Photo Credit: winterofdiscontent via Compfight
We have done a lot of work with poems in English too.
We have learnt some.
We have found pictures to illustrate some
and we have written some ourselves.
You can find them on this link here.
Photo Credit: winterofdiscontent via Compfight
We have done a lot of work with poems in English too.
We have learnt some.
We have found pictures to illustrate some
and we have written some ourselves.
You can find them on this link here.
Hot July brings cooling showers,
Apricots and gillyflowers.
Photo Credit: Eroua Photography via Compfight
Photo Credit: Schristia via Compfight
maggy and milly and molly and may
went down to the beach(to play one day)
and maggie discovered a shell that sang
so sweetly she couldn't remember her troubles,
and milly befriended a stranded star
whose rays five languid fingers were;
and molly was chased by a horrible thing
which raced sideways while blowing bubbles:
and may came home with a smooth round stone
as small as a world and as large as alone.
For whatever we lose (like a you or a me)
its always ourselves we find in the sea
ee cummings
Photo Credit: Lino Gambella via Compfight
What is the Sun? by Wes Magee
the Sun is an orange dinghy
sailing across a calm sea
it is a gold coin
dropped down a drain in Heaven
the Sun is a yellow beach ball
kicked high into the summer sky
it is a red thumb-print
on a sheet of pale blue paper
the Sun is a milk bottle’s gold top
floating in a puddle
June brings tulips, lilies, roses,
Fills the children’s hand with posies.
Photo Credit: Jeannie Fletcher via Compfight
May brings flocks of pretty lambs,
Skipping by their fleecy dams.
Photo Credit: Chris Paul via Compfight
April brings the primrose sweet,
Scatters daises at our feet.
Photo Credit: Pietro Bellini via Compfight
Photo Credit: Andre Delhaye via Compfight
My Mother
She is the sound of the dishwasher closing
She is the colour white,
the same colour as the washing machine!
She would be a comfy armchair
She is ice cream
because she is cool when things go bad.
She is a tiger because she protects me.
She is a golden daffodil, standing tall.
She is birthdays all year round.
Photo Credit: Durotriges via Compfight
Here are some more poems for Mothers’ Day:
These poems were written using an idea
called ‘The Furniture Game’
from Sandy Brownjohn’s book,
‘Does It Have To Rhyme?’ (Hodder & Stoughton, 1980)
Photo Credit: Schub@ via Compfight
There are ten ghosts in the pantry,
There are nine upon the stairs,
There are eight ghosts in the attic,
There are seven on the chairs,
There are six within the kitchen,
There are five along the hall,
There are four upon the ceiling,
There are three upon the wall,
There are two ghosts on the carpet,
Doing things that ghosts will do,
There is one ghost right behind me
Who is oh so quiet . . . BOO!
Jack Prelutsky
In a dark, dark wood,
there was a dark, dark house;
And in the dark, dark house,
there was a dark, dark room;
And in the dark, dark room,
there was a dark, dark cupboard;
And in the dark, dark cupboard,
there was a dark, dark shelf;
And on the dark, dark shelf
there was a dark, dark box;
And in the dark, dark box
there was a….ghost!
Photo Credit: Great Beyond via Compfight
In a dark, dark wood there was a dark, dark house;
And in the dark, dark house there was a dark, dark room;
And in the dark, dark room there was a dark, dark cupboard;
And in the dark, dark cupboard there was a dark, dark shelf;
And on the dark, dark shelf there was a dark, dark box;
And in the dark, dark box there was a….witch!
Photo Credit: Iva Wilcox via Compfight
Photo Credit: Flavio Casadei Della Chiesa via Compfight
Do you want to be a wizard?
Well, you need a pointed hat
With silver stars and golden moon
And perched on top ……a bat.
Do you want to be a wizard?
Well, you’ll need a Book of Spells
and rotten eggs and fried frogs
to make some horrid smells.
Do you want to be a wizard?
Well, you’ll need some pickled brains,
A wand, a cloak, and one dead rat,
And great slime from the drains.
Do you still want to be a wizard?
Autumn Word Picture
Paths like brown ribbons,
A sky that is dark blue.
A forest of golden leaves,
with a sky peeping through.
Blackberries, deep purple,
A seabirds call,
One day it was summer,
The next it was Fall.
Anon.
This week we experimented with
We found it easy to use
and we got better with practice.
We used Visual Poetry Mosaic to turn
an Autumn Poem about a squirrel into a picture.
This is the poem:
Whisky, frisky,
Hippity hop;
Up he goes
To the tree top!
Whirly, twirly,
Round and round,
Down he scampers
To the ground.
Furly, curly
What a tail!
Tall as a feather
Broad as a sail!
Where’s his supper?
In the shell,
Snappity, crackity,
Out it fell.
Anon.
This is the picture.
An bhfaca tú an chailleach?
An bhfaca tú
an chailleach?
Chonaic mise í,
Lena srón mór fada,
Is a fiacla gránna buí.
Hubail rubail bubail,
Hubail rubail bubail.
Photo Credit: Dave via Compfight
An bhfaca tú
an chailleach?
Chonaic mise í,
Lena cat mór fada,
Ar an scuab ina suí,
Hubail rubail bubail,
Hubail rubail bubail.
Photo Credit: Valerie via Compfight
When it is late
When it is late
and it is dark
and everybody sleeps.
Shhh!
Into our kitchen
a small ghost creeps.
Shhh!
Then he clatters and clangs,
batters and bangs.
So we pull up the cover
over our heads
and we block up our ears
and
STAY
IN
BED.
I saw a ghost.
I saw a ghost
that stared
and stared.
I stood still
and acted scared.
But that was just
a big pretend.
I knew that ghost.
It was MY FRIEND.
Photo Credit: Brett Kiger via Compfight
The skeletons are out tonight,
They march about the street,
With bony heads and bony knees,
And bony hands and feet.
Bony, bony, bony, bony,
Nothing in between,
Up and down and all around
They march on …
HALLOWE’EN.
Traditional
A goblin lives in our house
in our house
in our house.
A goblin lives in our house
all year round.
And he bumps
and he jumps
and he thumps
and he stumps.
And he knocks
and he rocks
and he rattles
at the locks.
A goblin lives in our house
in our house
in our house.
A goblin lives in our house
all year round.
Anon
Photo Credit: Bernat Casero via Compfight
Witch, Witch
Witch witch,
where do you fly?
Under the clouds
and over the sky.
Witch, witch,
what do you eat?
Little black apples
from Hurricane Street.
Witch, witch,
what do you drink?
Vinegar and good red ink.
Witch, witch,
where do you sleep?
Up in the clouds
where the pillows are cheap.
Traditional
The Smallest Witch
The smallest witch,
I ever did see,
Just peeked through the window
and looked at me.
I waved once or twice
but very soon,
She jumped three times
and flew to the moon.
Anon
THE PRAYER OF A DONKEY
by Carmen Bernos De Gasztol
Photo Credit: sookie via Compfight
O God, who made me to trudge along the road always,
to carry heavy loads always
and to be beaten always !
Give me great courage and gentleness.
One day let somebody understand me …
that I may no longer want to weep
because I can never say what I mean
and they make fun of me.
Photo Credit: Colin via Compfight
Let me find a juice thistle …
and make them give me time to pick it.
And Lord, one day, let me find again
my little brother at the Christmas crib.
Amen
This poem is a useful model for writing others.
See ‘Prayer of a Teacher’ by Stephanie W.
You could try writing ‘Prayer of a Student’ 🙂
Photo Credit: darwin Bell via Compfight
Ms O’M
If she was a tree,
she would be an oak tree
because she is wise.
If she was a flower,
she would be
cherry blossom
because she is
pretty in pink.
If she was an ice cream,
she would be chocolate mint,
because she is cool.
If she was candy,
she would be an apple drop,
because she is sweet.
If she was food,
she would be
‘Queen of Puddings’
because she is
the best in the world.
She is the colour gold,
because we value her.
She is sunshine all year round.
The school won’t be the same without you.
Photo Credit: Kikasz via Compfight
I was tidying up my papers
at the end of the school year
and found a remarkable poem,
written by a past pupil.
‘Voltemorte’ by Rory
If he was a sound…
he would be a snake hiss.
He is the colour grey.
He is thunder and lightening.
Splintered wood.
He is a poisoned cup.
He is a thorn bush.
He would be a dark, cruel,
Winter’s night, all year round!
We read Frank Asch’s poem Sunflakes
We talked about images that the poem put into our minds.
Then we wrote our own poems.
Photo Credit: Luca Argalia via Compfight
‘Starflakes’ by Shauna
If stars fell like snowflakes,
bright, shining and beautiful,
we could build a starman.
We could have a star fight.
We could watch the starflakes
dancing in the air.
We could have a star party
and we wouldn’t have a care.
Photo Credit: Steve Bridger via Compfight
‘Fireworks’ by Max
If fireworks fell like snowflakes
multicoloured and sparkling,
we could build a firework man!
We could have a firework fight!
We would watch the fireflakes
flickering in the dark.
We could have a firework display
and watch it in the park.
Photo Credit: David Blackwell. via Compfight
‘Magic’ by Alice
If magic fell like snowflakes,
sparkly and so pretty,
we could build a magic man,
we could have a magic fight.
We could watch the sparkle flakes
drifting in the blue.
We could have three wishes,
two for me
and one for you!
All around the garden flowers
Big velvet bees are bumbling,
They hover low and as they go
They’re mumbling, mumbling, mumbling.
To lavender and snapdragons
The busy bees keep coming,
And all the busy afternoon
They’re humming, humming, humming.
Inside each bell-shaped flower and rose
They busily go stumbling,
Collecting pollen all day long
bumbling, bumbling, bumbling.
Can you spot the nouns, verbs, adjectives and adverbs?