What is FREE VERSE?
Our Classroom
Most poems have rules, but some poems
ignore all the rules. They don’t have rhyme and
they have lines of different lengths. This is
called free verse.
There are
paper chains hanging from the lights
and two with postcards on them
and string is hanging too.
There are showbags on the walls
as well as posters,
finger paintings on the windows
and Cross collages from the lights.
Dreams in jars
and hands reaching
for the stars.
Reflection bags as well
cellophane pictures
and Ministry rosters.
Anything you can name
you can bet we have.
Even ‘Bobby’
sitting in the corner
who comes from Sculpture Park.
But best of all
I like the look
of the classroom.
We are learning and experimenting with ideas
when learning about this form of poetry. We
hope that you enjoy reading the five
contributions that we have included in the
newsletter.
Year Six
Benjamin Donnelly
Our Classroom
The Classroom
The doors slams open and the smell of air
conditioning
hits you right in the head.
The loud sound of chatter
from students I see every day.
Our classroom is like a playground
full of colours all around.
The colourful chains look like swings
for ants
The couch looks like a chair on a
rollercoaster
The books look like maps
that guide you on an adventure
And the pencils look like lollipops.
Paper chains hanging light by light
There’s our dreams in jars
and our showbags on the walls.
It is so bright there’s no bits of black
on the walls
We put the ‘f’ in fun
when we’re doing work.
We make posters
we make pictures
It’s such fun...
It feels like home.
Cayden Noakes
Makayla Noakes
Going off the Edge
Netball
Screeching down the mountain
Stomping on the brakes,
Spinning out of control
And flipping over the –
edge.
Plunging downwards,
My shattered bike parts
Shoot by like rockets.
I hit the water like a stone.
When the whistle blows you know it’s time to start
You start to sweat as the ball is coming your way.
You catch and pass it into the goal
You take your time
The next thing you know, you get a
goal.
Everyone cheers so loudly
When the whistle blows again
it’s all over.
William Footer
Molly Connor-Espley