Dear all,
It’s our final poem. Carol Ann Duffy is the poet laureate so enjoy.
Please share your thoughts and poetry inspired by Duffy here.
And I hope you’re preparing your own poems….one of you will soon be crowned Futurezone Poet Laureate 2016!
Dear all,
It’s our final poem. Carol Ann Duffy is the poet laureate so enjoy.
Please share your thoughts and poetry inspired by Duffy here.
And I hope you’re preparing your own poems….one of you will soon be crowned Futurezone Poet Laureate 2016!
This poem is about mistakes. I can infer this because shouting, falling, growing etc.
Good inferring Paige because I can see what you mean.
I also think that is
I also think the same
Hi your comment was pleasent (:
Great observation!
Grew. Fell. Shouted. These words could be made into a poem about bullying. All these peculiar actions could be hurting someone’s feelings.
I think this poem is going to be about a comedian or a jester and is showing someone posh. But he does not do anything right which makes the person watching snigger. However he is really angry and grumpy and does not like his job.
Bully!
It’s about a smart boy. There’s a bully that didn’t care about his actions. The tolled sound was the noise that made the harm begins.
This is my bit of the end of the poem:
A fog let out a cold white mist and then it all went silent. A whispering echo “who”. A scream let out and then she was gone. Late.
A tall shadowy figure stood before her
“Who are you!” she stood in fear.
“don’t ask questions my dear.”
Her feet lifted up like a pigeon getting in contact with a human.
Although she was being rescued she could feel a dark presence looming.
Crows flew as high as a cloud
While feathers of black fell loud and proud.
I knew this was a bad idea
She thought as she cowered in fear.
I really like the rhyming in this poem. It flows really naturally and gives the poem a really dark, scary feeling. Well done!
OOOH nice poem very mysterious
I like the way you used your rhyming it has inspired me to write more poems.
;0) love it
Sam carter
A very good poeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeem
Some one called.
She got fooled.
She could feel a hand.
It felt like sand.
THUMP!THUMP!
Was she in a dump?
Her body was still.
Is she against her will?
She wanted to talk.
Is some one watching like a hawk?
Was she in danger?
With a ranger?
Could she hear a shot?
And felt a dot.
She missed it.
Could it have hit?
She was going to be old.
And to be the gold.
The moon shone.
Then it was gone.
A sharp strike.
On the way to the hike.
Why was she late?
Had she lost her fate?
To SeaUrchin,
Your poem is really good. The desctriptive language is great and the story is strong.
You also did good use of rhyme.
Well Done! 😀
By Rose
THIS IS RELY GOOD!!! AND I LIKE THE RHYMING
SeaUrchin
i really like your poem because you rhymed and you tried to make it related to the poem you made. Also there were loads of questions trying to decide what happens.:)
I loved your poem it was great you I loved what you did with the rhyming I really liked it was wonderful.
Her eyes suddenly awoke.
The first thing she saw was coke.
It was a struggle to understand.
Her death was banned.
There,her family to share.
to care,
but from where?
Was my life assured?
A dangerous sounding voice out of nowhere said
You have been cured.
I had no idea where this led.
This is a very good poem it really tells you about what happened
Please see our video of our students performing ‘Late’ by Carol Ann Duffy:
https://youtu.be/kKnxU-oyjik
This is my short story based on the poem ‘Late’
She was eight. She was out late…too late. She bounced her damp, dirty tennis ball the she’d had since she was four. The sun dropped under the horizon. It seemed like light had never existed, it was so dark. And so cold. So, very cold. She took a shortcut through the churchyard. What a mistake that was…
Falling, falling. How could an open grave be so deep? It was damp, it smelled strange.
“Help, help it’s me!” she cried, like she thought anyone would answer. She shouted her own name. Nobody came. The church bells tolled like everything was going to be alright. Shame. Shame.
The cripplingly cold air froze her whole body. She clapped and stomped in attempt to gain even a little heat. Her breath was a stream of ghostly water.
The ominous clouds stared down at her, crying in sympathy. She was eight, almost nine, and she was late…
Here is my version of the poem:
It was eight o’clock. I was late. I was warned that the ghosts were out to catch me. I took a shortcut through the churchyard in my haste. I tripped, I fell into a grave. It was cold, it was damp. I felt a chill go up my spine. I felt another mind attacking mine. I shouted my name to fight it. I screamed for help and prayed. But it was no use, the ghost still possessed me. Then I felt my spirit leave, it had completely possessed me. I head for the moon, stars, and clouds, but they replied, “We warned you, you were late.” I asked for refuge, but they still replied, “We warned you, you were late.”
The midnight tune.
He’s a troll
With a tone
He froze
Within his bones
He bounced
With a clap
The bell tolled
strolled
He shouted
As I sniggered
I fell as he grew
In the midnight tune
Friends or not?
I froze
In the walking pose
Someone stared
but didn’t spare
I bounced
They pounced
I had behind a lamp
They stamped
He shouted
a dog panted
He fell
The prisoner was in a cell
The day of craze
Jack froze 1…2…3,
he fell to the ground.
we stared, he sniggered.
On top of the shed he stamped
at the church the bell tolled.
As he fell I grew. He bounced, I dropped.
I stared…He glared…
Down the well
I was walking down the street,
A girl looked down at my feet
I froze,
She wore ragged clothes,
The bell tolled
I stood cold,
She fell
In a well.
She called for help
I sniggered,
She screamed
I let her fall down the well.
By Mae
She was eight she was late she bounced a tennis ball she missed she stamped and shouted but after a while she froze and stared at me as if I was raw meat some people
sniggered they shouted I felt it and tolled it.
She was eight she was late she bounced a tennis ball she missed she stamped and shouted but after a while she froze and stared at me as if I was raw meat some people
sniggered they shouted I felt it and tolled it.
THE UNKNOWN PERSON!!!!
I froze ,
I stared,
As the poor girl glared,
While she stared at my sweets.
She wore raggy clothes ,
As she looked at her toes ,
The girl was lonely,
She was the one and only.
She grew ;
But no one knew……
By Juliana
While I walk I hear you talk,
I ask you why
You cry inside ,
I jump up and down
I do see you frown,
I froze and glared
All he does is stare,
She wore ragged shoe laces
And she had broken braces.
I sniggered,
I stamped,
I shouted,
I stared,
While the poor thing glared.
It wore ragged clothes,
As it also froze.
I grew with anger, the thing grew with fear.
I’m lonely
As I was the one and only.
Hi Emelie,
This reminds me of both Late and Poison Tree. Was that intentional?
Burger King
I ate some rice with a cherry on top
I sniggered at the food then I shouted “Hurray”
then I slammed the door shut with some burger cheese
Yum, Yum, Yum! I froze when I saw some… PASTA! “Yay”
We can’t be friend forever can we?
I was under a tree
He looked at me with glee
so we became friends
but then he stared
I froze,
he sniggered
my heart beat triggered
1, 2,3
The bell tolled 5 every Sunday
He had to leave on Monday.
I was ten and I stared.
Outside I heard the gang enclose
on my way home the church bell tolled
so I ran back to my warm home.
I was at home feeding my fish
and a window brock
in the silence of the wind I heard a gunshot
then I fell.
I shouted out in pain
and stamped my foot
my older brother sniggered at me
so I bounced up, shouted then froze.
The giant bell tolled.
drew had grew.
I froze like a red rose.
The bell had fell.
He shouted I snouted.
As I bounced my heart pounced.
Hi Giovanni,
I like the way you and your colleagues are shortening the poem. It makes it feel very different but with an echo of the original behind it.
The city of pity
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.
By Riley
THE CRAZY DAY
I was shouting my friend was
stamping I stared at a little bee.
I was running someone was chasing
there was a bear coming to me.
I tolled the toy and out comes a
jack in the box.
The night of terror
The night have come
When the tolled bell rung
My heart froze
I stared with terror
I heard a shout it grew louder and louder
The wind bounced off the trees
I shouted they sniggered in the breeze
Slowly I fell to my knees.
I got up
I’m finally free .
I was playing football what a sight,
As I bounced up and stamped down
And stared into the freezing cold night
I shouted and shouted and the whole crowd froze
I didn’t know what to do so I froze
I woke up the next morning not knowing what to do,
I ran out my bedroom
and locked myself in the loo.
I stared and glared as my heart triggered
as bullies sniggered.
As the mornings past by the bell tolled,
winter was here…….It was very cold……….
The shadow of raven 9pm….
The night have come 9pm
I wake up at midnight shadows
bounced in the bedroom
my body froze.
They grew then fell
The raven stared through
my window…
I sniggered to the
raven but what does he want?
The church bell tolled
Then the raven flew…
Hi Nina,
Do you know Edgar Allen Poe? He writes a poem on a Raven. I think you might find it interesting.
In English, we are doing an essay on the story ‘The Tell Tale Heart’ by Edgar Allen Poe. It’s really good!
THE CHILED THAT FROZE
The children froze and fell back .
The giant sniggered. Ha…Ha.
The giant grew taller and taller .
the children fell back.
a bell tolled in the silence of the wind.
The giant stared at a frozen fell back child.
The children shouted oh…no !!!
The girl walked home. It was growing dark, getting past nine. It was late for an eight-year-old. She was warned but took no notice. She didn’t care. The breeze blew her hair over her face. She walked faster across the park as it was becoming colder. She left the park. She wandered through some dark, narrow alleyways. Streetlights emitted a dull, eerie glow as she strolled past. Her shadow grew longer as she walked further away. An ugly church towered over her, casting a dark and cold shadow. She climbed over the gates of the graveyard.
Most eight-year-olds would have been frightened, but she did this every day. Gravestones stuck ominously out of the wet soil. Suddenly, she slipped and tumbled into an open grave.
“Help!” she yelled. She repeated it. No answer. She knew that if she was caught in this locked churchyard she would be in trouble. Big trouble. But if she wanted to get out of the ghastly hole, it was her only option.
Her breath curled out in front of her mouth like a ghost fleeing its grave. Mud covered her new shoes; she sank to the floor in despair. The full moon teased her with its innocent smile and made her feel all the worse. Thunder broke the silence in a strange sort of triumph. Dark clouds clumped together as though preparing for the final blow in a battle. She was eight, going on nine. And she was late.
By Serafino
A girl was playing tennis, she was out late. It was getting dark, it was as dark as a midnight fox no one was around at that time. The girl was bouncing her tennis ball, up and down towards her route to home. She was only eight but no one realised, the sun was down she had left. The stars were shining, the route to home was a long way, and the girl never cared.
The wind was howling, the trees were blowing the girl took a short cut behind the church yard. Suddenly she fell down the deep dark grave, but she was already warned. The air was as cold as ice it became freezing, her breath became a ghost floating into the sky. The mud beneath her was like slime, the girl cried “Help me” “Help me” it was no use. The moon was glaring at the girl as if the moon was angry at her, now the stars glowing as if they were fire burning out.
The thunder clouds gathered together as if they are in a party, it began raining. The rain turned into thunder, as it became later and later. The moon above the girl shone brightly, the girl realized that every minute she spent in the deep grave she would waste her life.
She was late.
By Choiying
Late
Once there was a girl her name was Martha and she was eight her eyes were sky blue, her hair was crimson red, her mother let her stay out late. She was playing tennis with her friend when the ball went over. Martha offered to get it, so she went outside the court, it was quite nippy so she ran but as she went in to the emerald green bush she saw a man. This very man she had seen before and before he warned her, he whispered to her “be warned”, she fetched the ball and ran back, Martha’s friend asked “anything happen, you took a bit long” “not much just a man who said be warned” Martha replied.
She finished her game and it was good so Martha and her friend went home Martha took a short cut through the churchyard. It was spooky. Every time she snapped a twig she jumped in fear. Crack! “Ahhhhhh,” “what was that” Martha asked herself. She lost concentration and balance. She fell. Crunch! “Ouuuuccccchhhh” Martha screamed. She had broken her leg…
“Help” she screamed ominously. Silence was throughout the church yard! She was dead!!
She was eight, going on nine.
She was late.
I was walking home late at night, bouncing the muddy tennis ball I found on the street. I was very excited, in thirty minutes I would turn nine. I couldn’t wait! I wanted to get home to open my presents so I took the short-cut through the spooky churchyard and ran through it. I didn’t like the eerie feeling it gave me and the silence seemed to ring in my ears. Suddenly, I dropped my tennis ball. The sound scared me at first but once I realised what it was I looked around to see where it went. “Where did you roll off to?” I whispered to myself, peering in the grass for some sign of it. Then I spotted it behind a gravestone, in the distance. As I went to pick it up I tripped over my other foot and tumbled… right into an open grave.
After what felt like an eternity, I realised that my nose was turning blue. I clap my hands and the sound echoes off of the dirt walls of the grave. I hug myself, trying to conserve all of the warmth I had. I call for help with my croaky voice “Help. Help me”. But no-one came. My breath, white as a ghost, rose up into the cold misty air around me. I felt strange, I felt…
I was eight, going on nine.
It was late.
A young girl of eight, was walking home. She bounced her tennis ball in the last of the light, while humming to herself. The sun was setting in the distance, causing an orange glow on the road she was walking on.
She was late. She was meant be to home hours ago, her parents were probably worried. She didn’t care. She felt brave walking along the streets of New York City alone
Focusing on her ball to keep it bouncing in-front of her; she wasn’t looking at the church yard ahead of her. She stepped on to some loose soil. “Wahh!” she screamed as she fell. Soil landed on her perfect blonde pig-tails, encrusting them with dirt. She landed in a cushion of mud. Her clothes now brown- not white. She was about 6ft underground. “Help!” she shouted up the hole. No answer came. “Help!” She repeated, yet, even louder. Still, no answer.
The church bells rang 10 o’clock. She was growing very cold. She hugged herself as her misty breath floated up and out of the hole. She started to cry, missing her warm coat, and her mother and father. She then grew angry, at the hole and how it had trapped her. She started to kick the walls of the hole. It only resulted in soil falling on her. She collapsed to the floor. She was eight, and she was late.
By Rose
This is my story of late.
An eight year old little girl wondering the urban streets late at night with a tennis ball bouncing monotonously on the floor. She was coming back from playing tennis with her friends, tired. The bright moonlight was beaming over her as she trudged. Eager to get home as she was weary, the little eight year old girl took a shortcut through the gloomy churchyard.
This little girl was brave. However as she was walking, she tripped, stumbled, fell. She tumbled deep down in to an open grave which was damp, which was dark and also deep for this little girl. “Aaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh” she screamed at the top of her quiet voice. She was stuck in a cavernous hole. Scared and petrified she froze inside, then she started to shiver. The blueness on her nose started to spread around her face. She was hugging herself in hope. Then as she breathed a ghost came out of her mouth and floated over her head. She prayed.
Only the moon and the ghost stayed above her head, only the stars in the sky still sniggered in the distance. She was eight, going on nine. She was late!
Friday 18 November 2016
WALT: Write a story
She walked down the silent street, her gentle footsteps in unison with the constant bounce of a tennis ball. The sun peeked over the horizon and sprinkled the roofs with orange and yellow light while a cloak of velvet blue followed.
She was eight years old; almost nine. She was late. Her parents expected her to be back half an hour ago. She glanced at her watch and her eyes grew wide. The small girl looked up, and sprinted round the corner. Weaving through a maze of brick and stone, she decided to take a shortcut through the gloomy churchyard.
A dark, mysterious mist settled on the graves. She crept through the soil and stones, slimy leaves squelching under her feet. The church was a dark silhouette, and its spire seemed like a sword that pierced the dark sky. Suddenly, she felt the ground give way under her…
Walls of soil stood around her. Worms squirmed and wriggled, peering out of the dirt doors. She froze. Petrified. Collecting her wits, she yelped and screamed for help. She kicked, punched, tore, thrashed, hit, and pushed at the soil. She clawed at it, desperately trying to grasp the smooth stone which marked the grave. Finally, she gave up. The golden church bells tolled, and crows screeched and flapped their wings. She started to cry.
The small, delicate girl hugged herself in fear. Her breathe floated up like a ghost. The moon, with its huge callous face, shone down on her, shaming her. The stars giggled, and the thunder clapped, laughing mockingly. The girl felt salty tears streamed down her rosy cheeks. She was eight, and she was late.
By Edie
The moon shone brightly in the black sky lighting the dirty roads in the middle of the busy city. It was cold and the park lake had frozen across. In the park there were lights guiding the paths. The church-bell rang when and it struck nine over and over again. In the middle of the locked up park was a court and two girls playing tennis. One girl and her friend, who had ginger locks, was serving a bright florescent green ball. With her netted racquet she hit it when the bell struck its final chime the girl missed the return.
She was late!
She darted back with a racquet still in her hand. She tripped into a pile of tangled tree branches. The girl was late for her own birthday. She had to take a short cut. She jumped over a fence. The little girl ran and the wind flew back into her hair. Dark shadows loomed over her head putting her into full darkness. She became scared, REALLY SCARED. The grass was wet. She slipped into an open grave.
The air was cold and she saw her breath float up from the 6 ft whole like a lone soul. She was eight going on nine and she was late.
There was a girl, her name was Nancy. She was eight. Nancy was out late. She had brown hair, her eyes were bright green. Fro-ing her ball up and down. She worked pars the church tower. Then she remember a short cut through the grave yard, it was dark and gloomy. There were vines hanging down from the side of the walls
Nancy worked along the path, she skipped through the grave yard. Suddenly she fell in to an open grave. She screamed for help but nobody came. She shouted, stomped her feet but nobody herd her. Help me she shouted nervously. She sank to the ground wondering why she came throw the short cut, then she fell asleep
Lucy was only eight. She had lovely blue shimmering eyes and beautiful brown hair. She loved to go out late. She would often bonce a tennis ball to make time go by. Waiting for the lights to turn off. Many times her parents warned her about dangers. But she would never listen.
The night grew cold as the wind howled, walking past the lost souls. Lucy was only young trying to get home an easy way. She was very brave and did not have a sight of fear. Walking through the church yard.
Then she tripped and fell into a dark bed for the dead. Scared, worried, panicking she shouted screamed. Nobody heard nobody came. She heard the bells ring and repeating shame, shame. Lucy was so cold slowly turning into ice, trying to find warmth. She stamped her feet on the soft cold soil.
She lay there hugging herself, praying for a miracle to happen. The moon shinning down upon Lucy terrified face. Stars was the only thing she could see thousands of miles away. She was eight years old waiting to be nine. No matter what Lucy couldn’t be late.
By Elvie
to niceniki,
I like how you tried to make it rhyme effectively and it is a good rhythm.
I was walking home to my all – night – disco party, bouncing my tennis ball casually. Hang on, where are my manners. My name is Izzy. I wasn’t supposed to be out this late though, but I was having so much fun that I lost track of time at my best friend’s house. We were playing outside in her garden with my tennis ball. I can do anything I want because my parents let me. Anyway, I glanced at my watch and found that it was half past seven so I decided that it was time to go because I was having a party that I did not want to miss.
So here I am, walking home to my best friend’s party. I am looking forward to it greatly. I took a shortcut through the dark, ominous graveyard, jumping up and whooping with glee.
Suddenly I felt something. Sort of a change in the air. It became colder, as though a storm was brewing. Rain lashed at my hair, the wind whipping it around my face. It was cold, so cold. I heard a massive clap of thunder which shook the ground at my feet. Suddenly a fork of lightning lit up the night around me.
Then something took me by surprised me so much I almost fainted. There was a figure standing at the closed gate. I stared to back up. Then I felt a plummeting feeling at the edge of my heart. I fell ten feet into an open grave.
She was eight, going on nine. She was late!
to seaUrchin,
You have used short lines very effectively in your poem. it gives a great punch to the poem making it exciting.
I am eight years old I was out late I have brown hair and Ice blue eyes.
I was riding my bike.my mum told me to never go to the graveyard because theres always something lucking down there. But my mind was telling me to go and for once I did not listen to my mom. I rode my bike to the graveyard worried about what is there, and as I got there I slipped and fell into a
a deep,damp, strange grave.
Help, I bellowed Help, it’s Me! I screamed my own name.
But Nobody came.
The church bells tolled side to side like it was saying something. Shame. Shame.
I froze, my nose turned blue.
I clapped my hands so many times.My feet stamped in the soft slip-away soil.
I tried to hug myself .My breath was a ghost floating up from the grave. Then I prayed for hope that maybe there is some peace. But only the moon stared down at me with its callous face. Only the spiteful stars giggled, far out in space.
Only the gathering clouds threw down a clap of thunder like an ace. I am eight, going on nine. I was late.
It was dark, Lauren was nowhere to be seen she was late. Lauren was 8 years old walking alone in a dangerous village where had she gone? She had felt like a soul. She was slowly turning in to air but she didn’t know. Lauren was lost, lost where had she gone. Time was going past she was fading away.
Thunder clapped then she clapped now she knew what was happening. She ran she knew she was late. It was silence. Nothing else her body slowly faded away. She now was just mists. It was past nine and she was late.
Late one night a girl who was about 8, solemnly bounced a tennis ball down the deserted dusty road. The cold was starting to grab its icy fingers around everything and everyone. So she took a shortcut through a foggy churchyard, her feet silently treading on the frosty grass. The girl was a brave soul and was not afraid of much. Suddenly she fell into an open grave and darkness folded around her like a card in an envelope.
The hole was deep, it was damp and it smelled peculiar. Her little voice cried for help but the wall of her new prison enclosed her and nobody came to her rescue. Not very far away church bells tolled sadly as if they were mourning her fall…To a possible death. Suddenly the cold got to her, and in a short amount of time her nose rapidly turned blue. Her feet stamped, she clapped her hands. She could not get warm…As a last effort she hugged herself trying to stop the cold that was creeping up on her like a Jaguar. Her breath curled up into the sky like a dying snake.
The moon shone bright down at her with its callous face. And she stared back up at it. The stars up in space sniggered down at her, but they could not help her… The silence was deafening. Suddenly a huge thunderclap roared in her ears, which were thrown down by the black gathering clouds.
She was eight going on nine.
And she was late.
It was dark, she had just finished had just lesson tennis lesson. Walking around in the middle of nowhere trying to find her home. But she was only eight. And time was running out. She tried to find a short cut at the churchyard. While she was there she felt something wrong. There was something strange about this place. So strange that she couldn’t see here shadow.
She was still at the churchyard. Still feeling about weary about where she is. The girl tried to distract herself by bouncing a tennis ball. Most eight year olds would be scared. But she wasn’t like. She was brave and cunning. And she always has a plan. But not today. She was confused and frightened and did not know what to do.
She was wondering around trying to find the way out .But her lucky always came to a dead end. She was crying, begging for help. But no one herd her. She stop walking and started to run. Until she landed in a massive hole.
She tried to climb her way out. Until a voice finally came. “Who there” The voice shouted. The girl screamed “HELP ME, HELP ME. But the voice did not reply. A shadow approaching the whole. She thought her luck finally came. But the shadow pick up a shovel and cover the whole with soil. The young girl was breed alive. And she was only eight.
Hi Nimo,
Terrifying! Particularly the ending.
A young Boy was eight, and he was walking home late. He bounced his tennis ball in the last of the light, while humming to himself. The sun was setting in the distance, causing a bright glow on the beautiful road in America.
He was late. She was meant be to home, her parents were worried. He didn’t care. He felt brave walking along the streets of America
He wasn’t looking at the church yard, while he was bouncing his ball. One more step and ’’aaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!!!!!!!!’’ He screamed as he fell.
‘’HELP’’he shouted, but no-one came. His parents were extremely worried and couldn’t find him. ‘‘Help’’, and he never went out again.
By Mohamed
Hi Mo,
Great use of detail from the original poem to create your own story version.
I was 8 when it happened, 8.I was out late one night bouncing my tennis ball homeward, again and again and again. It was nearly my bedtime. I was warned not to go out late. Why wouldn’t I listen, I don’t know why I really don’t. It grew cold really cold ¬- so I decided to tack a short cut through the graveyard. That was a big mistake.one id never forget. I thought that I was really brave; back then I was I really was. I had no care to look at my path and that was also a mistake. The most stupid mistake.
It was deep. It was damp. It smelled strange. Help, I cried, Help, it’s me! I shouted my name but nobody came. The church bells tolled sadly. Shame. Shame. I sat frozen on the ground watching the sky as the pole star past. My nose had turned had turned blue. I clapped my hands hoping someone will hear me. I got up and stamped my feet in soft, slip-away soil. I hugged self as I realised that I was, I was scared. I’ve never had this feeling I realised. My breath was a ghost floating up from a grave. Then I prayed, I prayed harder than ever because I was scared.
It was deep. It was damp. It smelled strange. Help I cried.
No matter how hard I cried, screamed and stamped no one came. Only the moon stared down at me with its callous face.
Only the spiteful stars sniggered, far out in space. Only the gathering clouds threw down a clap of thunder like an ace.
And me? Well I was eight, going on nine. I was late.
By Asmaa
Late
It was late one night and the clock struck 8. Emily who was 8 with chocolate brown hair. Was walking home from the park Emily decided to take a short cut she as she went in the church yard she made herself weary. She felt a sudden breeze swoop upon her a sudden tap was on her shoulder. she screamed .She squinted her eyes shut. She ran. But felt her foot touch no ground instead nothing.
She fell into a dark pit. Cuts and grazes cover her body, blood dripping from her arms and legs. She cried in pain. screaming HELP HELP HELP!!!! No one answered her call for help. she was in pure agony she attempted to climb the the pits walls but her hand went right threw the wall. she then realised it was over she looked down and saw her bloody flesh. She had pale skin she thought to herself this isn’t how I want my death to be, I want to die of age, or a great honer not bleeding to death.
That night. She was late.
I think its about when a girl is having a nice day but then it turns into a horror because she fell into a grave and it can also be about someone getting revenge on her because she or her family might of done in the past.
My recreation of Late by Carol Ann Duffy as a Short Story
Person POV
Oh No! I’m gonna be late for my brother’s birthday! I need to run through the graveyard to get there.
…
…
Oh, so creepy…
…
Al-most ther-AHHHHH!
*CRASH*
Ow…
Where am I? Am I in a grave? AHHHHH!
I always had a fear of being dead.
Please… Stay alive…
…
…
…
I’m so cold, my feet are freezing, my head is burning…
…
I feel like I’m as light as air…
…
I’m free from this cruel world…
…
I’m LATE…
Late
She was late. She was eight.
She walked and bounced a ball.
She passed through a graveyard.
She fell into a grave.
She yelled for help.
But no-one came.
She yelled her name.
But still no-one came.
Until the next day.
Still stuck in the grave.
But if you saw her.
It’d be impossible she was grey.
The girl who was eight.
Was almost nine.
She waited till midnight.
And then she died.
My recreation of ‘Late’
Late (a story)
Lia was walking on her way home. She was an eight year old at night. Not very smart but oh well. She heard the chime of a clock in the distance. It was eight. She decided to take the shortcut behind the church. As the light faded, so did her sight. Lia ran blindly and found herself falling into an open grave.
She screamed, she stamped…but no use. No ears heard her cry. She lay down. All she could do now was get some rest.
A man who had heard the shouting came to the grave. This man was known in the town for being superstitious. He thought the girl was dead. He thought crazy things so don’t be surprised when I tell you that he thought the screaming came from the girl’s ghost telling them to close the coffin. So he did…
“Honey, where is Lia. She is… late…”
Recreation of LATE as a short story.
Eight year-old at night bouncing her bouncy tennis ball in the massive jungle. Well… it isn’t a jungle it’s actually a small teeny, weeny, cute forest. Aaaanyway, the girl is bouncing a ball VERY late at night and she is only eight. She’s walking and walking and as an eight year old left unattended at night would do is, inevitably, fall into a ditch dug for a gravestone.
She is calling for help, and is mourning, FOR HERSELF!!! Since a church is nearby she thinks she is bound to get help. But not much later from eight to nine, she is late.
Its was just a blur all I could feel was the cold,thick fog trying to swallow my soul but then I looked down and there was my human form,my body laying there helplessly with no hope. Suddenly I was tapped on the shoulder, “Your’re Too Late.” And then I realised I was…Dead, I WAS TOOL LATE!
as i whacked the tennis ball against the wall the clock without warning struck 12. i had to run before i was late.
i ran and ran so i wouldnt get in trouble but i was already late,i had to run so i would get home on time. Suddenley the rain began to pitter patter on the roofs (pit pat pit pat) i had to nget home quick, id have to make a risky move through the graveyard i go…
as i ran through the graveyard somnething slipped beneath my feet and my head was throbbing.i was in a grave 9 feet deep.at least i wont get in trouble for being late…HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHASHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH, im dead
Late
The girl of eight knew she was late ; those extra hours of PE in school were going to cost her a duel between herself and her mother. she began to sprint, almost there, she forgot were she was but instantly remembered a way back but In doing so she had to pass the abandoned graveyard- she ran so fast she almost forgot she’d past the entire graveyard but unluckily for her she fell straight down an empty grave; she cried and screamed she yelled her name yet no one came there was only herself to blame. As time past it got cold too fast she was almost nine but tonight she was just too late for now she was in internal sleep she had fallen way to deep .
Carol Anne Duffy – Late (my interpretation as a short story)
The young eight year old girl was out late, bouncing her tennis ball homewards towards the cold night; she had been warned that it would be cold out.
She bravely took a slight shortcut through the churchyard, but abruptly fell into a deep, damp, and strange smelling open grave. She cried out for help as the church-bells shamefully rang, but nobody came to her aid. She immediately froze, her nose tipped blue.
She stomped and clapped in frustration, hugging herself, and exhaling her last ghostly breaths.
And then she prayed
Then moon glared down at her up from space, and the stars laughed in her face, thunder now crackling through the clouds, and as she finally turned nine, it turned out that she was too late
(It’s not my best work, but I didn’t really have much to work with)
This is my direct version of the poem made into a story:
THE COUNTDOWN OF THE BELL
She was eight, she tried to be early but she managed to go outside later than she had expected, she took out her dirty old tennis ball and threw it across the street, she’d remembered when she got that ball a a birthday present, she only had a ball because her dad couldn’t afford the rackets, anyway, she had to get home before dusk, the master had warned her of being late, it was also getting cold so she decided to take a shortcut through the churchyard, it was so foggy she could not even see where she was going suddenly she fell, in an open grave, she screamed and tried to get a grip hold on the edge but it was too late, she was now falling, falling to her terrible fate, suddenly she felt something soft, she could sit up, she now knew that she had reached the bottom. She cried “Help, its me!”but she could only hear her terrified whimper in the echoes of the cavern, she could hear the church bell tolling, tolling as if to tell her the world that waited for her. It scared her. She knew what was next. She hugged herself and prayed for her life, suddenly she felt a jolt and she was tossed up into the clouds, the moon stared down with its callous face, and the clouds rumbled like an ace. She is eight but soon she is nine, but sadly she was late.
maddie laverne (IAMS)
my theory on “Late” carol anne duffy.
I feel this poem is really deep, very intense and gloomy.
its really graphic and i think she has explained the scenery feel and feelings extremely well. Also i think that in the end she becomes a ghostly creature of some sort. Or to put it in other words…possessed by this ghostly, scary, peculiar creature
I was eight and I was out to late.
my tennis ball bounced homewards before me in the last of the light.
I was strictly warned . I should have known . It grew could.
cautiously but not cautiously enough I took a shortcut through the churchyard.
boy was that a mistake.
I was small and quite brave .
sadly I fell into an open grave.
It was deep. it was damp. it smelled of fungus
Help, help I cried its me lilly come back
Sabotage I thought to me self
The church bells tolled sadly .