Year 8P Slam Poems

Year 8 are currently studying a unit of work in English called ‘Speaking Up, Speaking Out’.  It focuses on using rhetorical conventions and devices to persuade audiences. After exploring the persuasive texts in the style of Slam Poetry, students were asked to write their own Slams exploring an issue they feel strongly about. Some of the groups will be performing their Slams on assembly. 

“Red Dust, White Silence”

by Ruby Tucker-Pana and Sahara Bull

I stand on this red-dusted ground
where stories are older than the stars,
but the air still crackles
with the static of a history
nobody wants to own.

They say Australia’s young,
but it’s only the nation that’s young—
the land is ancient,
the people older still,
yet colonisation came rushing in
like a storm that never learned how to stop raining.

Racism here?
It didn’t sprout from nothing.
It was imported,
boxed up in ships,
wrapped in Union Jack certainty
and “terra nullius” lies.
Signed, sealed, delivered—
and stamped onto bodies
that already belonged
to this earth.

See, racism here is not an accident.
It’s architecture.
Designed.
Drafted.
Blueprints inked in segregation,
policies sharpened like spears,
the violence dressed up in paperwork,
the prejudice packaged as “progress.”

It echoes through generations—
in the kid followed around the store,
in the auntie overlooked for a job,
in the uncle mocked for his accent,
in the grandmother whose language
was stolen from her tongue
like it was contraband.

And on this soil,
where colonial ghosts still whisper,
racism tries to dig its heels in,
pretending it’s tradition.
Pretending it’s normal.
Pretending it’s anything
but a stain we inherited,
not a truth we chose.

But here’s the part
they don’t expect—
the part that keeps beating
under all that rubble:

We’re still here.
The oldest living cultures in the world—
still here.
Migrants building new futures—
still here.
Allies shaking loose the old lies—
still here.

Because country remembers.
Because justice grows slowly,
but it grows like a gum tree:
through fire, through drought,
through everything meant to stop it.

And I believe—
in the classrooms teaching truth,
in the marches filling streets,
in the kids learning languages
their grandparents were punished for,
in conversations that used to be whispers
now spoken out loud
with courage.

Australia isn’t finished.
Maybe it’s only just beginning.

And if we choose it—
if we face what’s behind us
while walking toward what’s ahead—
this land could hold more than pain.
It could hold healing.
It could hold all of us.

Because racism was built here—
but so was resilience.
And resilience?
It always wins
in the end.

This story can end on a good note—
because we’re the ones writing
the next verse

Beauty standards
Slam Poems
by Pipa Henecka, Mia Chow, Olive Taylor 
You can’t be too thin,
You can’t be too fat,
You have to weigh just the write amount.
You cover up your legs with a long skirt,
Cause that means you’re hiding
But if you wear it too short you’re crisis for showing too much,
As if your skin is something to be ashamed of.
You layer on make up to cover the faults in your skin,
Or maybe to bury something deeper within.
To be like the girls you see on TV,
To be seen as the girl society wants you to be.
The standards,
The rule,
The impossible expectations,
What is it all for?
People say love your body,
As if the words alone are enough,
But how?
How do I love the body I’ve been taught to hate?

Social Media Mirrors

by Simone Lentros, Erika Michael

They tell us

“Be yourself.”

But grade it like an exam,

red pen slicing through our confidence,

every mistake highlighted in shame.

We are teenagers,

Underdeveloped galaxies,

scrolling through mirrors that lie,

filters that pledge perfection

but destroy our minds.

We wear masks,

one for the classroom,

one for the playground,

one for the bedroom where silence screams louder than TikToks perfection.

We scroll through identities like fragile glass,

hoping none of them shatter our hearts

They say

“Find your voice.”

But every hallway whispers with judgment,

every ‘like’ on a post

is addition to your self worth.

We are told to stand out,

but judged when we don’t fit in.

We are teenagers hiding behind borrowed smiles,

Wishing we can be who we see.

Jealousy lies,

from every corner of the eye.

We rebel not because we hate,

but because we’re hurt:

to breathe,

to speak

and to exist without a societal mark.

So listen,

we are not robots,

not marking papers,

not Instagram models.

We are light at the end of the tunnel.

We need to be seen for our differences 

in a world that keeps yelling for us to blend in.

Define Normal 

by Harriett Postle, Chiara Triolo, Maddie Chow

Is it fitting in with the crowd or standing out?

You might say it is fitting in into a group 

But why is there pressure on us to do that?
They say if you stand out you’re not ‘normal’, you’re ‘weird’, you’re ‘different’. 

Those “weird” people get judged , pushed out and mad fun of, because they aren’t “normal”

 But ‘normal’ isn’t fitting in. It is being yourself, having your own interests, your likes and dislikes. 

Normal is being you. Normal is having quirks. 

Normal is sharing a personality.