Below are some of the ebooks Year 7 students have created in Science this year.
Year 11 Prize Winners
Year 11 Prize Winners
Year 11 Prize Winners
Year 11 Prize Winners
Year 11 Prize Winners
Year 9 Class Photos
Year 9 Class Photos
English Language Learners
English
My Marae
One of our Year 11 ākonga recently achieved Excellence on his descriptive piece of writing about his marae. Judah Pomare was asked to write a description on a place of importance to him - and this is what he came up with. Kei runga noa atu!
My Marae (Te Pounga)
Te pounga marae, I see this mighty marae sitting up on a strong and stable hill, it looks like a mighty castle built by the best architectures in the world. Walking into the marae makes me feel as if I'm in the warm arms of my loved ones. I feel the sun's warmth constantly brushing against my skin, with the smell of fresh, country air and sometimes, cow crap.
As I look at the surroundings of Te Pounga, I can see the beautiful, bright, blue sea as the sun reflects off the water like a lazerbeam. The chilly wind brushing against my skin is like walking into mad butchers and getting hit in the face with the freezing cold air. The wind blows hard as it tries to snatch my scarf and hat like a robber. I can hear the wind howling like wolves all around me. I hear the trees psithurism like hundreds of people whispering all at once. I can smell the scent of something beautiful. I follow the scent like a dog on a trail, as I get closer I can hear voices chatting away with each other. That beautiful smell was coming from the kitchen, with all my aunts and nanas in there cooking what looked like an army of soldiers getting ready to fight.
When I hear all the wonderful sounds of Te Pounga marae, I hear all of my whanau singing with their amazing voices sounding like angels singing for God. I hear and see my cousins and uncles doing the haka, like they are about to go into battle. Shivers running down my body like there is a cold breeze, as I hear and see them performing the haka. I also feel every part of my body being covered with goosebumps, like someone is poking me with a needle on every part of my skin. I hear the cows moo as I look over a thin line of wire keeping the cows and us separated. I hear the cows pounding the ground as they run away from me like cavalry charging into battle defending their homeland.
The food at Te Pounga always tastes so amazing and tastes like it's been cooked by a whole army of professional cooks. I will never forget the taste of roast pork with gravy and mashed potatoes. It’s like someone opened my brain and stuck the taste of it into my memory so that I will never forget. The taste of the kai moana always makes me feel like a king on his dinner table eating all that he wants surrounded by his whanau. As we all finish our dinner and our plates have been taken away by the aunts and cousins, I see my nana and my aunts bring out trays and trays of cheesecake, ice cream, rice pudding, and eclairs for dessert. My heart jumps out of my chest with excitement, waiting for the trays to come to me so I can get whatever I want.
After dinner, all of the cousins and I go into the marae and lay in our beds, talking all night with each other as the adults are outside having a party. I can hear the loud beautiful music through the thick walls of the marae. I can also hear the adults singing with their beautiful angelic voices singing to the music. As I lay there looking up at the Maori patterns on the ceiling I feel the warm, soft, comfortable wool blankets resting on my skin. I feel the presence of all my cousins surrounding me like an army protecting its fellow comrade.
Now that I'm back here at my marae (Te Pounga), it's always the best feeling driving up that long gravel driveway, hearing the gravel underneath the tires like a car driving over a million shells, hearing the shells crack and break. When I got out of the car and smelled the same fresh, clean, country air with a hint of cow crap. I can see lines of cars parked along the side of the gravel road with people walking up the long road to the marae. I wait and watch as hundreds of people wait outside of the marae gates waiting to be welcomed on by the elderly like an army waiting outside the castle gates waiting to be let in. I hear the karanga (call performed by women), welcoming the people into the marae.
I can still hear my aunts and nans singing in the kitchen while cooking like they are about to feed an army. I can feel the same warm, beautiful breeze blow against my skin like a lion's breath. I see all my nephews and nieces all outside of the marae doing kapa haka. I see and hear all the tamariki running around playing games while their mums and dads work at the marae. I can also hear and see the tamariki get into trouble by their nans, while I stand there laughing as I remember the time when I was a kid and got into trouble by my nans and aunts. The wind still howls like wolves, and the trees still whisper in the wind like people having a korero with one another.
Everything is exactly the same as it was years ago when I was a kid. I can still hear all the same sounds, I still have the same feeling every time I come here, and that feeling is home. The feeling of my ancestors walking with me is always stronger when I'm here at my marae, the feeling is indescribable. This place I will never forget.
Written by Judah Pomare
The Write Stuff!
A selection of some of the impressive writing our Year 12 students have produced throughout 2022.
Dear Time:
Are you alright? You seem to be running faster than usual. You used to walk with me and wait. But, you no longer want to hold my hand. Instead, It looks like you want me to start to go on my own. Now, all I can see is your back, and you're constantly fading away from my sight. The further you leave, the closer the ceiling is to me. You were not like this before.
Do you recall how often you played with me when I was five? But all I do is keep pleading for you to hurry and bring Christmas and Summer. I tried to get through to you repeatedly in the past, but all you did was laugh at me.
Then, there was a time when I was on stage, trembling and pleading for you to hurry up. I was attempting to escape the intimidating looks and attention of the crowd. Still, you refused to listen to my wishes like a stubborn child. It seems like when I felt embarrassed and awkward, you were laughing your head off. When times like that happen, you tend to walk more slowly. You walked while dodging and watching my words as they passed you.
I thought you would be my best friend for life. Yet when I neared the end of my junior year, you began acting differently. You started to run away from me and started behaving crazy, like a circus. You always packed up and were ready to leave. Why did you start ditching me right when I needed you the most? You left me to deal with the deadlines and lack of planning for each forthcoming event on my own. Since you left, I have to carry more and more responsibilities. So nowadays, you find me struggling to catch up on you as those weights keep me behind. However, I need you to slow down right now. Your colleagues, Stress, and Pressure are catching up behind me. I can hear them mocking me from behind. Please, help me get away from them.
If only I could grab your hand and stop you. But I am too late for that. You are far away now. But can you at least sit for a second, and take a breath? I can get you some water if you want to? Wasn’t it only yesterday that you were with me when I got here in New Zealand? I am now in year 12, which means I have one more year of school before I graduate. Now tell me, how did that happen? Now, you refuse to listen to me when I ask what career I should do in the future. You watch me struggle as I choose my pathway. You know the best for me, yet you refuse to tell me.
I'm truly sorry if you ever felt annoyed when I was being arrogant in my constant nudging that you speed up. Also, forgive me if I despised you in the past. I truly value you. It’s only now that I've gotten to know and come to realize just how much my life leans on you. It's you that made me grow into the person I am right now. It's you that made me learn all the mistakes I made. It's you that will turn me into an adult. I know you will eventually do it, but I beg you to wait, please.
I’ve also realized that you’re more than just a friend, dear Time. You’re also a teacher. You taught me a lot about patience, but I never paid attention. You tell me everything will be fine in the end. Oh, how badly I want to believe you. You promised me we'd eventually laugh about it all, but you barely even talk to me these days. Now I’m strolling in my museum, hanging up the portraits of my life that you painted. And I’ve got them all over these crumbling walls of mine.
Will you stop if I hold my breath? If I have the chance to hold your hand, will you take me back to the spot that made you ignore me? All these questions I posed already have an answer. You won’t wait for me. I know it. Too obvious, isn’t it? You move forward, looking ahead, refusing to let me dwell in the past.
I blink, and you’re gone.
You know what, Time? I take back everything I said about being unable to wait. I’ve finally learned my lesson. I think I can wait. No. I am willing to wait…
If you could only stay for a little longer.
Sincerely,
Your friend/student.
by Klairette Batao, Year 12
My Home Is Where I Reside, As Did You
Their home was never to be mine.
Their home resides on one of the oldest streets in this city,
Their home, the first of its kind in this place;
Arches of pure oak,
Chipped away impurities create a homely decor to its exterior.
Their home is built from pieces of the land around it;
The oak from the foothills,
Glass produced in the mill down the avenue,
Just shy of the botanical garden.
Their home was built by their hands - the first homeowners;
Their spirit embedded in every piece of the home; grasped by the hands, hands of the past.
Their home was handbuilt;
Finished on an unknown date,
Blueprints burnt after construction.
Their home backs onto the creek, where the water flows down from the local spring;
Trickling,
Twinkling,
And sparkling through the curves carved for millenia,
Their home is surrounded by luscious greenery,
Shrubbery down towards the tall grass,
Trees that touch the sky,
Cradle the fruits of their bloom
Their home - a sacred place.
Their home… no longer theirs, in the possession of the emptiness of absence;
The home,
Redundant,
The greenery though, it had grown,
tremendously.
Leaves weeping,
Dormant green remains on the walls,
The only colour.
Yet, the home had not begun to decay,
Only cloak itself in the greenery it shared the land with.
The home sat upon its slightly lifted foundation looking onto the avenue,
Waiting.
Waiting for me.
The home chose me, I did not choose it, but if I could,
It would still become my residence,
The home came into my ownership;
My hands - my hands?
That couldn’t keep a fern alive somehow,
Sustain this home's splendour.
My home has always been a spiritual place,
Only good has come through the gates,
My home looks after me,
Remaining a warm, dry climate throughout the house,
Throughout the seasons of the years that drift by.
My home refuses to age,
unlike the rest of the world,
My home keeps me shielded.
My home plays the music,
The poetry -
Violet, my muse, the spark that enveloped the fuel creating the flame.
Violet, you were the present now you are the past.
Yet your remnants remain in the future, the embers,
The embers in the fireplace I lit after you left.
by Connor Armstrong, Year 12