, poems, interviews, journal entries, narratives or scripts for radio, screen or stage. 

Year 5 student, Amelia M., was awarded a Gold Certificate for her story, Memories.
Amelia shared that she never really knew she was good at writing until year 3 when her teacher started commenting on her work. It was at this point she decided it might be interesting to start writing more.
Amelia admitted she is not a huge fan of fantasy novels, but enjoys novels about society and learning what life is like in the real world. Her goal is to one day be an author, but also to teach people to write and that writing is amazing.

Year 4 student, Ellen B., was awarded a Silver Certificate for her poem, The Messy Bedroom.
Ellen reads a lot and loves reading, and one day thought why can’t I write like that? She wanted to write like Andy Griffiths and Terry Denton in The Treehouse series, as well as some of her other home reader authors.
It was in Year 1 that her teacher introduced her to poetry, a genre she hadn’t experienced before but which she instantly loved. Ellen likes how poetry allows the writer to tell a story through rhyme.
Ellen would also like to continue writing in the future and would even like to publish her work, both poetry and other genres.

Head of Primary, Mrs Nicole Smith, highlighted that, "only six of these awards are given out across NSW in each section so to have two recipients in our midst is a great honour. For Amelia, this is the second consecutive year she has received a Gold award and will be published in the anthology of work. Both girls were awarded their certificates by Mr Nash. We would like to take this opportunity to congratulate them both on an outstanding achievement."



Graceful limbs of ghostly gums whisper to each other in the endless night. A pearl of a moon floats in a nest of silky sapphire velvet.

Coarse, worn fabric scratches the back of his neck where creases of the past have formed.

He is leaving. He is going to a place of forgotten people. This canvas of beauty that stroked the horizon is about to be behind him. His sigh rasps in his throat. He is old and worn and worthless. He does not exist to the world anymore. His bones creak and groan as he rises from the chair. A thick layer of dust clouts the box he pulls from the cupboard. His eyes soften to liquid as he gazes at the ecstasy of memories.

His frail fingers enclose around the spine of a tattered novel. Over the dome of a cracked snow globe. They clatter into the abyss of the box.

Memories don’t matter anymore. They are worthless, just as he is.

A sliver of moonlight illuminates a spot on the shelf. As a cloud drifts away from the moon, a cloud drifts away from his mind. He takes a stack of photos in his hands. Drawn in by the memory, he lets himself remember.

In a world of black and white, a young boy frolics in the dancing wildflowers. A speckled dog leaps beside him, tongue flapping in the air. The grass quivers as a flash of perfect white zips through the meadow. Both boy and dog tear through the field, laughing and barking and rolling in a breeze of happiness and love.

Waterfalls of tears flood his eyes. He remembers the liveliness that used to glitter in that dog’s eyes. The hope...

In a world of sepia, silky leaves kiss the breeze, nursing the tender orange fruit that blossoms so delicately. Boy and dog lay beneath the branches, dirty paws on filthy hands, playing softly in each other’s presence.

Tears fall slowly from his face onto the photo border. He wasn’t always alone. Gazing through tear blotted eyes at the last photo, he reads the caption.

‘Robert and Butternut. Best friends.’

Curled up together inside the frame, he believes they were.

A sharp rap on the oak paneled door jerks him out of the hazy mist of his thoughts. Small feet slap the floor. A child launches himself into his arms.   

‘Grandpa! Grandpa!’

The child shouts.

‘Mum bought us a puppy!’

The boy cradles a cloud of soft in his small arms. The bundle lifts its head, melting his soul with liquid brown eyes.

As the sun sets the new day on fire, he watches the boy and the dog from the porch. Laughing and barking and rolling in a breeze of happiness and love. He remembers those young muscles. Alive and free. Now tense and worn. He remembers the freedom he felt. Beautiful and lively. He remembers, because memories matter. They matter more than anything.

‘Guess what we named him, Grandpa! His name is Butternut.’


The Messy Bedroom

I walk into a bedroom
With paper plastered on the door,
There are handprints on the windows
And books thrown across the floor.

Then I hear some snoring
It's underneath the sheets,
I realise it's a puppy
With toffee coloured cheeks.

There's clothing sprawled across the floor
Of course, it's inside out,
And when I see this big, bold mess
All I want to do is shout!

The cupboard was left open
So, I chose to look inside,
The clothes in there are wrinkled
And shoes are leaning on their side.

There's a desk that's painted aqua
But is covered with paper and pens,
And a book that's full of photos
Is filled with family and friends.

A chair that's tilting backwards
And a bedside table packed with things,
Such as petals from dried flowers
And minature fairy wings.

But why aren't I disgusted
And think what a horrible place to be,
Because this place is my bedroom
This mess belongs to me.