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Please share poems you like with us here.
You can copy and paste your favourite poems here but tell us why you like them
Or
You can share a video of your favourite poems.
So much depends
upon
the black cat
with a shiny
gold collar
beside the big
fat rat
great like it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1
I LOVE THAE WAY YOU DISCRIBED THE FAT RAT WELL THOUGHT JACK
that’s soooo good
During the night after work…
I like this poem because it creates atmosphere
and makes you want to read it more!
Could you share it with us Zuhaib?
During the night ,after work. You
wander round an old dark road,the
wind blows through old creepy
hallow trees. Almost making it sound
like someone is speaking in every direction.
An owl with glowing eyes swooping down
to catch the sneaky mouse that
unexpectedly ran between your feet,
suddenly swoops down on front of you,
as you let out a chilling scream of terror.
You walk deeper into the dark woods,
wondering what else might be lurking in
the dark shadows. Oh, how you wished you
have taken another way home after work.
Your poem is amazing. I really like it ☺
Yes I would like that ☺
Zuhaib, in what way does it build atmosphere and make you want to read it more?
You don’t know what’s lurking through the shadows.
The poet William Carlos William has inspired me to create a poem
So much depends
upon
The sun light
shining with glitter
beside the baby
boy
i realy like your poem it sounds realy great 🙂
ahhhhhhhhh verry sweet lov it lov it lov it
REALLY SETS THE SEEN IN MY HEAD
We did not like The Red wheelbarrow because it was very, short, boring and unusual, because I don’t get the idea to write a about a wheelbarrow. That’s why we did not like it.
This is our version
So much depends
upon,
The green cheetah
pouncing with fury,
Beside the herd
of elephants.
BY Martin.v and martin.m
can cheaters be green or is it thoes nonsensical poems
So much depends
upon
an umbrella
an umbrella
that keeps you dry
with cold wet water
dripping down the sides
next to the wind that blows
brrrrrrrrrr brrrrrrrrrrrrrr brrrrrrrrrrrrr makew me fell cold
I really like your poem because the way you described is excellent keep the good work up 🙂
I like it and find it clever and interpretive .
I like your poem Ella because, you are telling what an umbrella does to keep you dry.
I relly like the lesson about william carlos william i like how he talks about the red wheel barrow how he descibes about the red wheel barrow and starts with so much depends and the sillible pattern.
sooooo cooooolllllll
Ella i like how you did it similar but about a umbrella and how you described it.
i like it to verry good
Iliked how yu discribed the unburalla
I like William Carlos Williams but my favourite poem is The Tyger by William blake I know the first verse by heart:
Tyger Tyger burning bright in the forests of the night
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame such fearful symmetry
i never heard of him but great poem
cool poem I like it to I want to know the other verses
sssssssssssoooooooooooooo ccccccccooooooooooooooolllllllll lovit brill but it would be better if the whole poem was there ot would sound much better
so much depend,
upon,
having an ice cream,
a bright sunny day,
beside
swishing waves
I wish now I am on the beach to have that cold dripping ice cream it’s really amazing 😀
I love your poem because it make you think the river
So much depends
upon
a hard black
football
which is sad
because
it is alone
sad times
like your ides Farhan
so much depends
upon
a rainbow
smiling faces
beside
the big blue sky
So much depends
upon
a golden eagle
souring over mountains
peaks frosted
with dimond ice
beside the
tumbuling, turbulent waterfull
I love this poem because I love golden eagle !
so much depends
upon
an xbox 360
with a shining black glaze
in the house of a girl
with cats like flying a dragons
beside
shivied black rabbits
So much depends
Upon
a football
the moist grass
side to side
with a rough
brutal dog
beside the
mysterious
angry
wind crying
What do you think
They paid a penny for the dance
But what they saw was a depressed bear
Missing the green forest
And being treated badly
They paid a penny for the dance
But what they saw was not a prance
But what they saw was a pain
He wanted to be out again in the rain
that poem is really good rose
The poem make me feel angry , upset and cold because I don’t like violence.
the poem make me feel angry does not make sense
The poem makes me feel angry and cold because it makes me think of the hundreds of people that died for our freedom and our lives.
IN FLANDERS FIELD
BY: John McCrae
Flanders field makes me feel emotional because all of those people who fought for all of us and for there loved ones makes me feel very happy. Flanders field is very amazing because when some people got wounded they died and people berried them and the poppies started to grow.
By: Angel.V. 6A
Rotherfied primary school
from your failing voice we heard you cry
as we watched the larks flying by
we have taken up your quarrel with foe
caught the torch you throw
we wear the poppies with pride
remembering the ones that died
at eleven 0 clock on a day of november
we take a minute of silence
and we can hear you voice
from flanders field
This poem is really good! I like almost EVERYTHING about it!
what they saw was the bears pain bleeding out of it’s torn foot. crying for mercy
this is what i wrote for the poem called my mother saw a dancing bear
Flanders soldiers
We are the living,
On your fallen bodies we stand up high,
In Flanders Fields we shall all try.
We see the poppies blow and blow,
More seas of blood start to flow.
Guns are heard amid the air,
And in the distance a solar flair!
We heard your cry now we must go,
To die we shall not know?
For of we go to Flanders Fields.
Will we save our friends or foes?
If we go to the place where ye poppies blow.
i thought the poem was good
and the FAT RAT !!!
We liked the poem my mother saw a dancing bear due to the fact that its very crazy and farfetched. Also because it used great description of the ache in bruins heart(the dancing bear). One thing I don’t like about the poem is that they are treating an animal badly and we like animals.
The poem my mother saw a dancing, I like it because its funny and enjoyable.
In Flanders fields the poppies blow Between the crosses, row on row, That mark our place; and in the sky The larks, still bravely singing, fly Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, Loved and were loved, and now we lie In Flanders In Flanders fields the poppies blow Between the crosses, row on row, That mark our place; and in the sky The larks, still bravely singing, fly Scarce heard amid the guns below.
In Flanders fields the poppies blow Between the crosses, row on row, That mark our place; and in the sky The larks, still bravely singing, fly Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, Loved and were loved, and now we lie In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe: To you from failing hands we throw The torch; be yours to hold it high. If ye break faith with us who die We shall not sleep, though poppies grow In Flanders fields.
it is good not even a little bit bad
We are the Dead. Short days ago We live
Oh! that my young life were a lasting dream!
Dreams by Edgar Allan Poe
My spirit not awakening, till the beam
Of an eternity should bring the morrow.
Yes! tho’ that long dream were of hopeless sorrow,
Twere better than the cold reality
Of waking life, to him whose heart must be,
And hath been still, upon the lovely earth,
A chaos of deep passion, from his birth.
I like this poem because it makes a picture of someone whose died, their spirit is trying to come back but they can’t. I think it’s a sad spirit trying to wake up.
love your poem it really good
I love this poem.
I like this poem because it is hard to say it and I like trying to say it also it is very emotional
I like this poem because its about never giving up .
my poem that i thougt of Tiger Tiger
Tiger Tiger
Where are you
Are you hiding in the forest
Are you looking for food
I love Tigers 🙂
Life is like a railway train,
Turnin and twistin,
People passing by,
The whistle screeching loudly in my ear,
The journey waiting ahead of us,
Clanking, crashing and Pacing,
It choo-choos along,
The sound of people rushing and roaming,
The train long and wide,
Wheels turing and turning,
People waiting with fear and despair,
Not knowing whats going to happen in their clueless journey,
Turning corners,
Where the sun will not shine,
Bumbin and twistin,
Climbing on aboard,
Its never traineasy in life,
Thats why i always say life is like a railway
train.
The stars fell down
The stars shined brightly
In the dark sky
While the people
Watched on the London eye
Decent poem, i like it:]
The watch
Digital fidget all botch
A fly got into my watch.
I don’t know I hear you scream
And so I think was it just a dream
Sweets
The sugar filled sweets
I see on the table
With a label on the table
Saying the cable is the table.
Chocolate
I see it on the phone
While I was just alone.
But now what do I see
The bright blew see?
But now I notice
It was just numbers.
But how can I be sure
Without checking what’s
behind the door.
Halloween
It’s creeping closer every day
Without any notice.
It brings his pumpkin fellows
Without a moment to wait.
And then the children come
To take the candy.
But if the person refuses
There in for a nasty surprise!
Can we get anything with money?
Glamorous money
Why do we love it?
Obviously we know.
We could get anything we want.
Can’t we?
Unfortunately we can’t get one thing
And that is a friend.
Why?
Why did you close my phone?
Why did you eat my sweets?
Why did you pay me less for my pocket money?
Why?Why?
I think I know.Do I? I just don’t know.
White chickens saw a dancing bear
in the summer heat
They watched it march. They watched it halt
‘Now,roly- ploy!Somersault!’said the boy
I wrote this poem because I wanted to amuse the reader.
Share your ideas with different school and Ducombe Primary school who do you think will win
Said the little boy, “Sometimes I’m lonely”
Said the old man, “So am I”
The little boy whispered, “I hide in my room.”
“I do that too,” laughed the little old man.
Said the little boy, “I often think of my friends”
The old man nodded, “So do I”
“But worst of all,” said the boy, “It seems no one likes me.”
And he felt the warmth of a wrinkled old hand.
“I know what you mean,” said the little old man.
By SeaUrchin
The little old man and the little boy
By Mo/Ria
Said the little boy, “Sometimes I get bullied.”
Said the old man, “So do I.”
The little boy whispered, “I cry over little things.”
“I do that too,” moaned the little old man.
Said the little boy, “I often fall flat on my head.”
The old man nodded, “Sometimes I do that too.”
“But worst of all,” said the boy, “it seems
that I’m always lonely at school.”
https://youtu.be/z1cfVQyrQ3Q
love chocolate cake.
And when I was a boy
I loved it even more.
Sometimes we used to have it for tea
and Mum used to say,
‘If there’s any left over
you can have it to take to school
tomorrow to have at playtime.’
And the next day I would take it to school
wrapped up in tin foil
open it up at playtime
and sit in the corner of the playground
eating it,
you know how the icing on top
is all shiny and it cracks as you
bite into it,
and there’s that other kind of icing in
the middle
and it sticks to your hands and you
can lick your fingers
and lick your lips
oh it’s lovely.
yeah.
Anyway,
once we had this chocolate cake for tea
and later I went to bed
but while I was in bed
I found myself waking up
licking my lips
and smiling.
I woke up proper.
‘The chocolate cake.’
It was the first thing
1 thought of.
I could almost see it
so I thought,
what if I go downstairs
and have a little nibble, yeah?
It was all dark
everyone was in bed
so it must have been really late
but I got out of bed,
crept out of the door
there’s always a creaky floorboard, isn’t there?
Past Mum and Dad’s room,
careful not to tread on bits of broken toys
or bits of Lego
you know what it’s like treading on Lego
with your bare feet,
yowwww
shhhhhhh
downstairs
into the kitchen
open the cupboard
and there it is
all shining.
So I take it out of the cupboard
put it on the table
and I see that
there’s a few crumbs lying about on the plate,
so I lick my finger and run my finger all over the crumbs
scooping them up
and put them into my mouth.
oooooooommmmmmmmm
nice.
Then
I look again
and on one side where it’s been cut,
it’s all crumbly.
So I take a knife
I think I’ll just tidy that up a bit,
cut off the crumbly bits
scoop them all up
and into the mouth
oooooommm mmmm
nice.
Look at the cake again.
That looks a bit funny now,
one side doesn’t match the other
I’ll just even it up a bit, eh?
Take the knife
and slice.
This time the knife makes a little cracky noise
as it goes through that hard icing on top.
A whole slice this time,
into the mouth.
Oh the icing on top
and the icing in the middle
ohhhhhh oooo mmmmmm.
But now
I can’t stop myself
Knife –
1 just take any old slice at it
and I’ve got this great big chunk
and I’m cramming it in
what a greedy pig
but it’s so nice,
and there’s another
and another and I’m squealing and I’m smacking my lips
and I’m stuffing myself with it
and
before I know
I’ve eaten the lot.
The whole lot.
I look at the plate.
It’s all gone.
Oh no
they’re bound to notice, aren’t they,
a whole chocolate cake doesn’t just disappear
does it?
What shall 1 do?
I know. I’ll wash the plate up,
and the knife
and put them away and maybe no one
will notice, eh?
So I do that
and creep creep creep
back to bed
into bed
doze off
licking my lips
with a lovely feeling in my belly.
Mmmmrnmmmmm.
In the morning I get up,
downstairs,
have breakfast,
Mum’s saying,
‘Have you got your dinner money?’
and I say,
‘Yes.’
‘And don’t forget to take some chocolate cake with you.’
I stopped breathing.
‘What’s the matter,’ she says,
‘you normally jump at chocolate cake?’
I’m still not breathing,
and she’s looking at me very closely now.
She’s looking at me just below my mouth.
‘What’s that?’ she says.
‘What’s what?’ I say.
‘What’s that there?’
‘Where?’
‘There,’ she says, pointing at my chin.
‘I don’t know,’ I say.
‘It looks like chocolate,’ she says.
‘It’s not chocolate is it?’
No answer.
‘Is it?’
‘I don’t know.’
She goes to the cupboard
looks in, up, top, middle, bottom,
turns back to me.
‘It’s gone.
It’s gone.
You haven’t eaten it, have you?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You don’t know. You don’t know if you’ve eaten a whole
chocolate cake or not?
When? When did you eat it?’
So I told her,
and she said
well what could she say?
‘That’s the last time I give you any cake to take
to school.
Now go. Get out
no wait
not before you’ve washed your dirty sticky face.’
I went upstairs
looked in the mirror
and there it was,
just below my mouth,
a chocolate smudge.
The give-away.
Maybe she’ll forget about it by next week.
Who doesn’t LOVE CHOCOLATE CAKE!!!!!!!
Chocolate cake is the best!
I used to love this poem when I was younger and I still know it off by heart – even though it’s been 32 years!
Emma Hackett’s Newsbook
Last night my mum
Got really mad
And threw a jam tart
At my dad.
Dad lost his temper
Then with mother,
Threw one at her
And hit my brother.
My brother thought
It was my sister,
Threw two at her
But somehow missed her.
My sister,
She is only three,
Hurled four at him
And one at me!
I said I wouldn’t
Stand for that,
Aimed one at her
And hit the cat.
The cat jumped up
Like he’d been shot,
And landed
In the baby’s cot.
The baby –
Quietly sucking his thumb –
Then started howling
For my mum.
At which my mum
Got really mad,
And threw a Swiss roll
At my dad.
~Allan Ahlberg
To Shelley,
I read that poem recently and its very funny! 😀
To Shelley,
I really like that poem as it is really funny.
STRICT
We had a teacher who was so strict,
you weren’t allowed to breathe in her lessons.
She used to stand at the front going, “NO BREATHING!”
And you had the whole morning to get through.
*aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh* *pah*
The weak ones just used to keel over and die.
You’d hear them going down behind you. *ker-poom* *ker-poom* *ker-poom*
And there was always a whiny kid going, “Miss! Can I go out and do some breathing?”
And she’d say, “No! You’ve got all playtime to do it in!”
“Oh, go on Miss, oh, go on!”
Do you know at the beginning of the week there were forty-eight kids in my class.
At the end of the week there were only five of them left.
Yeah.
Do you know at the end of the day you’d be stepping over kids just to get out the room.
Oh no! There’s Melanie. That’s a shame, she was really nice.
There’s Dave. Eheheh. Hard luck, Dave! Always knew you were a bit weak.
Do you know, people say to me, if that’s true, how come you’re here to tell the tale?
Fair enough, and I’ll tell you.
It’s because, when I was at school, we used to sit at desks.
We didn’t sit ’round tables like you do now.
We used to sit at desks, with lids.
And some of us figured out, what you had to do was snatch a quick breath under the desk lid when she wasn’t looking.
So once more, from the beginning.
“NO BREATHING!”
*aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh* *pah*
The weak ones: *ker-poom* *ker-poom* *ker-poom*
The whiny ones: “Miss! Can I go out and do some breathing?
“No! You’ve got all playtime to do it in!”
“Oh, go on Miss, oh, go on!”
Us lot: *PAH* *gasp gasp gasp* *ptoom*
Ah! That was the mistake! Slamming the desk lid down!
If you made a noise with the desk lid, it was OUT!
School PRISON!
There was a school prison underneath the school hall where they used to string you up from the wallbars.
*sqfluut*
“Miss! I’ve been up here for three weeks… and there’s rats!
And they’re nibbling my toenails!”
So I figured it out.
What you had to do was put your thumb ’round the edge of the desk lid so when it went down it didn’t make any noise at all.
Once more, from the beginning.
“NO BREATHING!”
*aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh* *pah*
The weak ones: *ker-poom* *ker-poom* *ker-poom*
The whiny ones: “Miss! Can I go out and do some breathing?”
“No! You’ve got all playtime to do it in!”
“Oh, go on Miss, oh, go on!”
These other kids: *PAH* *gasp gasp* *ptoom*
OUT! School PRISON! *sqfluut*
“Miss! I’ve been up here for three weeks and there’s… rats!
And they’re nibbling… my toenails! Miss!”
Me: Thumb ’round the edge of the desk.
*PAH* *gasp gasp gasp*
No noise at all.
SURVIVAL!
Here’s Michael Rosen telling it:
Thanks for sharing this poem with us. It’s very amusing.
I’m sure Shelley doesn’t make you hold your breath!
Could you share the video of Michael Rosen performing the poem?
Said the little boy,”Sometimes I walk into things.”
Said the old man,”I do that too.”
The little boy whispered,”I lose my temper.”
“I do that too.”laughed the old man.
Said the little boy,”I often break stuff.”
The old man nodded,”So do I.”
“But worst of all,”Said the boy,”I get way too ahead of myself.”
I think the poem by silverstein is about a young boy and a little old man who compare there life and there problems.I like this poem because it show all the problems in life that people can go through and don’t like.
the poem is from a poet called shel silverstein called the little boy and the little old man. Its about a boy and he was talking to a old man about what things a baby would do.
i like the poem because it is funny
I like the poem by Silverstein beacause its really funny and it tells you the things that you can go threw in life. i really liked the part when the little boy said he wet his pants.
I like the poem with a little boy and an old man are talking and are saying for example the boy said I wet my pants and the old man replied so do I and that poem was written by Shel Silverstein.[so basically the old man and the little boy were comparing eachother]
I like the poem called The little Boy and the Old Man By Shel Silverstien .Because it was funny and it did not rhyme and it was sort of embarrassing not only for the boy also for the old man!!!! My favorite part was when the little boy says I wet my pants i do that to laughed the little old man.
ME TOO I LOVE THAT POEM AS WELLL!!!!!!
I think the poem by silverstein is really enjoyable because its about two people – an old man and a little kid comparing there life and having the same similarities that most of us can go through.I recommend this poem 3 and half stars to 6 to 3 year olds
I like the poem by Shel Silverstein and the poem is about a little boy and an old man comparing themselves so for example the little boy whispered I wet my pants the old man replied so do I
I would recommend this book to aged three and above because i don’t think anybody under three can read. I would rate this poem 5 stars because it has a lot of meaning to it about life.
the poem was really informative it told us about black segriegation in america in those times we blacks wern’t eaqaul i am really likeing this poe
sorry for spelling mistakes
Said the little girl, “sometimes i bully my brother”
Said the old woman,”i do that too.”
The little girl whispered, “i always wet the bed”
“i do that too” laughed the old woman.
Said the little girl, “i often play with dolls”
The old woman nodded, “so do i.”
“But worst of all,” said the little girl “its seems as if no one likes me”
And she felt a warmth of a wrinkled old hand
“i know what you mean” said the old woman
What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it keep going or does it not?
Can is I stop or not?
When will it, now or never ?
This is the kind of dream,
I dream about everyday.
It keeps on going unless you do some thing, NOW!!!
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?
What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it sink into the bottom of an old mans grave
Or does it disappear into a midnight cave
Does it appear like a creepy shadow
Or fly away like a frightened sparrow
Maybe it dies like a thirsty flower
Or losing its only power
Or maybe it explodes!
What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it wrinkle up
Like an old man’s face?
Or burn down like a blazing forest-
Fire festering into your skin
Does it spread like smoke?
Choking in your throat
And then death?
Or does it seep through your body slowly Just like liquid travelling down to your stomach
Maybe it just sags
Like a heavy load.
Or does it just explode?
What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dissolve?
Like sugar in tea
Or burn into millions of ashes-
And then flee?
Does it disperse into thin air?
Or does it turn into a nightmare?
Does it sting
like a syringe in your arm
maybe it rots
like sour cheese
things start growing off it like trees
Or fly’s away like bees!!!
Recreation of WHO? :
Dear Diary,
I walk along the stream everyday and afternoon and see a boy who is always in the light
I’ve called to him every time, but still no reply
I walk beside an open field
Still I see him following me near
I approach my house next to an old tree
Why is he still following and says he is me?
Dear Diary,
I see a boy down a stream and he takes the same route every sunrise and sunset. Questions. All that is in my head. Questions. Who is he? I call but he doesn’t answer. Not even turns his head. Why the same route? Why the same old clothes?Why when i go up to him he speaks his name…and says its my own? Questions, questions, questions…yet, no answers.
Tuesday 8th November 2000,
Who was that child that I saw wandering near the stream, that quivered?
Why did that child not hear me, though I had called him?
Where did he come from, and did I know his name?
Why did I see him at this time taking in weird clothes the same brand?
When will he have a shadow, though the sun liked him?
Why did the dust lie so thick on the hedgerow by the large field where a horse used to pull the plough?
Why is there only meadows, where the houses stand neatly by the riverside now?
Why did he move like ghost by the water, soft as the thistledown on the breeze which blew?
When I’m near him will I draw?
Why does he keep saying my name is his?
By SeaUrchin and Sabirah
Day 1: This day of my life I have seen a child wandering, a little innocent but peculiar child wandering curiously by the side of the trembling stream.
Now what I wonder is why didn’t he hear me although I called for him?
Maybe I don’t know his name!?!
Day 2: Where does thy come from and will he reveal his true name?
Why do ‘I’ see him everywhere myself goes, in truly odd looking clothes?
Why when he strolls a shadow is not casted, though the sun rises and cascades on his back!
Day 3: Why does the dust lie so think on the hedgerow by the green freshened up fields where horses pull ploughs.
I saw only meadows but I now see houses in rows!
Why does he move like some cold smoke on top of the white freezing snow?
Day 4: When I am near him so I have the possibility hear him why does he mention his name is my own?
Dear diary,
Today I am old but I remember the past when I used to play outside with my friends but now I am just looking outside wondering things I used to do. Why are people now wearing different clothes ? Back in my times I used to wear fluffy things but now people are wearing these weird things. I cant spend the time that I used to back in my day. Why is life so hard? And as I watch how the days past. I am all alone and I could only see my shadow lying across the sofa. I could only see my grand daughters and grandsons only in a year. why do people never listen to me, see me hug me give me positive energy but no they just stand there waiting for them to hug me so I just walk over to them they walk away. Am I a ghost?
This is a poem I wrote:
Soldiers
Dead.
Corpses scatter the fields,
The last few scream as they meet their untimely deaths.
Everyone’s eyes writhing in their sunken faces,
The last soldier stands proudly above all others.
But wait!
Not one, but two!
Three!
They cover the woe-filled land,
Their heads held up high, backs straight,
A flood of red flows into the field.
But who shall these be?
Why are they thankfully alive?
Why are they not with the others?
As the news of Remembrance Day sinks in,
We know who these brave soldiers are,
The poppies,
The last soldiers standing.
Hi Naz,
This is fantastic. Lovely to see yo sharing a poem of your own.
Your use of line breaks is very effective.
Paranoid piranha
I’m Pedro, the paranoid Piranha
don’t think that i’ll see maniana
‘cos some of me mates
want me on their plates
washed down with a Pina Collada
I know by their glances so fleetin’
That there’s evil intent in their greetin’
so i’m watchin’ them
watchin’ me watching’ them
while i swallow the one I’m eatin’
Trick or Treat
Haunted houses,
Curdling screams,
Freezing bats, torn at the seams!
Full white moon,
Dripping candles,
Roaming forgetful zombie vandals!
Gnarled old trees,
Tossed in the breeze.
Cold ghosts shivering, knocking their knees!
Trick and treating,
From door to door,
Not enough sweets, I must have more!!!
I love this poem because it takes different costumes from Halloween and then describe them, and it is about ‘imperfection’ because you can’t impersonate something/someone that you are not.
Sean did you come up with that on your own. Anyway that poem is awwwwsssssssooooooommmmmmeeeeee! i really like it because it really brings out the depth of halloween
Wow!
Strict.
We had a teacher who was so strict, you weren’t allowed to breathe in her lessons. She used to stand out the front going “Nooooooo Breathing!”. An you had the whole morning to get through, Takes deep breath and holds.
The weak ones just used to keel over and die, you’d here them going down behind you, imitates sound of children falling. And there was always a whiny kid going “Miss! Can I go out and do some breathing?” and she’d say “No you’ve got all playtime to do it!” and “Oh, go on Miss, oh go on!”. D’you know at the beginning of the week there were 48 kids in my class, at the end of the week there were only 5 of them left. Yeah, d’you know at the end of the day you’d be stepping over kids just to get out of the room. Gasp Oh no! There’s Melanie. That’s a shame, she was really nice. There’s Dave. Heh heh. Hard luck Dave, always knew you were a bit weak.
D’you know people say to me “If that’s true, how come you’re here to tell the tale?”. Fair enough and I’ll tell you. It’s because, when I was at school, we used to sit at desks. We didn’t sit ’round tables like you do now, we used to sit at desks, with lids. And some of us figured out, what you had to do, was snatch a quick breath under the desk lid when she wasn’t looking. So once more from the beginning. “Nooooooo Breathing!”. Takes deep breath and holds. The weak ones, imitates sound of children falling. The whiny ones, “Miss! Can I go out and do some breathing?”, “No, you’ve got all playtime to do it” and “Oh, go on Miss, oh go on!”. Us lot, Holds breath, pretends to lift up desk lid, puts head underneath, pants a bit, takes head out, slams desk shut.
Boom! Ah! That was a mistake, slamming the desk lid down. If you made a noise with the desk lid it was, “Out! School Prison!”. There was a school prison underneath the school hall where they used to string you up from the wallbars. Holds hands up, as if hanging to the wall by some chains. Miss! I’ve been up here for 3 weeks! And there’s rats! And they’re nibblin’ my toenails! So I figured it out, what you had to do was put your thumb ’round the edge of the desk lid, so when it went down, it didn’t make any noise at all.
Once more, from the beginning. “Nooooooo Breathing!”. Takes deep breath and holds. The weak ones, imitates sound of children falling. The whiny ones, “Miss! Can I go out and do some breathing?”, “No, you’ve got all playtime to do it” and “Oh, go on Miss, oh go on!”. These other kids, Holds breath, pretends to lift up desk lid, puts head underneath, pants a bit, takes head out, slams desk shut. “Out! School Prison!”. Holds hands up, as if hanging to the wall by some chains. “Miss! I’ve been up here for 3 weeks and there’s, rats, and there nibbling, my toenails, Miss!”. Me , thumb ’round the edge of the desk, Holds breath, pretends to lift up desk lid, puts head underneath, pants a bit, takes head out, puts thumb around the edge of the “desk” and closes it quietly. No noise at all. Survival
This is a poem to everybody who’s died in a war.
Why?
Why?
Why do I lay on this muddy floor?
Did god not hear my holy call?
Why, did I participate in this bloody war?
Oh yeah.. I had to
Why, did I fire a bullet?
Killing that one life, one family, one community
That feeling stays with you for the rest of your life
Why is the only thing I see is a red poppy?
It lightens this gory battle, it gives us hope and reassurance
Does god actually listen to me?
I love my life, but it’s over
I may be dead, but I live on!
Hi Aidan,
I like your use of questions to show bemusement.
I come with no wrapping or pretty pink bows.
I am who I am from my head to my toes.
I tend to get loud when speaking my mind.
Even a little crazy some of the time.
I’m not a size 5 and don’t care to be.
You can be you and I can be me.
I try to stay strong when pain knocks me down.
And the times that I cry is when no ones around.
To error is human or so that’s what they say.
Well tell me who’s perfect anyway
I love this poem because it is saying how people are not all perfect, and everyone has something that they don’t like about themselves. And the main reason is that it’s my favourite poem is because I can sort of relate to because many poems about people I just cannot relate to so this poem is sort of special to me. I also like how it rhymes each line.
-Rose
Sorry that had some spelling and punctuation errors. XD Mostly typos
Thank you for sharing this with us Rose and for your explanation.
The Poisonous Foe
The anger grew inside me,
I told it, stop, it had ended,
It came back and gave me revenge,
One night it grew inside me and,
Bursted into tears and emotions,
Day and night it became stronger,
With my anger it weakened,
Then I peek in my garden,
And see the shadow of the foe,
The sun came out and it burned,
Like a flower drying up,
I creeped out and dropped a spark,
The foe melted slowly crying,
Nothing can bring me down,
As quickly as the sorrow,
By SeaUrchin and Sadia
I was angry with my dad
Because he told me off
He thought I was bad
Because I was in a gang
Days pasted I was locked in my room
Full of secrets
And I water’d it in tears
Afternoon with my fears
It felt like I was broken into pieces
And I could not be put back together like a puzzle
How is it possible to water a plant with tears when you are full of fear
I felt wrong cause I was trying to be
A poison apple William Blake
And I watered it in love , night and day with me alone
I can spread love around the world it is wild
Flowers are crying and dying
Love is here and near
When Grandma goes for gold in
The Olympic games this year,
She’ll laugh at her competitors
And make them quake with fear.
She’s ninety-nine years old
But, in athletics, she’s been blessed.
The trouble is she can’t decide
Which sport she plays the best.
She’s such an ace at archery.
She’s queen of the canoe.
She’s tough to top at taekwondo
And table tennis too.
She dominates the diving board.
She tromps the trampoline.
At lifting weights and wrestling
She’s the best you’ve ever seen.
She speeds across the swimming pool
To slake the summer heat.
On BMX and mountain bike
She simply can’t be beat.
She’s highest in the high jump,
And a champ at hammer throwing,
Magnificent in marathons,
Remarkable at rowing.
She beats the best at boxing.
At the pole vault she is peerless.
Her fencing is the finest;
She is positively fearless.
She’s masterful at basketball,
She truly rules the court,
And equally incredible
At every other sport.
But what we find astonishing
And something of a shocker
Is how she wins all contests
With her wheelchair and her walker.
I really like this poem because it is hilarious and uses alliteration for almost all of the lines.
https://youtu.be/Akwm2UZJ34o
Walking with my Iguana
I’m walking
with my iguana
I’m walking
With my iguana
When the temperature rises
to above eighty-five,
my iguana is looking
like he’s coming alive.
So we make it to the beach,
my iguana and me,
then he sits on my shoulder
as we stroll by the sea…..
and I’m walking
with my iguana
I’m walking
With my iguana
Well if anyone sees us
we’re a big surprise,
my iguana and me
on our daily exercise,
till somebody phones
the local police
says I’ve got an alligator
tied to a leash.
when I’m walking
with my iguana
I’m walking
With my iguana
It’s the spines on his back
that make him look grim,
but he just loves to be tickled
under his chin.
And I know that my iguana
is ready for bed
when he puts on his pajamas
and lays down his sleepy head.
And I’m walking
with my iguana
still walking
With my iguana
With my iguana…
with my iguana…
and my piranha
and my chihuahua
and my chinchilla,
with my gorilla,
my caterpillar…
and I’m walking…
with my iguana…
with my iguana…
with my iguana…
I like the poem Babysitter by Michael Rosen. I like it because it is funny and entertaining
and it makes you want to read more.
https://youtu.be/Akwm2UZJ34o
Hot food
just copy and paste
I like this poem because,it is a short and funny.
It kinda points out the obvious,and I like food!
Strict by Michael Rosen
We had a teacher who was so strict, you weren’t allowed to breathe in her lessons.
She used to stand at the front going, “NO BREATHING!”
And you had the whole morning to get through.
*aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh* *pah*
The weak ones just used to keel over and die.
You’d hear them going down behind you. *ker-poom* *ker-poom* *ker-poom*
And there was always a whiny kid going, “Miss! Can I go out and do some breathing?”
And she’d say, “No! You’ve got all playtime to do it in!”
“Oh, go on Miss, oh, go on!”
Do you know at the beginning of the week there were forty-eight kids in my class.
At the end of the week there were only five of them left.
Yeah.
Do you know at the end of the day you’d be stepping over kids just to get out the room.
Oh no! There’s Melanie. That’s a shame, she was really nice.
There’s Dave. Eheheh. Hard luck, Dave! Always knew you were a bit weak.
Do you know, people say to me, if that’s true, how come you’re here to tell the tale?
Fair enough, and I’ll tell you.
It’s because, when I was at school, we used to sit at desks.
We didn’t sit ’round tables like you do now.
We used to sit at desks, with lids.
And some of us figured out, what you had to do was snatch a quick breath under the desk lid when she wasn’t looking.
So once more, from the beginning.
“NO BREATHING!”
*aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh* *pah*
The weak ones: *ker-poom* *ker-poom* *ker-poom*
The whiny ones: “Miss! Can I go out and do some breathing?
“No! You’ve got all playtime to do it in!”
“Oh, go on Miss, oh, go on!”
Us lot: *PAH* *gasp gasp gasp* *ptoom*
Ah! That was the mistake! Slamming the desk lid down!
If you made a noise with the desk lid, it was OUT!
School PRISON!
There was a school prison underneath the school hall where they used to string you up from the wallbars.
*sqfluut*
“Miss! I’ve been up here for three weeks… and there’s rats!
And they’re nibbling my toenails!”
So I figured it out.
What you had to do was put your thumb ’round the edge of the desk lid so when it went down it didn’t make any noise at all.
Once more, from the beginning.
“NO BREATHING!”
*aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh* *pah*
The weak ones: *ker-poom* *ker-poom* *ker-poom*
The whiny ones: “Miss! Can I go out and do some breathing?”
“No! You’ve got all playtime to do it in!”
“Oh, go on Miss, oh, go on!”
These other kids: *PAH* *gasp gasp* *ptoom*
OUT! School PRISON! *sqfluut*
“Miss! I’ve been up here for three weeks and there’s… rats!
And they’re nibbling… my toenails! Miss!”
Me: Thumb ’round the edge of the desk.
*PAH* *gasp gasp gasp*
No noise at all.
SURVIVAL!
What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles’ rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells,
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs, –
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.
What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes.
The pallor of girls’ brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing down of blinds.
By Wilfred Owen
This poem is one of many poems that I like as it shows how terrible the First World War was from the experience of a soldier in the war.
Thank you forswearing this with us.
Where Broccoli Comes From
Not many people know
that broccoli grows in the armpits
of very big green men
who live in the forest
and brave broccoli cutters
go deep into the forests
and they creep up on the
very big green men.
They wait for the
very big green men
to fall asleep
and the broccoli cutters
get out their
great big broccoli razors
and they shave the
armpits
of the very big green men.
And that’s where broccoli
comes from.
Not many people know that.
Just thought I’d let you know.
By Michael Rosen
Dear diary,
Today i’ve been thinking,
What happens to a dream forgotten? Does it dry up and go? i just feel like dreams will just dry up like a raisin in the sun. But maybe just maybe it will crust and sugar over like a syrupy sweet, because you don’t know it could be a REALLY good thing(probably not) the thing i think is that it will explode
Dear diary,
Every day i see a child and i think
‘who is that child i see wandering’
Whenever i call to him he never seams to hear, wonder why? I wonder where does he come from and what’s his name but whenever i ask he never seams to hear. Why does he wear old-fashioned clothes, and why does he ALWAYS walk the same tracks. Weird. Why whenever he walks he NEVER has a shadow, but there’s always light? Why does he say his name is my own?
I am re-writing the poem from the Foe’s perspective
I was enraged with my foe
He didn’t tell his wrath to stop
So it did grow
I was lost of action
So i left myself thinking
I saw a glimpse of an apple
Poisoned by my foe
I considered about my adversary
Is it really worth it?
I tried to think of plan
To help me understand
Why he acted so mad
It suddenly came to me
I couldn’t believe i caused the problem ;me!
In the morning i see
My antagonist looking down at me
I was laying under his anger tree
I saw the apple about to drop
I heard a baffling shake in the ground
It was my foe stamping up an down
I caught the apple at last
Me and my new mate had a blast!
BY Azhar
Great idea to re-write if from the foe’s perspective.
THANKS
Azhar that is a very good poem
I think this is about a boy/girls appearance and what people think of them. I also think that they always stare at him, maybe they always snigger at him and does not know it hurts him inside. I also think he gets framed for thing that he does not do and the teacher shouts at him/her. This is like the book called wonder
She was so cold she had a blue nose which was bold and she had no hair to cover up her neck. She found a new family and she wanted to share her birthday with them she was scared because she thought she was dead. But was really there????
I like the poem a divine image by William Blake
I froze
In an uncomfortable pose
They stared
I glared
They sniggered
And tension grew
It was scary not knowing what to do
I heard stamps
That bounced threw
The city
Of pity
I shouted a cry of help
Among the other lonely yelps
Was them.
The angels of death
I fell
And with no one to tell
I took it willingly
Anna was out playing tennis. Anna was eight years old and turning 9 years old, It was her birthday in 1 week. She was brave and strong nothing can defeat her. Anna came bake from the tennis lesson and all she saw was house that had broken windows.
She was seeing thing that was not their. Anna was taking a short cut back home and that short cut was through the grave yard. It took Anna about 10 minute to get home.
Anna was at the middle of the dark, gloomy, dead grave yard until the moment came she fell into the hole. Anna didn’t wake up, people where thinking that she was dead.
Very interesting James. How do you think the poem or text is changed by naming the character?
Lamb,lamb so lovely in white,
Your so calm in the night,
where did you come from?
Where is your mum?
Are you hungry?and would you like a bun
Why is it here?i don’t know,
But surely it won’t go,
Sunshine-like,
And your colour so bright,
As you settle again in the night
Why oh why does he hate me so much,
His wrath will grow,
As I am his foe,
Why me oh why me,
Did it have to be his foe that is me
A dog who likes to bite
And it fights with cats
What beautiful paws
Can it smell
Why do I bark shrink
Do I like eating
I really love dogs they are so interesting
my recreation of the poem as a story
shoot im so late im going to die
i ran home scared for my faith until i now know what it is death ther i lay in a grave regreting my life.
‘Late’ A Short Story
She was out all day practicing for the ultimate tennis competition. It soon turned eight and she realized she was late. The park doors had been shut and locked long ago but no one bothered to ask a small eight year old girl where her parents were. She had climbed the big black gate of the park and only grazed her knee. She stomped her feet around to try and get rid of the pain. She felt like she was in great pain and so to try to get her mind off her injury she bounced her tennis ball against an ancient church. Instantly she remembered she was late and ran through a shortcut through a graveyard. Who does that? It was still eight despite it seeming like forever and the worst came. Her grazed knee made her trip over and fall into a dug up and open grave!
She lay there in the freezing cold and she might have died of hypothermia. No one heard her cry except for the foxes… She was eaten alive and left as a skeleton. The grave she fell into read: EATEN ALIVE BY FOXES, MARY SMITH DIED AT 8…
She was late…