Form Three Poetry
Form Three have been studying poetry recently and were asked to produce two poems of their own; firstly, a poem reflecting their time at Belhaven Hill and then secondly, a free poem on any topic they should care to choose.
Here is a selection of the best:
My First Day
Walking up the steps,
No idea what to expect.
Seeing the unfamiliar face of the girl who was going to look after me.
I remember feeling nervous but also longing to know what it was like there,
that strange place that I was frankly scared of so long ago.
The smooth wooden banister soothed my mind which was sick with anxiety as I walked the stairs.
I remember walking through a door with a lock on it like it made sure the children didn’t escape.
The courtyard was a dark and damp place,
a sinister looking building towering above it casting a shadow.
I thought I might hate it here,
it seemed deserted.
Remember seeing a group of buildings where I could hear laughter coming from,
My emotions changed again.
I walked through a corridor and into a square area with pond in.
Its water was murky and grey,
The plants around it looked dead,
skeletal.
This place is probably haunted, I was thinking as I walked up the path.
People were staring at me through the windows like I was some kind of rare artefact,
I just kept walking.
The girl who was showing me round led me through two doors into quite a small classroom.
Everyone was smiling at me,
I just wanted to disappear.
Bridget Stuart
Night Games
The sun shone brightly as we drove up the drive, Me and my brother took our last breath, Out of the car we went to find out the latest news, Exchanging photos and souvenirs.
Then off we rushed to our houses,
Yet to find out who was in what dorm,
Named after trees our dorms were,
Me I was in willow,
My friends were all there,
Jumping about saying:
‘how were your hols?’’
And
‘I went to …’’
In all this rush,
You forget to say goodbye to your mothers and fathers.
You get annoyed and upset,
But soon are forgetting this news.
The first night of term is always a crazy one,
Matrons annoyed about the burst of excitement,
And the rush everywhere,
They tell us to hush but we pay no attention,
And get more hyper!
At last the lights are turned off,
And whispering al around:
‘what shall we play tonight?’ we say
Hide and seek, Chinese whispers, secrets or just talk!
Unfortunately that moment the teacher walked in:
‘no talking, girls!’’
She says to our annoyance,
And a moan goes round and then silence for that night.
The next day we planned hide and seek,
And so when the night came we started to count:
One, two, three,
We counted to one hundred,
There was only one rule:
Not to hide out of the dorm!
We rushed for our places and held our breath,
We hear the seeker say:
Ninety nine
And then a few giggles came from the room,
Then silence,
And then all of a sudden an outburst of laughter,
Then everyone hears the dreaded footsteps of the teacher,
We rush for our beds,
Our hearts pumping with adrenalin
A crack of light comes from the door,
Some of us are in mid step,
Then to our relief it goes away,
We creep back to our beds and sleep.
The next day we played rounders in games,
We all loved it,
So the night came and off we went,
With a book in one hand and the other outstretched,
We started,
‘Rounder, Rounder!’ we shouted,
Then the most dreadful thing happened,
We heard the dreaded footsteps,
The door cracked open,
And the light poured in,
We froze where we were,
The door started to close,
We sighed a sigh of relief,
Then we started to go to our bed when…
The door reopened and a head popped in,
Then went away,
‘Phew,’ we all thought,
After that night we never played rounders in dorm again.
Alice Warre
A Belhaven week.
On Monday you’re back from home.
You wish you could be back there already.
But you better take your mind off that because
there is English coming up for second lesson!
On Tuesday you have got your mind on lessons.
Science with Mr. Peek and a spot of
History and double English to finish off the morning.
On Wednesday the dreadful double maths as well
as French and Latin. amo, amas, amat.
On Thursday the hated Thursday run.
Quick, quick you don’t have forever, we’re being timed.
The every second Friday it is time to go home.
But it is not the weekend until the last lesson is over.
The Saturday we’re are at school.
Lessons aren’t over till lunchtime.
So work through languages and R.S. waiting
till lunch then no lessons till Monday at last.
On Sunday there are no lessons.
but there is still church so no freetime yet.
but after church is time to play, rugby, football, hockey.
But after Sunday the week starts again.
The same old routine.
Angus Barlow
Days at Belhaven
In the morning the sun is blazing and the dew waits on the grass.
It’s time for break.
Form 5 charge down the classroom block like bulls.
As they trample towards juice and biscuits.
Now it is time for games.
Hockey this season and cricket next.
We grab our sticks and charge outside ready for a fun game passing, shooting and dribbling.
Dodging players as we move across the ground.
Now its time for showers in and out we move about.
Out we go to have fun and to play.
We play rugby in the sport’s hall or chase each other around and around.
Soon the day is over time to go to bed and wait till tomorrow and start all over.
The days go by each one slightly different to the last.
Soon days are sunny and warm we play inside cricket in dorm (jokes).
Out we go for surfing in the warm big waves.
Massive swirling currents trying to pull us away.
We surf across until it hits then we tumble and tumble.
We come back dripping and wet and soggy to the bone.
Then we have another nice warm shower.
Nice and refreshed after we have all the free time we could dream of all because it is a Sunday.
Donald MacDonald
From the ice-capped mountains,
Our world is wonderful,
In so many ways.
From its ice-capped mountains,
To its deep blue depths.
The fertile land of Europe,
To the cold deserts of Antarctica.
But we are ruining it,
And we can’t seem to stop.
Deforestation,
Climate change,
Animals going extinct,
The list goes on.
How can we stop it?
How can we help?
We can do little things:
Turning off lights,
Eating what we are given,
Little things.
If everybody did this,
In just our school even,
We could do our part in saving our world.
From the ice-capped mountains,
To the deep blue depths.
We can make a change.
Hannah Bruneau
Dogs
Dogs can be all different types
All different shapes and sizes
There are a few that catch your mind
Particularly the weird and wacky ones
Such as
Spotty dotty pretty dogs
Curly frilly hairy dogs
Big ferocious scary dogs
Cute and cuddly mini dogs
Bulldogs, dachshund all the rest
Dogs are surely just the best
A Chihuahua, Labrador, water spaniel
Jack Russells and Yorkshire terriers
Any dog that you can think of
Even strange and wacky dogs
Mean and deadly dogs
Tall long and skinny dogs
Just annoying snappy dogs
Just plain and sleepy dogs
Lazy boring tired dogs
Or just
Normal
Little
Dogs.
Nicole Thomlinson
Hunting
The day could be Monday, Wednesday or Saturday,
It doesn’t matter,
The rush had begun,
Grooming and tacking up,
When we had finished,
Down the road we went,
And to the farm we came,
And in the horse box we jumped,
Loaded and ready,
We set for the meet.
We parked up the road,
And unloaded in a flurry,
Trotting down the road in a hurry.
We had made it in time,
Snacks and drinks are handed around,
Mulled wine and port for the adults only,
Chatting and laughing,
Hounds trotting about,
They’re barking and howling,
Making an awful racket,
Then we’re off trotting up the slippy road,
Slipping and sliding,
All different ways,
Then we’re in the field,
The crisp frost dotted here and there,
The hounds are off in hot pursuit,
Not far behind are the huntsman and whipper in,
In their red jackets gleaming in the cold,
Then the field are off,
Galloping after them,
The hunting horn is sounded,
Then we jump a big fence into the next field,
An awful thing happens,
The person in front,
Falls onto the jump,
The horses are shocked,
They jump back in surprise,
Someone on a quad bike comes to the rescue,
The horse with no rider is led away,
Then we’re off again,
The sun has come out,
A cold but sunny morning,
Galloping over fields of gold,
It feels like we will never stop,
But then we see a fox in the distance,
The hounds start to bark,
And then we’re off,
We hear a shot of the gun,
We suddenly stop,
You’re suddenly overcome by sadness,
And feel like your crying,
But life is just that way,
Happiness can’t last forever!
Alice Warre
(And finally here's one I ummed and ahhed as to whether to include or not. I included it in the end for the sheer honesty of the piece.)
How not to write a poem
I have been told to write a poem. Yes a poem.
Now who could write a poem? Certainly not me.
So this poem is about how I can’t write poems.
I start by staring at a big blank page for hours on end
Thinking thoughts of what I could do a poem on.
However, just as I think of something my mind goes blank again.
As everybody is starting to finish there poems I suddenly have an idea.
Obviously not a very good one though, but good enough.
As you may have guessed this time I have decided to do it on how I can’t write poems.
So I start to write the poem I have been trying to think of for hours on end.
However it does not go the way I have planned.
Like always, it goes terribly wrong but I have to keep going otherwise I will run out of time.
So on I go fighting the urge and temptation to rub it all out and start again.
Then suddenly, eventually, miraculously I finish.
I do not know how I did it but all that matters is that I did.
Now that is how NOT to write a poem.
Rex Benson
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