Collaborators Amreen Rashed

Emily Winter

Hope Ferris-Green

Lily McNaughton

Caitlin Williams

Jasper Cook

Dee Dee Ely

Genevieve Lee

Millie Williams

Oscar Morris

Brielli Sutopo

Larissa Chew

Julian Riley

With thanks to:

Phyllis May Gill

JM Wudrup

2018

Lost/found

~ Amreen Rashed

Moon-Girl ~ Hope Ferris-Green

There was a girl once.

There was a girl and like the moon above her she sat, shining, suspended.

Glorious.

The moon-girl was... is... beautiful.

She is dark and loud and stormy. Dark in the hair and eyes, loud of voice, but only stormy when

the weather decreed it.

The moon-girl has a smile like starlight, and neat teeth and an aristocratic chin.

The moon-girl wades through pools of the galaxy’s debris, searching for a sun to match her

luminescence, searching, searching...

Coming up short.

The moon-girl sees stars pass her, but the stars aren’t as bright as her, as white as her, they are

not on the height of her...

She’s lonely.

The moon-girl makes the planets stop their orbits, and the little bits of starlight that fall from her

are treasured

The moon-girl, well, she wears a dress stitched of starlight, snagging, tearing, on the spires of the

galaxy. It floats behind her like a veil, bereft of gravity.

The moon-girl is so beautiful, so blind, and while she walks through the space time, she turns to

stars to look for her, forever looking, never speaking, for the moon-girl is intimidating, always

waiting for someone to come after her but...

None do.

For they have never in their lives seen anything as pure and just and wonderful, and they are

wonder full, at this shining little Goddess, with the kindest eyes of all.

~ Ahona Rahman

The All-Keeper

Caitlin Williams

There was once a man. He was not very short, nor was he particularly wide — willowy some called him, nor was he very young or very old. He moved with a grace that resembled a gliding bird, so smoothly that his feet barely seemed to touch the ground. His eyes were a piercing gold that carried a warmth which radiated out to the faint smile lines around his eyes and mouth. He intimidated some but to most he was the most gentle and kind man they had ever seen, his willowy frame swallowed by an old patched coat with too many buttons and too many pockets. Nobody knew his real name, nobody knew if anyone was old enough to remember his name anymore. Now he was known by many names in many different places but most just called him the All-Keeper, King of Everything and Nothing, Prince of the Found, Knight of the Forgotten. It was his coat that made him what he was; its faded colours heralding the wonders he would unfold. The coat itself resembled the colour of the sea in a storm, a faded blue that warned of a dangerous knowledge not many could fathom. The hems were held together only by the sheer will of its age and — accompanied by the buttons that hung from a single piece of cotton — seemed altogether falling apart if not for the fact that it always hung on the frame of the All-Keeper like any other new coat. It flew out with a mind of its own and unaware of its weight, blowing seemingly to the wind of another dimension and never to the actual breeze. In fact, it was as if the coat engaged in animated discussion with the winds, the All-Keeper sometimes having to do up one of the barely-hanging-on-buttons to control it. If you saw him passing by, or if you summoned him with three rings of a bell, he would always stop for you, kneel down, and ask for what object you sought. In every instance he produced the object asked for from one of the many pockets of his coat for the coat was how the All-Keeper worked his magic, its sentience ruling the contents of each of the hundred pockets. There was almost no space on the coat that wasn’t pockets, inside or out; large ones, small ones, ones that fit a single coin. Each had its own unique pattern that fit into a convoluted filing system of colours and shapes. What was in these pockets, you ask? Well, no one in entirely sure of every pocket but there are some that are always repeated in the legends. In a pocket as large as the palm of your hand and the colour of dawn you can hear the ticking of a hundred clocks, all set to the time of whatever fancy took them. Along with the Pocket of Clocks was the Pocket of Odd Socks. Like its contents this pocket was a curious one, nestled right on the inside of the coat at the height of the All-Keeper’s hip. It was very big but circular in shape and made up of tiny patches of mismatched fabric, reflecting what kind of lost socks were in its possession. If you’ve ever lost a sock, the All-Keeper will have it. Then there are two pockets right on the All-Keepers forearm, the Pocket of the Forgotten and the Pocket of the Found. The Pocket of the Forgotten contained all the little trinkets forgotten and left to collect dust on tall shelves that once remembered are recategorised into the Pocket of the Found, ready to be collected. Like many other things, how the objects move between pockets is a mystery but not something to be questioned. Finally, the last known pocket is the Pocket of Keys, the hiding place for all the keys that get left on a bench or dropped on the floor and are almost never found again. They all end up in the All-Keeper’s pocket, safe until collected by their owners and taken back to their rightful place. There are many more pockets but none know quite the categorisation of their contents, all anyone can remember is that everything you look for the All-Keeper has. Once he’s done his business the All-Keeper moves on, long loping strides taking him to the next person in need of his assistance, a hero almost forgotten by time. So remember, if you ever need something just ring a bell three times and summon the All-Keeper, King of Everything and Nothing, Prince of the Found, Knight of the Forgotten. He will come.

~ Chloe Willett and Phyllis May Gill

In Three Poems

by Jasper Cook

Time

Time is the ever-changing something that always stays constant.

Time is the creation and destruction, the created and destroyed.

Time is the only thing worth fighting for.

Time is…

Time… is.

Disappear

Falling, spinning, drifting, weightless…

Falling.

Falling through the holes of life. The holes made by the acidic thoughts of those you

thought who cared.

Spinning.

Spinning like the whirling blades that made you hurt inside and out.

Drifting.

Drifting down through the smog and smoke, pollution fills your lungs.

Weightless.

Weightless as you fall from height, rushing towards the ground.

The final thought in your last second is of the life you never… had…

Forever

It writhes and twists like a perishing snake. A snake of flames.

Flames. The hot, red, beautiful, deadly flames. The flames of the fire.

The fire that burns and melts. The fir that never ends. The fire of eternity.

Eternity, infinity, forever.

How long they said you would be loved.

The lies.

The fire.

The fire.

The flames.

Your skin…

Enveloped in beauty as you burn,

Forever.

(I’m a baby poem)

I’m a baby

I’m a baby

I’m a baby

I’m a baby

I’m a baby

I’m a baby

I’m a baby

I’m a baby

I’m a baby

I’m a baby

I’m a baby

I was somewhere,

Doing something,

I saw a thing and went,

I know…

You’re nowhere

Eyes are closed, lying down

You cried Didn’t baby cry?

Didn’t baby cry?

Didn’t baby cry?

Didn’t baby cry?

Didn’t baby cry?

Didn’t baby cry?

Didn’t baby cry?

Didn’t baby cry?

Didn’t baby cry?

Didn’t baby cry?

Didn’t baby cry?

Didn’t baby cry?

~Oscar Morris

The Lies That Stay with You

I’m a fraud. I’m a scam. I’m a liar. And I can’t live with it

anymore. But the people of this town love me, adore me. I

can’t tell them I do this. Can’t tell them I don’t cure

ailments, wounds and sicknesses, merely transfer them.

My conscience has been killing me. Eating me up inside.

It feels like a hand ripped through my chest and pulled

out my innards.

If only these townspeople, these happy people knew that

I was making another miserable. Knew I was making

people just like them cry in despair. Knew that it was my

fault. Knew that I was the one they called, ‘The Death

Bringer, the Kiss of Death.’ If only they knew the truth. If

only they knew, what is taken, what is lost, always finds a

way to come back around.

~Genevieve Lee

List of

Found Things:

Friends Love Pencils Tooth Small coins Talent Truth Page in book Footprints Rubbish Hair strands Fears Your voice Underwear Personality Wand Words 5 cent coins Clouds that resemble scribbles Random pens Wounded pride Rubber shavings Finding a mole and questioning if it used to be there before Tissues in your rocket that have been through the washing machine Leftover food

new annotation methods Old thing Long lost relative Smelly, dead possum Dead body in the park at the end of your street Love Sultanas @ the bottom of your school bag Winning lottery ticket 3 years after it was valid

List of

Lost Things:

Focus

(untitled)

~ anonymous

You’ve always thought she was the walking definition of “perfection”. Shining gold on her chest, synchronising with her heartbeat, The lanyard’s royal blue arms warmly hugging her neck. Her pearly whites illuminating the entire stage. You’re not ‘jealous’. Not at all. You’ve always thought she was the walking definition of “perfection”. Her perfect, galactic eyes Her perfect, straws of hair Her perfect, thin figure You’ve always thought she was the walking definition of “perfection”. You’ve never realised how her medals disintegrate in the acid pools that are her mind. You’ve never realised how her pillow sheets grew dark each night, absorbing droplets of salt tears. You’ve never realised how she’s wanted to be something more than pottery clay, always being moulded by the fingertips of others. Behind that ear-to-ear grin of hers, Hides a trapped soul, wandering about an ink-black limbo. Behind all her ambitious and exciting life plans, Is a silver blade which she knows will catch up to her before she reaches the destination of so called ‘happiness’. Behind the strong bonds she has with her family and friends, She knows her lips must be kept zipped, she wouldn’t want to be a “burden”. You’ve always thought she was the walking definition of “perfection”. You’ve always longed to be as intelligent as her, or as charismatic as her, or as talented as her. You’ve always longed to have her life; to be her. You’ve never thought of all the sacrifices made to earn her, All of those shiny, sparkly, smooth gold medals. She’s lost herself; who she was, who she is, who she might become. You’ve always thought she was the walking definition of “perfection”, when really “perfection” might be rust under all that gold.

- ~Dee Dee Ely

you stopped being at home wasn’t warm you didn’t didn’t feel it was silent

~Brielli Sutopo

Lost and Found Genevieve Lee

His poems send shivers to my soul,

The sensitive topics he spoke about.

He touched me,

He knew what I knew,

He felt what I felt,

We related.

But he was gone.

He was lost.

And was never coming back.

Lost and Found Millie Williams

I am lost I’ve gone to look for myself

I’m at a dead end Starting to lose my health

I tried turning

Going back the way I came Driven by hope

Wanting to stay sane

Now a cross road Which way should I turn

Left, right or forward To the destination I yearn

I guess right is right

I’m not certain that's correct But I’ll go anyway

No signs I could detect

Just keep swimming I guess I’ve never stopped

Trying to reach the surface My mind is always locked

Then you came

I didn't understand it The need to be near you

The way my heart lit

My journey is ending I’ve already climbed a mound

A new beginning With you, I am found

~ Chloe Willett and JM Wudrup

~ Lily McNaughton

A collection of Whatever I happened to write down at the times

by Lily McNaughton

What Happened When I Lost It – I

Her eyes, her eyes. Were all I could ever see, all I ever wanted to remember. How they

sparkled as she smiled. How they turned dark and distant when she retreated to Her World.

Or, as they became hidden behind walls of glass when she cried.

Her voice, her voice. Was all I could hear. The way it’s rhythm as she sang made my own heart

tap to the beat. How whenever she opened her mouth it was like the innocent wind chimes that

rung in the soft breezes of spring. Or if she was angry her voice became like lighting; crackling

and loud, precise and deadly as a bullet.

Her heart, her heart. Her best quality, it was as beautiful and true as her physique. It was all I

knew, and all I ever wanted to understand. It was kind like the princesses you heard about in

books, and graceful yet fierce as the dragons that guarded them. It was a beautiful rhythm…

Until it stopped.

My heart… My heart. It’s pain as it withered was all I could feel anymore. And the sound of it

braking into dust was I could hear. And the fear, and the pain… And the darkness that comes

like a shroud after death was all I came to know.

What Happened When I Lost It – II

My hands trembled to balled blurs at my side. My innards quivered as rage filled my

bloodstream like snake poison. My heart screamed in tune with my mind dozens unprintable

insults like a hoard of ants spilling from a whole in the wall. I had MUCUS on my HANDS

from the little snot nosed rat bags. I had VOMIT on my SHOES from the devils whose

unfaithful mothers ‘just didn’t want to deal with it today’. There was a mattered mixture of so

many viscous liquids in my hair I was afraid it might explode. Not ONLY did I look like I had

been through hell, I looked as if I had crawled on my scabby knees through the depths of the

deepest parts of hell and its waste systems. And why did I do this? Because I was a 13.75-year-

old girl who could only get a job at her Aunt’s Friend’s childcare facility. I HATE KIDS

OKAY! Hate them! And this is why! But not only was my employer as annoying as that relief

teacher - that either is used to working with preps or is so tight that you could stick a piece of

coal up their butt, in a week you would get a DIAMOND – that everybody hates BUT the

parents, and their pedicured puppies, and plastic surgery who get paid more for 5 hours a week

than most people get in a year, who didn’t have the time in their miserable little lives to take

care of their kids. THEY have the nerve to tell ME I am not doing a good enough job!

That day, I had had enough. I lost my head. Therefore, I lost my job. But at least, the kids are

left with just as many traumatised memories from me as I have from them.

What Happened When I Lost It – III

I groped at my bra. Ripped the pockets off my favourite jeans in search. Dived I did, into a

month’s worth of dirty clothes – each I had worn for 3-4 days each (IT STANK OF SKUNK).

Looked I did and found several dead things behind several poor excuses of furniture. I found

the lunch box I lost a couple of months ago only I swear it contained berries and yoghurt, but

now it contained a moving, breathing, white haired… SOMETHING. I found a stash of

accumulated pens – HOW are they all in one spot? Found several dust bunnies, perched near

dirt swamps, which were also over run by ants and other kinds of horrible infestations. I found

mould growing water bottles alongside an array of different sized/shaped take away containers

and mugs that also – somehow – grew fur. But, no matter under what surface I looked, nor did

it matter how many grotesque things I uncovered. I couldn’t find my favourite happy drugs! So,

I swore to whatever female deity that ruled earth at the moment that I would find my drugs. I

would find my earphones, and I would find my iPod shuffle, even if I had to wear a hazmat suit

and had to burn the remains of my house to the ground.

What Happened When I Lost It – IV

Dark poison creeped slowly, almost sheepishly into everything... The once precious, innocent

heart withered to a merciless weapon. The once pure, sharp thoughts of a student - as if they

were evolving backwards turned primitive, and violent. The bright eyes of a child that used to

shine through even the darkest gloom, were now bloodshot and looked on without seeing

anything, and even though they were open, they were closed off by a distant glass wall. The

sickness forced him to grind his teeth to spears and told him to do nothing but rock back and

forth in a corner. To sing to music that was not heard, and to speak to creatures that were not

there His heart had been broken into so many pieces it was mere ash in a pit. His soul had

become so paralysed with fear and darkness it just left through his open mouth. And his mind,

it had become so lost, so cracked, the once caring, wholehearted little boy was unrecognisable.

List of Lost Things

(~ Caitlin Williams and Julian Riley)

- Glasses

Always hidden in plain sight

Hard to see without them

- LEGO

Always spawns new worlds and impossible creations

Easy to forget about the small things

- Friends

They never understand

Why can’t they just see what I see?

- The Light Switch

It’s always sliding away as soon as the light goes

Maybe its scared of the dark, maybe it sees the monsters too

- My Pen

It leaves puddles of ink on my fingers unapologetically

It still abandons me after an hour

- The Little People That Run On The Windowsills

I just want to take about the sun and stars but

They’re always running too fast to catch

- My Mind

I don’t know where it went

Can you find it for me, please?

Turn

Tu

rn

Lost/found

2018