Year Seven
Poetry
An Introduction
Down Behind the Dustbin
Down behind the dustbin
I met a dog called Ted.
‘Leave me alone,’ he says,
‘I’m just going to bed.’
Down behind the dustbin
I met a dog called Roger.
‘Do you own this bin?’ I said.
‘No. I’m only a lodger.’
Down behind the dustbin
I met a dog called Sue.
‘What are you doing here?’ I said.
‘I’ve got nothing else to do.’
By Michael Rosen
Birmingham
The children play over brick walls
and skip on concrete slabs
No trees to climb
No streams to dam
No daring hunt in a haunted wood.
Only a dodging dash from
verge to verge
along a motorway.
By Lawrence Smith.
Pioneer
Who needs jungles for excitement?
Climbing mountains, fording streams?
Risking life and limb in London’s
Quite enough for me
Pebble-dash to scrape your elbows
Paving slabs to graze your knees
Kerbs and gutters turn your ankles
Quite enough for me
Trucks that thunder down the street
The car that never seems to see
A cyclist or a zebra crossing’s
Quite enough for me
And in the park there’s stinging nettles
Clawing roses file-barked trees
Dogs and what they leave behind, it’s
Quite enough for me
And vicious beasts I’ve got as well
A cat that spits and brings in fleas
With spiders prowling round the bath, that’s
Quite enough for me
So keep your tigers, sharks, piranhas
I’ll just stay in Palmer’s Green
Being bold in our back garden’s
Quite enough for me.
By Mick Gowar
In this poem the poet has described all the things he dislikes in life and has presented them as either nasty or dangerous.
You now have enough material to write two poems.
Your poems do not have to rhyme but try and get the same number of syllables (beats) in each line. Copy both poems out and put into your files.
The People Upstairs
The people upstairs all practise ballet
Their living room is a bowling alley
Their bedroom is full of conducted tours.
Their radio is louder than yours,
They celebrate week-ends all the week.
When they take a shower, your ceilings lead.
They try to get their parties to mix
By supplying their guests with Pogo sticks,
And when their fun at last abates,
They go to the bathroom on roller skates.
I might love the people upstairs more
If only they lived on another floor.
By Ogden Nash.
Where the Wild Thyme Blows
I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,
Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows
Quite over canopied with lush woodbine
With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine.
These words were written by England’s most famous poet, William Shakespeare. What sort of place is Shakespeare describing? It may help if you know that the modern word for oxlip is the flower cowslip, woodbine is the sweet smelling shrub honeysuckle, and eglantine is sweet briar (wild rose).
Spells and Incantations
Here is some more poetry written by William Shakespeare.
Fillet of a fenny snake
In the cauldron boil and bake
Eye of newt, and toe of frog
Wool of bat and tongue of dog
Adder’s fork, and blind-worm’s sting,
Lizard’s leg and howlet’s wing
For a charm of powerful trouble
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.
Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf
Witches’ mummy, maw and gulf
Of the ravined salt-sea shark
Root of hemlock digged in the dark
Liver of blaspheming Jew,
Gall of goat, and slips of Yew
Slivered in the moon’s eclipse
Nose of Turk and Tartar’s lips
Finger of birth-strangled babe
Ditch-delivered by a drab
Make the gruel thick and slab
Add thereto a tiger’s chaudron
For the ingredients of our cauldron.
Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn and cauldron bubble
Cool it with a baboon’s blood
Then the charm is firm and good.
This witches spell has been written as though it were a recipe for a delicious meal, but the ingredients are all horrible.
Snow
No breath of wind,
No gleam of sun –
Still the white snow
Whirls softly down
Twig and bough
And blade and thorn
All in an icy
Quiet, forlorn.
Whispering, rustling,
Through the air
On still and stone,
Roof, - everywhere,
It heaps its powdery
Crystal flakes,
Of every tree
A mountain makes;
‘Til pale and faint
At shut of day
Stoops from the West
One wint’ry ray,
And, feathered in fire
Where ghosts the moon,
A robin shrills
His lonely tune.
By Walter de la Mare.
Rain falling |
Wind blowing |
Thunder and Lightening |
e.g. trickling |
howling |
screaming |
splashes |
whistles |
rolling |
torrential |
hissing |
growling |
Before the Paling of the Stars
Before the paling of the stars
Before the winter morn,
Before the earliest cock crow,
Jesus Christ was born:
Born in a stable,
Cradled in a manger,
In the world his hands had made
Born a stranger.
Priest and King lay fast asleep
In Jerusalem:
Young and old lay fast asleep
In crowded Bethlehem;
Saint and angel, ox and ass,
Kept a watch together
Before the Christmas daybreak
In the winter weather.
Jesus on his mother’s breast
In the stable cold,
Spotless lamb of God was he,
Shepherd of the fold:
Let us kneel with Mary maid,
With Joseph bent and hoary,
With saint and angel, ox and ass,
To hail the King of Glory.
By Christina Rossetti
This is a poem which tells a story – perhaps the most famous story of all time. In your own words tell the story of the poem.
Poems which tell a story are called narrative poems. Choose another story from the Bible and try to write a narrative poem on it. Don’t worry about making your poem rhyme but do try to have the same number of beats in each line. Notice that the poet of this narrative poem, Christina Rossetti, decided to vary the number of beats in the lines of her poem. To find out how many number of beats are in ‘Before the Paling of the Stars’, clap your hands every time there is a heavy beat in each line, and write the number of beats (or claps) you made at the end of each one. Check with your teacher to make sure that you have the correct number, before writing it in pencil .
Lone Dog
I’m a lean dog, a keen dog, a wild dog and lone,
I’m a rough dog, a tough dog, hunting on my own!
I’m a bad dog, a mad dog, teasing silly sheep;
I love to sit and bay the moon and keep fat souls from sleep.
I’ll never be a lap dog, licking dirty feet,
A sleek dog, a meek dog, cringing for my meat.
Not for me the fireside, the well-filled plate,
But shut door and sharp stone and cuff and kick and hate.
Not for me the other dogs, running by my side,
Some have run a short while, but none of them would bide
O mine is still the lone trail, the hard trail the best,
Wide wind and wild stars and hunger of the quest.
By Irene McLeod
Roger McGough
The Lesson
Chaos rule OK in the classroom
As bravely the teacher walked in
The nooligans ignored him
His voice was lost in the din
'The theme for today is violence
and homework will be set
I'm going to teach you a lesson
One that you'll never forget!'
He picked on a boy who was shouting
And throttled him then and there
Then garotted the girl behind him
(the one with the grotty hair)
Then sword in hand he hacked his way
Between the chattering rows
'First come, first severed,' he declared
'fingers, feet or toes.'
The first blast cleared the back row
(where those who skive hang out)
they collapsed like rubber dingies
when the plug's pulled out.
'Please may I leave the room, sir'
a trembling vandal enquired
'Of course you may' said the teacher
put the gun to his temple and fired.
The Head popped a head round the doorway
To see why a din was being made
Nodded understandingly
Then tossed in a grenade.
And when the ammo was well spent
With blood on every chair
Silence shuffled forward
With its hands up in the air.
The teacher surveyed the carnage
The dying and the dead
He waggled a finger severely
'Now let that be a lesson,' he said.
Nooligan
I'm a nooligan
don't give a toss
in our class
I'm the boss
(Well, one of them)
I'm a nooligan
got a nard 'ed
step our of line
and your dead
(well, bleeding)
I'm a nooligan
I spray me name
all over town
football's me game
(well watchin)
I'm a nooligan
violence is fun
gonna be a nassassin
or a nired gun
Streemin
Im in the botom streme
Which meens Im not brigth
Don't like reedin
Cant hardly ryt
But all these divishns
Arnt reely fair
Look at the cemetery
No streemin there
Fireworks
They rise like sudden fiery flowers
That burst upon the night,
Then fall to earth in burning showers
Of crimson, blue and white.
Like buds too wonderful to name,
Each miracle unfolds
And Catherine wheels begin to flame
Like whirling marigolds.
Rockets and Roman candles make
An orchard of the sky,
Where magic trees their petals shake
Upon each gazing eye.
By James Reeves.
Discussing and writing
For example: A Sparkler
Thin
Yellow
Glowing
Glittering
Spitting
Twisting
Leaping
Fizzing
Hissing
Like a burning wand
Like and angry star
Like a witch’s spell.
Poems about Autumn
A. Autumn Morning in Cambridge
I ran out in the morning, when the air was clean and new
And all the grass was glittering and grey with Autumn dew,
I ran out to an apple-tree and pulled and apple down,
And all the bells were ringing in the grey old town.
Down in the town, off the bridges and the grass,
They are sweeping up the leaves to let the people pass,
Sweeping up the old leaves, golden-reds and browns,
While the men go to lecture with the wind in their gowns.
By France Cornford.
B. Early Morn
When I did wake this morn from sleep,
It seemed I heard birds in a dream;
Then I arose to take the air –
The lovely air that made birds scream;
Just as a green hill launched the ship
Of gold, to take its first clear drop.
And it began its journey then,
As I came forth to take the air,
The timid stars had vanished quite,
The moon was dying with a stare;
Horses and kine, and sheep were seen,
As still as pictures, in fields of green.
It seemed as though I had surprised
And trespassed in a golden world
That should have passed while men still slept!
The joyful birds, the ship of gold,
The horses, kine, and sheep did seem
As though they would vanish for a dream.
By W.H. Davies
This poetry unit of work by Philippa Watkins was found free at www.englishresources.co.uk
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