YOUNGER READERS' SECTION

Te Ao Hou, December 1966, Page 52

YOUNGER READERS' SECTION In this new section, Te Ao Hou plans to present topics of particular interest to younger readers, and to publish original work in art and language. Young Maori men and women will write about their careers, giving information to those considering what occupation to take up. The editor would welcome contributions, and suggestions of other topics for this section. Art work would need to be in black and white. Poems, stories and short articles will all be acceptable. Pakeha Boy I wonder if they still go eeling in the deep, clear river, at dawn, when the sun sends its golden rays to the valley, over the great range. I wonder if they still swing over the river, by the great, thick rope-like creepers. I wonder if they still wander in the bush, aimlessly. I wonder if they still build tree-huts, small, leafy and strong. I wonder if they still climb the look-out tree, tall and majestic, with a commanding view of the whole valley. I wonder if they still bathe in the swimming hole, black tranquil and cool. I wonder if they still explore the glow-worm caves, dim, eerie and strange. I wonder if they still listen to the tales of Rangi, the old farm worker. I wonder if they still listen to the morepork as they lie huddled in bed at night. I wonder if they still remember me. D. C. McInnes, Form 6 Palmerston North Boys' High School The following poems are selected from several sent in by the Headmaster of Moerewa School, in the Bay of Islands. They are the result of a ‘Language through Art’ programme, a development of the Maori Studies scheme mentioned in Issue 54. I Walked On … The dawn was new, I walked on … Through a haze of mist I saw a new world … A white world. In a trance-like Wonder, the white world Covered over. I was alone … So … I walked on. As the mist cleared There sparkling before My eyes was another World … The sun had been playing On thousands Of drops from the Morning dew … But then I walked on … ! Raemon Parkinson, 13 A Frosty Morning Gazing out the blurry window With shivering thoughts I see the ice on the lake Lying like scattered glass. Soon the sun will come And melt it away. Sandra Reti, 13 The Cold Frosty Morning The frost stretches Itself across the Flat land. Everything is quiet Everything is still Everything is white With snow upon them. Willie Nathan, 12

One Frosty Morning As I was walking across the grass, It was so stiff that I walked on the tips. The puddles on the road were full of ice. And everywhere I could see the mist But the sky was nowhere in sight. Lynette Broughton, 12 The next two poems are written by pupils of Whanau-a-Apanui Maori District High School, Te Kaha. The Stormy Sea The deadly bellowing waves Crashed down with a tumultuous bang! Their fury was like a wild bull. The expanse. The driftwood. The roar of gulls. The choppy swelling sea. Breakers rose mountainously, Thundering ferociously, and crashing towards the land. Impatient! Its destructive Temper and gigantic waves tossed; a many-armed taniwha booming And plundering into a merciless spin. Maudie Kemara, 5A Pohutukawa Tree Dominating the scenery the vigilant pohutukawa sways stately in the breeze. Friendly. It grows despite the storm's rough-handling though snail-like its movement. Gnarled, but lovely— resplendent as it puffs up, blossoms out, colourful, breathes perfume beautiful its scent. John Wharepapa, 5G Northland College pupils too are doing excellent language work. Here are a few of the many poems recently received. We hope to publish more in future issues. Cold Leaving the hot room, A cold feeling embraces me, My hair stands … Like bristles on a hedgehog. Goose pimples dot my clammy skin I freeze in my tracks— A white figure dances in front of me. Heat Red were the embers As we sat near our flameless, hot-coke fire. The room was clammy with hot, steamy air. Windows were all misty, Like fog in a valley, Just above a lake. Wiremu Andrews, 5 R.B. Cold Looking at this sour body Its crinkled face forms a sneer Which makes me freeze all over As if it were a ghost Choking me to death. Heat Red-hot flame leaping to and fro As if trying to reach something it wanted— Like a snake, Moving its head back and forth … Hissing viciously at its prey. Wana Maihi, 5 R.B.