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FOBISIA Poetry Competition
Matthew Green
Assistant Head of English, British Secondary & High School, Taipei European School
Taipei European School (TES) hosted the first ever FOBISIA Poetry Competition this past spring to huge success! The competition was open to all participating FOBISIA schools, with two primary age groups: KS3 and KS4/5.
Initially inspired by the international community’s shared experience of being beset by the specter of Covid 19, the decided theme for the event was “Survival”. Participants were asked to cap their poems at 40 lines and to relate their poems in some way to the stated theme.
Ultimately, 31 FOBISIA schools from across the region participated in the competition. Competitors’ poems displayed a wide and inspiring range of thematic interpretations, extending far beyond that of solely surviving the pandemic.
The process of selecting winners was extremely difficult, as the pool of talent was so rich. The judging panel – which consisted of all TES secondary school English teachers – were looking for poems that exhibited not only excellent literary merit, but also originality and strong poetic voice. In the end, and after much backand-forth between the judges, 1st, 2nd and 3rd-place winners were selected for both the KS3 and KS4/5 age categories.
The 2022 FOBISIA Poetry Competition winners are as follows:
KS3 Age Category
1st Place:
Kay’ien, Taipei European School, Taipei, Taiwan Poem: “What You’ll Never Know”
2nd Place:
Ana, Bangkok Patana School, Thailand Poem: “Survival”
3rd Place:
Yihan (Laura), Shrewsbury International School Riverside, Bangkok, Thailand Poem: “Survival”
KS4/5 Age Catgory
1st Place:
Yoyo, Shenzhen College of International Education, China Poem: (untitled)
2nd Place:
Saffron Anna, The British School, New Delhi, India Poem: “Survival”
3rd Place (tie):
Timothy, Uplands International School of Penang, Malaysia Poem: “An Enamel Escape”
3rd Place (tie):
Abigail, Taipei European School, Taipei, Taiwan Poem: “Thoughts Onboard a Plane”
My name is Charlotte, and tonight, I turn thirteen. I am Arya, and the world has lost its gleam.
With sleep burdened in my eyes, With dust caking those who’ve died, I am facing the enemy; the constraint of time. Being alive feels like a sinful crime. Who cares if today’s another year of life? Hostility smothers the air; Ama’s clutching a knife, If I fail my finals, I won’t survive. She looks at me sternly, “We must survive.”
As a ripe adolescent, I have:
Spent countless hours suffocated by books, Been considered into marriage for my looks, A routine I committed to, but never understood. A routine I feared, but symbolized something “good”. Gazed outside in envy, as the children played, Memorized death by heart, whilst everyone prayed, “Don’t focus on them.” My mother says. Yet the raspy sirens still resonate these days.
Today, things will change.
A chance to wallow in glory? I accept. A possibility my brother will die? I decline. Put me on a pedestal, if my plan succeeds. We can’t make this escape if he bleeds. Rid my title as an ostentatious display, A country controlled by the devil’s play, Now, everyone will gawk upon my worth. Please bring hope, and let Syria rebirth.
I apologize for not batting an eye; Tonight, aircrafts and screams pollute the sky;
It’s survival of the fittest: engraved here ‘til we die.
Survival
Ancient script, forgotten scrolls, patterns in the sand… Words and sounds, lost and found, Exploited for who I am. Colonised, occupied, left to adapt or die... Conform, Westernise, Learn to write in lines!
Mother tongue lost forever, replaced with foreign slurs Take it slow, don’t shout at me Enunciate your verbs! Your accents strange, your characters unfamiliar, You can’t spell or speak Are you some kind of imbecile? You don’t get the joke, slow to the punchline Sarcasm is lost on you Seriously… speak English! Fake smile and laugh, pretend to understand, Nod your head, don’t attract attention, Say nothing, blend in. Will I survive this place and people?
Will this language I was born to survive? The language of my Father and Fathers Father The language of my Mother and Mother’s Mother The language of my heritage, my history My songs, my food and favourite things My first loves and my heartbreaks Bilingual, trilingual, a linguist and polyglot Clever and cultured, I can do the lot!
What You’ll Never Know
Red strands bound around feeble bleeding hearts -
Severed by silver moonlight. An intrusion, corrupted bliss settling deep into festering wounds.
Unwound reality rotting into falsehood Promises, anchors with no weight The lyre sounds sweeter when dipped in honeyed lies.
Shattered thoughts draped with flowing jade, Words morph into whitenoise Rust creeping into unwary minds, carving lines up pearly skin.
Survival, no longer engulfed by the sea, fractal shores expanding, reaching for the unconquered distance.
Vivid velvet cloths drenched in morning dew, A petition to keep going Signed: you
Spilled blood, glass panes stained red. Close your eyes, worn leather inked with coffee stains
Jagged horizons of forlorn minds, Skyscrapers rebuilt, showing Curved edges of lost identities, The protective embrace of lost hearts. Clutching the remains of ruptured lives.
Forming you. Amalgamation of pain, Joy, life, Choice. Stitching, sticking, sealing, Splinters of forgotten identities.
Woven stories cloaked, Beneath flaming skin.
Survival
When you’re born a girl, Survival is an instinct.
I’m ten years old. This boy won’t stop making fun of me. “It’s because he likes you”, they said. Is cruelty an act of love?
I’m eleven years old. Walking home in my school uniform, And a man in a car whistles at me. I’m confused.
I’m twelve years old. I’m going out for a meal with my friends. “Watch your drink,” I’m told. The oath which I am sworn to uphold.
I’m thirteen years old. Going out to buy vegetables, And I automatically find a jumper. It’s forty degrees. I’m fourteen years old. This man, twice my age, Won’t stop staring at me. I look at the ground, heart pounding.
I’m fifteen years old. I’m wearing a tank top, And told to put on a jacket at school. How dare I wear something so revealing?
I’m sixteen years old. I cover up. I watch my drink. I never go to the bathroom alone. I don’t even go out by myself.
And yet, I am still harassed. I still get catcalled, I still get stares. I’m still scared to go out alone. And I’m one of the lucky ones.
I will fight for my survival, But why should I have to?
KS4/5 3rd Place (tie)
Timothy, Uplands International School of Penang, Malaysia
An Enamel Escape
Gummy bears and chocolate bars, Gobstoppers in round glass jars, I stuffed myself with sugared treats, Three meals a day I just had sweets, They partied in between my teeth, Above my gums and right beneath, I stopped to look inside my mouth; My dental health was heading South, Molars black; incisors yellow, Both subjected to too much jell-o.
“Open wide” the masked man cried, While in my mouth, he poked and pried, He shook his head in clear displeasure, Then rummaged through his tools of terror, Pointed scalpels, gleaming blades, Toxic cordials, ready-made, And then he flashed a pearly smile, One that would please a crocodile, “Let’s commence with an extraction” Then rubbed his hands in satisfaction.
I screamed so loud, it shook the earth, The pain I felt outdid childbirth, In my mouth, a gaping hole, I writhed about with no control, Vowing to take this man to court, I sent a prayer in last resort, The one above ignored my plea, Neglecting this poor amputee, Now deficient of one tooth, The public had to know the truth, This man and his reclining chair, They play no role in dental care, But rather, what they do to kids, Is something that we must forbid.
“Drink up now,” he said with glee, I seized the opportunity, Into his face, I spat the potion, Then fled the room in panicked motion. I’m fortunate to be alive, With witty thinking, I survived.
KS4/5 3rd Place (tie)
Abigail, Taipei European School, Taipei, Taiwan
Thoughts Onboard A Plane
I am heading into the day wearing a skirt, my heart swooping everywhere too fast. I am in an airport. In a cabin. Inside a cigarette’s lungs, where it is dark and uncomfortable. Like doing yoga underwater, the current is mixing me around, meaning I don’t have to do much. Sitting there on the dusty polyester, I am reminded of a day, very long ago, when I had a bowl of noodles in front of me, slivers of meat dotted all throughout the chubby white tentacles, scallions and five spice mix tiptoed on top. Tossed together in a frantic jumble. Like worms in the earth, I squirmed with anticipation. It was a painfully cold winter. My hands were blue as a scissor and the islands seemed so far away. We relied only on faith to take us. Sitting in the heart. Someone breathes too hard, my mother wrenches my hand, too hard, again, to the side, if only for a moment. The passing. The salt. Realizing with a small forgiveness that the windows have blinked closed, and I might not make it off this plane. The ground wobbling like the crazed dance of a dying animal. I can’t quite reach the words when they’re this far away and this pink. A baby is crying, she might not make it off this plane either. She is frozen in time as a baby, and I’ve never held my breath for more than two minutes, much less forever. The drumming of the engine. The salted peanuts in my fist with the blue packaging and yellow trim crack open to reveal not rebirth, or a silver bird, but that my father’s glasses, too, are clattering to the ground and I see myself reflected back in the tender, breaking glass. I have one last thought: I never made up with my brother & I never told him I loved him & now he will never know. Two minutes all it would’ve took. They tell me to put my vest on. Telling us to breathe. Hold the life in front of you, this girlish small thing. Not to think about forever. The fog of the oxygen mask filling up my entire world. The hands in front of me wave blue in the air. Small whispers dancing through the floor. The air. The air! What a funny thought. Whose hands are they? I am asking all the wrong questions. Who will receive what I couldn’t? Who will pay my dues? It doesn’t really matter. They are mine to hold. Could be my brother’s, the dog’s, or even the plane’s, but it is all slipping away from me now, and my fingers might be numb but I am holding onto my parents, my mother’s sleeve and my father’s pant leg, so, so tight.
