The Alexis Whyte poetry competition is an annual competition open to both juniors and seniors. Alexis was a former student of Wellington Girls’ College who died in a car accident. The prize was endowed in 1989 by her friends in her memory.

This year’s entries were judged by Margot Sorensen who works in publishing here in Te Whanganui-a-Tara.  All of the entries were of a high calibre which made choosing the winning entries very difficult.

Ella Duggan won first place in the senior category for 'ode to a mongolian childhood (монголын бага нас)'. Ella’s poem is a “touching and well-developed piece about being torn between multiple homes.” Grace Wellik was runner up in the senior category with 'Embracing Discomfort'.

Teresa Ng won first place in the junior category for ‘Algebraic Fracture’. Edie Holden was runner up in the junior category with 'School Values' and 'Eco-Anxiety'.

Congratulations to this year’s winners.  You can read Ella and Teresa's work below.

ode to a mongolian childhood (монголын бага нас) by Ella Duggan

i was nine, lack of fears, splintered tears, golden years old
when i moved, removed, ruined my shoes and went to
mongolia. ulaanbaatar.
stuck a nail—rusted, sharp as old
genghis—clean in the side of the plane.
gaping hole, lost control,
plane crashed, dine and dash,
stranded in the gobi desert, torn, forlorn,
woke up as we landed.
welcomed to UB with a
happy birthday from a man, some man, at the airport but
‘it’s MY birthday’ he insisted,
celebrating the day i was born, reborn, four AM
in the arrivals terminal, but four PM
where my heart lay buried in
the cold canadian dust. i
was only nine when we rolled up to zaisan, sain baina uu,
black car, hands scarred, new apartment
glinting hopeful against the smogged night.
it was naadam at the time,
not that i knew at nine, cutting the line, crying
over the dust in my eyes and the
sweltering heat of the harsh mongolian
sun, axis barely begun. bought a hat,
boqta, beautiful thing, to re-sew my breaking heart with
the glorious reparative qualities of consumerism.
two years felt like ten, twenty, two hundred, my entire
childhood culminating into days spent
drifting through the maze of khörshüüd to bike at
the national park, lights off after dark with nights spent in the gobi
(for real this time) underneath the stars,
glowing brighter on those midsummer nights
than i had ever seen them, anywhere,
or would ever see them again.
left at eleven, finishing year seven,
never really said goodbye.
no goodbye could define the pull, the
tug, the empty mug, the cavern i felt i
became without the heavy city air glazing my vision and
ninjin and enkhbilguun laughing,
young, reckless, and waiting for tomorrow, in my ears.
it would only be years later that
i realised my tongue was tied about my time, my life, in mongolia.
a cap, some cap, held back a pouring of the things
i do remember: the cold winter nights and smoke in my lungs,
but also the gerüüd in the mountains and the naizuud in my heart.
there is fear in knowing that mongolia as it was to me, a child,
will be different when i return.
i no longer have the shine of being nine
or even ten (young again—witless amen), but i know
no matter how far, how long, how different a song is sung,
mongolia will always have a home in me, and i
will always have a home in монгол.

Algebraic Fracture by Teresa Ng

The fire went down,
down,
and out
Of my toes
After Screeching past my knees and pacing my veins
It took its time at first but then said “Screw it” and surprised me
I double over and Topple down,
down,
and through
To somewhere I Shouldn’t be
Sugary tears leak out of every crack and
Pen mark in the bathroom Wall
And I feel Perfectly
Alright again
Back to class back to work back to Overwhelming Information
Back to my classmates staring through my soul and into my fears and Dreams
“We’re going over question 3a.”
“Oh - thank you”
And I sink down,
down,
and into
The pages of the
Beta Mathematics (third edition) Workbook.
If I had 3 shots of espresso and a pandemic surge multiplied my anxiety by 4,000, how many panic attacks did I have by period 5?
The answer is just one, but it was enough to make my chinese calligraphy go
wobbly on the page