Trinity College is a K-12 school situated at Poatina Village in the heart of Tasmania. It is a college that recognises, affirms and celebrates the unique potential of every student. We realise that as this uniqueness is respected, individuals are free to participate fully in community, where the answers to the questions of existence, namely “Who am I?”, “What can I do?” and “What am I worth?” can be explored.
Read more, go to: http://trinity.fusiontraining.org.au/home
or click on the “Categories” list in the right hand side column, on the word “TRINITY” for more stories on this blog form Trinity throughout the year.
Contact Trinity College on: 03 6397 8451
Read some poems written by students in year 9 – 10 2011
The Bunsen fire burns the garlic
On the gauze on the tripod.
Bang, Pop, Crackle, Zzzz
Splat, Splat, Splat
Green yellow, black blobs
Sticking firm all over the walls
Messy gross toxic smell
Filling the whole room
And the Bunsen still alight.
The skeletal children wait for help
Their eyes are pleading but hopeful
they are scared to drink but they have no choice
they ask themselves will i be alive in the morning?
Dirty and Deficient, they worry about whether they can stop their hunger
We kids worry about whether we have the latest piece of technology.
The unclean children, though hurting, live like every day is a blessing
We privileged kids live like everyday is a hassle
The poor kids don’t deserve it, but neither do us rich ones.
We clean kids are optimistic for our future
those deprived kids are optimistic for change
Most of the desperate children we will never meet
Some of us never want to get to close
They need us
We can help them!
My dog is a hog
He gutses down his food, he is very rude
He is fat and skinny
He is a big boof head, round body, skinny legs
He goes hunting and brings us back a rabbit
Soft and silky
He has an annoying bark, a deep to warn bark, but a load bark at night
He is short and a bit tall
He is great, great fun
His name is Mannie
Death of the Tiger
The tigers are going, we’re digging their graves;
Driven by money, we are like slaves.
We set up our traps and pull out our guns.
Our fathers taught us and we taught our sons.
We choke them with garbage, that they can’t comprehend.
When they are gone, will it finally end?
or will it continue, the hunting, the death?
It can’t be that long now, until their last breathe.
But it’s not to late, let’s do what we can;
how can you help to save Tiger from man?
It will Be over Soon
the task of performing is so daunting,
So undefyingly terrifying,
So undeniably petrifying
I’m trying to cloak the nerves
The shacking boots, the shivering words
The words that once were said aplomb
Easier said in front of a mirror
I see no mirror as i get up today,
Only faces, with traces of smiles, all gay.
I chose to stand here, to brave the cold
The chill of silence, the expectant looks.
But my nerves have got the better of me,
I fear those faces will only see
The outer me, the bland old me.
Be calm, I must and say these words.
Say these words so all can hear.
So all can hear my nervous voice.
A voice of one, a voice of choice.
Here is: Four ingenious indians invented an incredibly interesting all-in-one instrument!