Winter Weather

Strong icy wind whistles loudly in my ears.

Flashing lights coming to a stop, pitch black all through the streets.

Streaks of lightning light up the house.

Blankets of misty fog cover the country side.

Loud pattering rain starting to make icy puddles.

Dark grey clouds cover our town.

Chilly breezes send shivers down my spine.

By Paris (age 11)

Our current focus during personal writing is using a variety of sentence beginnings.



Finally we got there, yes we were there, Browns Bay Park. Lucy and I ran off like cheaters to our favourite place of all, the snake like slide. You go in pinkish and you come out green, that's what we like about it. Once again we go in, ''WHOOSH''. We're zooming down faster than a race car, then ''Pop'' out we come, green as grass. '' I feel sick,'' I mumbled.
''Same,'' said Lucy.

Suddenly something caught my eye. It was new at the park, it was a spinning top. ''What's that?,'' asked Lucy, as she had seen it too. Instantly we ran over to it. First foot on, and off the spinning top goes, faster than lightning. ZOOM!. ''My pumpkin soup and Calci Kids is swirling like a whirlpool,'' I shouted.
''Make it stop, make it stop,'' we screamed. Unexpectedly the spinning top stopped with a screech. Lucy and I nearly fell off forward. Now that's what I call an extreme ride.

Alanna (age 10)

Our winter poetry was inspired by the wild weather we

experienced around New Zealand over the holidays.

Howling winds guard the shimmering stars in the fierce night sky.

Dancing rain drips down daintily towards the soft spongy grass.

Dark black sky pushes angry rain from its perch.

Grey fog blinds the helpless humans and darkens the great skies.

Jagged yellow lightning claps as the rumbling thunder rears up out of the dark sky.

Shivaun (age 9)

This is a diary entry from the perspective of Robert Scott, written during our Antarctica studies. The diary is set when Robert Scott was striving to reach the South Pole but knew he wasn't going to make it.

Dear Diary, Death cannot be far and I know we are definitely not going to make it. After Edgar and Lawrence passed away I knew Henry, Dr Edward and I would be next.

I am as hungry as a starving alley cat food rations are gone and thirst overtakes my body, We find it impossible to melt ice as we are out of fuel.

I am afraid that this is my last diary entry and I have written my last tearful letters home but I am not sure if my family will ever receive them. I am anxious that my family do not know that I am stuck here withering in pain. I am afraid that I do not want them to know because it will be an obstacle they could never overcome.

The treacherous weather is like a war between the elements, the wind dancing wildly around our tent. The freezing blizzards are overpowering and the freezing wind on my face is like being stung by a thousand bees as the snowflakes jump enthusiastically into our tent. I know that no other man will ever experience the feeling of the wind sucking out your strength or the feeling of dread inside when you know you are not going to make it.

I am like a solitary iceberg floating helpless and alone in a sea of pain and misery and the only memories I have are of crossing giant glaciers and encountering brain battering blizzards. The journey has been long and I can only thank my teammates for this experience.

I dread death as much as an old man dreads retirement. Even though I talk of surviving I know that it would only be a impossible dream. Maybe I am not good enough and I know that I will never receive the fame intended. I am famished and fading fast, and I hope that when I die someone will find me.

I have used up my last ounce of strength and cannot write more. Farewell to my friends and family.

Robert Scott

Diary entry by Caitlin (10 years old).