Belmont football

Mud flicks up from my boots, and splatters onto my legs. The velcro from my shin pads itch the back of my legs. The over sized ...... T-shirt flaps loosely around my waist. The wind is a treat to my burning face, blowing my hair back behind my shoulders. I dribble the ball up closer to the goalie. I double hop on my left foot, and kick the ball with my right. Its avoids the goalie, and smashes in to the orange net! "Yessssss!" I yell. We'll still lose, as the score is 12 to 1 now, but I've reached my goal. Literally!

Burma Trail

Tall shadows tower over me on both sides of the muddy trail. Ferns reach down, grabbing for my woolen beanie. Small shrubs poke out of the undergrowth, nipping at my ankles. Suddenly, the bush beside me rustles, and out jumps a boys silhouette. “BOO!” He yells, raising his hands above his head. (Does he really think I would be scared of that?) I smirk. “Scary.” I say with sarcasm. The girl in front of me grunts with agreement. Although I can’t see his face, I can almost feel his frown of disappointment as he hurries back in line.

Desperately, I open my eyes as wide as they can go, but my vision is still the same. I grip the coarse rope loosely between my fingers, and plunge the other hand into the warmth of my pocket. Giggles and shrieks echo around the forest. Nocturnal bugs stop their loud clicking and chirping as we scramble by. There are rustles and the beat of wings in the treetops high above our heads as the nesting rock wrens and fantails escape our boisterous chatter. Moonlight squeezes through the small gaps in the dense foliage, creating swirling patterns on the ground. The cold caresses me in frigid arms, rocking me gently to the beat of the soft breeze. Perfectly round dew drops descend from the overhanging branches, kissing my nose and forehead. "I'm not going to sleep well tonight!” I think.

The Lonely Beach

The still water reflects the blue sky,

Patterned with orange clouds.

Beer bottles, old fish hooks and rusty cans

Cautiously poke out of the sodden sand.

The graffiti covered barrier is bleached a dull grey,

From all the raging storms and salty waves it has conquered.

Rough green moss creeps slowly up the leaning lamp post,

Heading towards the grimy smashed bulb at the top.

Slimy fishing nets entangle around pieces of driftwood.

A tiny crab scuttles in and out of the small rock pools,

Digging in the sand - looking for food.

The remains of war huts litter the ground.

The last rays of sunlight slide across the water,

And then they are gone until the dawn of tomorrow.

I gaze dreamily at this wasteland,

Thinking of the past,

When the sea lapped softly at the rubbish clear sand.

When sea life scuttled around busily on these now lonely rocks.

When the barriers were clean of disrespectful graffiti,

And that old leaning lamp was straight with a working bulb.

My heart fills with sorrow

As I commemorate all the memories of happiness I spent is this now called dump.

All gone.

 

secret garden

Ivy clings to the brick, hiding it from all menaces. Purple flowers poke out of the greenery, attracting plump bumble bees and colourful butterfly's. I pick a small flower from the ivy, inspect it for bugs, then stick it behind my ear. I look back to were I picked the flower from. a small door handle glints in the rising sun, its rusty bolts nailed into the dark wooden door. A door? My eyes widen in surprise as I rip the ivy away. Once the door is uncovered, I push it open. It doesn't budge. But when I ram my body against the hard wood, it creaks ajar. I peep around the door. Wow! A water fountain spouts crystal clear water in the centre of garden. Pink, red, white, yellow, and orange roses line the sides of the tiled walkway like soldiers, and golf ball hedges dot the daisy covered grass. The aroma of lavender fills the cool air, and the droning hum of bumble bee's fill my ears. A small apple tree dangles unripe green apples from its feeble branches, and white rabbits rush back to their burrows as I walk further in to the yard.  "I think I have just found a secret garden." I think to myself.

Friendship poem

When Elmo isn't ticklish and pooh bear hates honey,
When tigger stops bouncing and goofy isn't funny.
When Peter pan cannot fly and samba never roars,
When Alice in Wonderland can't fit through tiny doors.
When Dumbo's ears are small,
And happily ever after isn't true,
That's when I won't be best friends with you.

pourquoi

L.I  To write a pourquoi explaining how/why something is.

Why Wolves Howl.

Once upon a time, in a land full of crisp white snow, dotted with tall winter elms, there lived a wolf pack. These wolves cared for their young, and worked in a team to hunt down the mighty elk, whose meat was tasty, chewy and nutritious.  But there was one problem with this pack. They didn’t know how to communicate. Every time the males went away on a hunting party, it took them days and days to scent the pack again. Many of the wolves did not return from these trips, either because of the tiring journey back, or because of the accidental cross over between other packs.

One day, the pack was lumbering lazily through the winter forest, leaving paw prints encrusted in the powdery snow behind them. An undersized teenage wolf was falling behind, jumping on the snow moles burrowing in the deep fresh fallen snow, when he stepped on a hunter's trap. “Owwwwwwwwwwwwwww!” He howled. The wolf pack stopped in their tracks. The leader of the pack turned around very slowly, his knowledgeable brown eyes filled with astonishment. “Do that again.” he yapped. So the puzzled teen wolf repeated his long, powerful sounding howl. The leader stood still. For a long time, he just looked, staring unflinchingly at the teen. Finally, he said, “I shall now resign from my post of wolf leader, and shall present it to this young wolf, as a sign of the packs gratitude to you for finding our new way of communicating.” The teen wolf was amazed, and a little bit stunned. The wolves parted, leaving a path for the wolf to make his way to the front. He is now the new leader.

 The next day, the teen wolf, who is now named Torak, taught everyone in the pack to howl. They shared  their invention with neighbouring wolf packs, and the howl became very handy to the wolf species.

So if you ever hear a wolf pack howling, see if you can pick out the loudest, longest, most powerful one, and that howl will always belong to the teen wolf, Torak.

By Amelia

Tiger

Glowing amber eyes

Rippling muscles 

Silent like a ghost

Razor sharp teeth

A description of flame and coal

Paws like saucers

Knowledgeable eyes
Graceful but deadly movements

Roaring, growling and purring

Powerful legs and jaws

Fearless.

So who am I? 

I am The Tiger.



 

Candy land

Amelia's candy land.

Grape sticks, banana splitz.
Gobstopper, lemon popper
Lollipops, cinnamon drops

Peppermint creams, honey dreams.

Ginger yum, goldmine gum

Humbugs, coconut slugs.

Licorice wheels, toffee steel

These are just some of the lollies that would be in my candy land. And yes, I do have a big imagination.

swimming sports

Today was swimming sports. It wasn't the best day for swimming sports. The sun was hiding behind clouds of light grey, and only peeped out every so often. There was no rain, (apart from my friend Rain of course!), but I could still tell that the sky was preparing a tremendous thunderstorm for the weekend. I guess we won't be going to the luge! We all sat there, under our blue, red, green or yellow gazebos. Most of us had dripping hair from our last race, but there was still a fair percentage of kids who's race had not been called out yet. The pool did not look that inviting either. It was a dark blue with white paint flakes swirling around like dainty ballerinas. And, it was COLD.

The history of hamburgers



Hamburgers first appeared in the 19th or early 20th century in America.The traditional hamburger is only two pieces of bread, with some beef and lettuce in the middle. Today's hamburgers are more accessorized, with onions, ketchup and sliced pickles. Hamburger are now considered culinary items in the united states, along with fried chicken and apple pie. You are probably asking, "Why hamburger when it is made of beef?" Well, when it says ham, it has nothing to do with the ham we eat! Here is how the name developed! When a group of Germans traveled to Asia, they noticed how the locals put their meat in between their saddle, so the beef would be softened for later consumption. The Germans bought the idea back to their home, in Hamburg. From there on it was called Hamburgs meat. When German immigrants in America told the Americans their recipe, the Americans changed it into hamburgers, with the idea that the bread would be the saddle, squashing the meat in the middle!  Even though this is a VERY random topic, I am sure you have learnt something today, and if that is true, then my work is done!

jet skiing

The frigid water nips at my toes. The brightly coloured biscuit bobs in the shallow waters. Time to go. I clip the rope to my jet ski, and tell dad to go slow, for my friend Georgia. He didn't hear. We jump in. This is going to be a wild ride! Dad pulls out of the wharf, towards the centre of the lake. and from there on, it was crazy. We whizzed about, bouncing on the wake. SPLASH! We go over a massive wave. my stomach flipped like an over sized pancake.  I am gripping on so hard, my finger are going white!!! White spray splashes our faces as I start to feel the beginning of chapped lips. My lips are blue and spread in a big grin, as we head back to shore.

Maths Time

The drone of the fans. The scratching of pencils. This is maths time. You can hear people muttering division problems, or people with their eyes closed, concentrating. You try and stay focused. "The product of... no, the quotient of...  oh dear!' Suddenly, the bell rings for lunch. Everyone piles out of the class room, chattering. You pack away your maths book, jottered with numbers and equations. 'See you tomorrow', you think to yourself. But little did you know that we had a maths test this afternoon.

minor games

The gold and maroon groups march across the field, with either a red, blue, yellow, or green flag leading them on. Each group shouts a different chant, trying to be the most heard. They reach the seating area. As they sit down, a strong gust of wind blew, flapping the four flags fiercely. Soon enough, the groups break up into smaller teams, and go off to their set sport. That was the beginning of the minor games. 

The Blossom Tree

  Floating down like coloured snow, the petals fall, blanketing the grey paving stones. Spots of sunlight leak through the swaying branches. The gentle breeze sings to the blossoms, ruffling their petite pink petals. The calm pink draws eyes in, standing out against the blue cloudless sky. This is the blossom tree!

Welcome!

Hello! My name is Amelia, and this is my blog for ... 2014!!!

(Hope you love it!)