The hawk perched at the top of a tall oak tree, listening to the gentle breeze. His hooked feet clutching the branch. When the hawk was satisfied that there was no prey or danger for miles around, he began to sleep as the inaction was falsifying dreams of the hunt. While the hawk dreamed he rehearsed perfect kills and the feast afterwards. The hawk dreamed of past glories, near misses and most of all the thrill of the hunt. The thrill was a drug to the hawk it became all he thought about and what every centimetre of his feathered body craved. The thrill kept him going and sustained his otherwise boring life and was the only reason he was prepared to wait.
Without warning there was a slight rustle in the long grass at the bottom of the tall oak which stirred the hawk from his dreams, it was time to hunt. The air’s buoyancy and the sun’s ray gave the hawk a huge advantage over its unsuspecting prey. It was as if the earth’s faces were made for the hawk to inspect like a sergeant inspecting those under his command. The hawk took off with all the eloquence of a ballet dance and the skill of a gymnast. The hawk’s flight was a marvel to watch every inch of the hawk’s body was sensing the air currents, reading the signs and preparing for the kill. Silence is the hawk’s best friend as it has allowed him to sneak up on many unsuspecting mice.
The silent menace circles around the area where the sound originated, his eyes penetrating the grass. Scanning for the mouse that had initiated the chase, adrenalin pumped through the hawk’s veins increasing the thrill. It took the whole of creation to produce this perfect killer, from his foot to each individual feather. The hawk swiftly snatched up the creature between its talons and flew up. The hawk flew with the mouse struggling with all of its might against the power of the hawk, trying to survive just that bit longer, clinging to its life. The hawk continued its feat of strength, fly to any place it chose to kill the poor creature in its clutches, because the whole world was his.
There was no sophistry in the hawk’s powerful body, tearing off the mouse’s delicate head, blood spilling everywhere. The hawk is the allotment of death and his flight was on a path directly through the bones of the living, and in the nightmares of infants. His talons alone were enough to strike and immense fear in the heart of mice and men alike. The hawk is the stuff nightmares are made of and no animal alive could assert that right. Hunting and killing was what the hawk was breed for.
This is how it should be nothing changes, the trill, the hawk surviving to hunt another day and the fear it caused. The hawk will continue to go on like this.
January 2, 2015 at 6:55 pm
Sam, I really enjoyed reading this piece of writing. I like some of your descriptions of the way the hawk lives to hunt. It has made me wonder what human beings live to do…
Some things to consider:
1) You are using some phrases from the poem with great success. However, others need some revision. Have a think about what they really mean and ditch them if you are unsure. For example, I’m not sure the phrase below makes sense:
‘When the hawk was satisfied that there was no prey or danger for miles around, he began to sleep as the inaction was falsifying dreams of the hunt’
2) I think you could draw out the differences between the hawk’s stillness and its powerful movement as it attacks its prey. I think this might require some restructuring of your paragraphs to emphasise when the hawk is dreaming and when the hawk is hunting in real life.
3) You need to re-read some of your sentences to ensure they make sense. Some of your clauses cannot stand alone. Some simple fixes might be to include verbs or alter the start.
4) The final two sentences seem out of place and make the piece feel unfinished. Either re-work them or delete them.
I can either give you your current grade for this piece on here OR see me the first week back. Let me know!
January 4, 2015 at 9:58 am
If it is okay with you I would like to collect my current grade in person.
January 4, 2015 at 10:58 am
It was a great pleasure reading this piece, Sam. You’ve come such a long way since Year 7 in your confidence and maturity as a writer.
I’d agree with Mr Harris that you will want to take a close look at some of your sentences, where you’ve spliced two sentences together using commas (they should actually be separate sentences) and also I’d encourage you to remove some of the content that comes from the original poem, and instead create your own language to express those thoughts.
Great going.
Mr Waugh
January 4, 2015 at 12:44 pm
No worries, Sam. Come and see me Tuesday if you’d like. Feel free to make amendments in the meantime!