Young poets in Years 9, 10 and 12 are writing poems inspired by particular places of importance to them, painting word-pictures of those places and drawing on a rich emotional palette. Here you will find some poems written by pupils in Year 9, the youngest year group in the senior school. The poems are fresh and honest, and show a deft touch and attention to detail. I hope you enjoy them.
James Baddock, Head of English, Drama & Media,
The river flows beneath the night sky
In spring you see the birds learn how to fly
In summer there is the smell of fresh cut grass
And all the people begin to laugh
The swans and ducks then begin to waddle away
And all the children start to play
Autumn comes around fast
And clearing leaves becomes a task
Winter comes in hard before everyone’s eyes
And we all fill up on mince pies
Hot chocolate time by the fire place
Looking onto the Christmas lace
Next comes new year
When everyone forgets all the fear
by Ella and Zoe
Into the river they paddle and dip,
The slender, silvery
The willow tree
Is where I choose,
As I did before,
And before that.
Riveted, gnarled, ancient,
Book in hand,
The breeze ripples and eddies,
Reflecting the river below.
Snatching up the silvery stream,
They dive, they soar,
Up and away.
The magnitude of the mountains
Their prowess engulfing the slight senescence.
Tiny streams weeping across the prepossessing landscape,
Emerging as an alluring blur –
Pronouncing the innocence and purity of the mist.
Darkness drifts silently and swiftly upon you,
The once aesthetic landscape is now reticent.
Rogue shadows slink with faint, pitiful cries,
Mourning for their relief of death,
The ripples of blood swamping this innocence and purity
With the deep boldness and obnoxiousness.
In a trice, rays of light pierce through the recondite
Of darkness, like a hot knife through butter.
A glimpse of freedom, shone as bright as a star
Through the bleak barbarity of darkness,
Churning in my head, head, head.
The sky is like a zen garden
Lights bright like stars
Grass as green as money
Water like a mirror
I must stay
The purple flash left in my mind
The hut below dodged the threat
My eyes are black my eyes are blind
The place below is getting wet
The clouds line the heavenly door
The street so silent and bare
The litter does roll on the floor
The smell of chips in the air
The candle lights are no match
The tree sways and sigh
The lonely dog starts to scratch
The room to sleep I must buy
They open my door
And are cold no more
The sun is a little boy with a magnifying glass
Burning all the ants,
Everywhere you go a predator is watching your every step,
All the animals staring into the abyss above,
Waiting for short showers,
Fighting for a drop of water,
Nervous to approach you,
Creeping into shadows,
A desert with no oasis,
The birds guarding the skies
As you walk on the crispy cracked earth.
The old wise men of Moccas.
Where the deer roam all day,
I could stay there all day listening to
the sounds of the wind within the leaves.
I listen with content in my heart. The
Peacefulness is overwhelming and my
Mind is at ease here.You can be
her forever without any disturbance.
Just the way it should be.
Different adventures everyday,
From low to high. Sometimes it’s
Inclement other times it is
Radiant, just like the house.
No disturbance just innocence.
It is easy to lose track of time.
You lose all thoughts.
……………a spiritual place of wonder,
the sun even cowers behind burnt branches and neglected pressure,
except for a slight rustle of leaves,
…………..I can unwind,
not everything is as it seems,
……………standing out is just someone’s hobby,
……………and there is nothing to be done about it,
……………and I exhale..
Sifting through each memory,
Every sense of time and space,
In the midst of this desolate place
Inmates dull and grey,
Nothing left to live for.
Each day another burden,
Hearts rubbed red and raw.
Locked up at night
Locked up in day.
Memories of the outside world,
Drift by each passing day.
There’s nothing left,
All hope is gone.
There’s nothing left,
My life is done.
World War II London
Sirens going, whistles blowing, bombs fall to the ground,
People running everywhere, confusion all around,
A shout goes out, someone’s hurt, the ambulance moves fast,
Where are the children? Are they safe? I am remembering my past.
Once the houses stood around lovely village greens,
With enormous homes full of love and life,
And children and a husband and a dutiful wife,
A world full of hope, a future full of dreams.
But now all that’s left is a horrible scene,
I must try to stop this to get back what has been,
What is left for you and me,
When the nations of the world cannot see,
They dominate us with power and might,
What is left for our children,
How will they learn what is wrong and right?
So let’s teach them to be tolerant, patient and kind,
To learn that the use of guns is weaker than the mind,
Let’s make it right for you and for me,
So that our children can see how we used to be.
Dubai … expanse of desert
With lots of Palm trees and
Lost in the overwhelming brown
Buildings appear from a distance,
Cars going from side to side,
The Human habitation desert gone,
Dubai is as hot as a boiling kennel,
The sand is crisp gold cornflakes,
The water is as warm as a hot
The rooms are as cold as ice cubes
That’s the city of
I go to the magical island Minorca
the smell of fresh figs breathing though my nose
I jump in the swimming pool
I get a breath of hot air
And then paralysingly cold water
I’m relaxed and joyful
I get on the jetski
Bumping and bashing
I fall off
The cries of death whispered around the corridors,
Murmurs discussing the blood that stained the sheets,
Eager footsteps caressed the floors,
As the pained looks rushed to meet their fate.
As soon as the doors opened,
The unwilling were engulfed into a world,
Sanitised and streaked with fear,
The operating room beds creased with the contours of paralysed legs,
The shadows of the doctors swarmed over patients,
As the rubber gloves searched for the beast that crawled inside of them,
The beast that could cause the end.