A wonderful bird is the Pelican, Its beak can hold more than its belly ...

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16 Alive by Lucy Sheehan As the sun rests atop the trees, resting, yawning its final breath, before the moon takes its giddy watch over the milky fields, one takes time to walk amidst the dying light, amidst all that was once dead – alive. And atop the tallest trees, and amid the bowing reeds the furtive moorhen glances – busy among the boughs to pluck plumes and clinging threads to grace her little house, where she as safe as any might subsist and rest, like me – alive. And the swaying air is full of moths, to flit and die away across the yellowing pasture, and the deer in an ephemeral glance – dances, to and fro atop the grasses, amidst the swaying heads of seeded pips that reeling burst and sing along the breeze – alive. And pausing at the gate – before the humming field, merrily life comes forth to greet me, takes my hand, and beckons freely, congratulates and I, though weakly, stumble forward – I’m human, and meekly thank God I’m alive.
The Herald by Elene Ueckermann I am the herald of the echoes scarlet in the dark the one who keeps the noises in saving others from their plight I am the keeper of pretences hiding from their eyes the one who paints their faces on preserving honour through the mask I am the weaver of illusions fading in the haze the one who brings the shadows forth hiding those who can’t resist I am the victim of your mind the darkness in your eyes the one who lies with a pointed tongue imprisoned in your soul the wonderful bird Ardingly College 2010 17
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A wonderful bird is the Pelican, Its beak can hold more than its belly ...

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