Year Three Poetry: Christmas Term
Year Three will be focusing mainly on the following poems this term. There may also
be a few surprises thrown in along the way!
If I Had Wings by Pie Corbett
If I had wings
I would touch the fingertips of clouds
and glide on the wind.
If I had wings
I would taste a chunk of the sun
as hot as peppered curry.
If I had wings
I would listen to the clouds of a sheep bleat
that graze on the blue.
If I had wings
I would breathe deep and sniff
the scent of raindrops.
If I had wings
I would gaze at the people
who cling to the earth.
If I had wings
I would dream of
walking the deserts
and swimming the seas.
Henri Matisse
The Red Boat by Wes Magee
Here goes the sun
slowly sailing by,
like a red boat
on the ocean of the sky.
There goes the sun
all the day through,
a red boat sailing
across its sea of blue.
Claude Monet
On The Ning Nang Nong by Spike Milligan (1918 – 2002)
On the Ning Nang Nong
Where the Cows go Bong!
And the Monkeys all say Boo!
There's a Nong Nang Ning
Where the trees go Ping!
And the tea pots Jibber Jabber Joo.
On the Nong Ning Nang
All the mice go Clang!
And you just can't catch 'em when they do!
So it's Ning Nang Nong!
Cows go Bong!
Nong Nang Ning!
Trees go Ping!
Nong Ning Nang!
The mice go Clang!
What a noisy place to belong,
Is the Ning Nang Ning Nang Nong!!
http://viewpure.com/yD-yG2XnxpU
The Owl And The Pussycat by Edward Lear (1812 – 1888)
The Owl and the Pussycat went to sea
In a beautiful pea-green boat,
They took some honey, and plenty of money,
Wrapped up in a five pound note.
The Owl looked up to the stars above,
And sang to a small guitar,
"O lovely Pussy! O Pussy, my love,
What a beautiful Pussy you are, you are, you are,
What a beautiful Pussy you are."
Pussy said to the Owl "You elegant fowl,
How charmingly sweet you sing.
O let us be married, too long we have tarried;
But what shall we do for a ring?"
They sailed away, for a year and a day,
To the land where the Bong-tree grows,
And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood
With a ring at the end of his nose, his nose, his nose,
With a ring at the end of his nose.
"Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling your ring?"
Said the Piggy, "I will"
So they took it away, and were married next day
By the Turkey who lives on the hill.
They dined on mince, and slices of quince,
Which they ate with a runcible spoon.
And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand.
They danced by the light of the moon, the moon, the moon,
They danced by the light of the moon.
http://viewpure.com/HpwAP36-w7E
Fireworks by James Reeves (1909 – 1978)
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.
https://audioboo.fm/boos/1708113-fireworks-by-james-reeves
James Whistler
There Was An Old Man With A Beard by Edward Lear (1812 – 1888)
There was an Old Man with a beard,
Who said, 'It is just as I feared!
Two Owls and a Hen,
Four Larks and a Wren,
Have all built their nests in my beard!'
Giant by Jack Ousbey
Enormous feeder
Loyal minder
Earth remover
Power lifter
Handy blaster
Alarming trumpeter
Nimble rammer
Thunder maker
Early learner
Laughter maker
Easy dozer
Practical joker
Huge destroyer
Ageless wonder
Noisy swimmer
Treetop cropper
Tommervik
Year Three Poetry: Easter Term
Here are the main poems being studied by Year Three this term, with some
accompanying images and links.
Pippa’s Song by Robert Browning (1812-1889)
The year’s at the spring,
And day’s at the morn;
Morning’s at seven;
The hill-side’s dew-pearl’d;
The lark’s on the wing;
The snail’s on the thorn;
God’s in His Heaven—
All’s right with the world!
http://viewpure.com/AP3HorfsnrI
Flowering Umbrellas by Stanley Cook (1922 – 1991)
Umbrellas are folded up like buds.
But umbrella buds don't open in the sun.
They flower in the rain instead
In all kinds of colours: black, green, and red.
Brown and white, and checked and striped.
Outside the school in the rain mothers stand
With umbrella flowers growing from their hands.
Peg Ott McGuckin
Roger The Dog by Ted Hughes (1930 – 1998)
Asleep he wheezes at his ease.
He only wakes to scratch his fleas.
He hogs the fire, he bakes his head
As if it were a loaf of bread.
He's just a sack of snoring dog.
You can lug him like a log.
You can roll him with your foot.
He'll stay snoring where he's put.
I take him out for exercise,
He rolls in cowclap up to his eyes.
He will not race, he will not romp,
He saves his strength for gobble and chomp.
He'll work as hard as you could wish
Emptying his dinner dish.
Then flops flat, and digs down deep,
Like a miner, into sleep.
Edwin Landseer
Cat In The Dark by John Agard
Look at that!
Look at that!
But when you look
there's no cat.
Without a purr
just a flash of fur
and gone
like a ghost.
The most
you see
are two tiny
green traffic lights
staring at the night.
My Pig Won't Let Me Watch TV by Kenn Nesbitt
My pig won't let me watch TV.
It's totally unfair.
He watches anything he wants
but doesn't ever share.
I never get to watch cartoons
or anything like that.
He's busy watching farming shows.
I should have got a cat.
I should have got a goldfish
or a guinea pig or goat.
Instead, I've got this pig
who's always hogging the remote.
Matilda by Hilaire Belloc (1870-1953)
Matilda told such Dreadful Lies,
It made one Gasp and Stretch one's Eyes;
Her Aunt, who, from her Earliest Youth,
Had kept a Strict Regard for Truth,
Attempted to Believe Matilda:
The effort very nearly killed her,
And would have done so, had not She
Discovered this Infirmity.
For once, towards the Close of Day,
Matilda, growing tired of play,
And finding she was left alone,
Went tiptoe to the Telephone
And summoned the Immediate Aid
Of London's Noble Fire-Brigade.
Within an hour the Gallant Band
Were pouring in on every hand,
From Putney, Hackney Downs, and Bow.
With Courage high and Hearts a-glow,
They galloped, roaring through the Town,
'Matilda's House is Burning Down!'
Inspired by British Cheers and Loud
Proceeding from the Frenzied Crowd,
They ran their ladders through a score
Of windows on the Ball Room Floor;
And took Peculiar Pains to Souse
The Pictures up and down the House,
Until Matilda's Aunt succeeded
In showing them they were not needed;
And even then she had to pay
To get the Men to go away!
It happened that a few Weeks later
Her Aunt was off to the Theatre
To see that Interesting Play
The Second Mrs. Tanqueray.
She had refused to take her Niece
To hear this Entertaining Piece:
A Deprivation Just and Wise
To Punish her for Telling Lies.
That Night a Fire did break out-You should have heard Matilda Shout!
You should have heard her Scream and Bawl,
And throw the window up and call
To People passing in the Street-(The rapidly increasing Heat
Encouraging her to obtain
Their confidence) -- but all in vain!
For every time she shouted 'Fire!'
They only answered 'Little Liar!'
And therefore when her Aunt returned,
Matilda, and the House, were Burned.
http://viewpure.com/XkHo753dHUU
Teacher Said by Judith Nicholls
You can use
Mumbled and muttered,
groaned, grumbled and uttered,
professed, droned or stuttered
…but don’t use SAID!
You can use
rant or recite,
yell, yodel or snort,
bellow, murmur or moaned,
you can grunt or just groan
… but don’t use SAID!
You can use
hum, howl and hail,
scream, screech, shriek or bawl,
squeak, snivel or squeal,
with a blood-curdling wail
…but don’t use SAID!
…SAID my teacher.
Chocolate Cake by Michael Rosen
I love chocolate cake.
And when I was a boy
I loved it even more.
Sometimes we used to have it for tea
and Mum used to say,
'If there's any left over
you can have it to take to school
tomorrow to have at playtime.'
And the next day I would take it to school
wrapped up in tin foil
open it up at playtime
and sit in the corner of the playground
eating it,
you know how the icing on top
is all shiny and it cracks as you
bite into it,
and there's that other kind of icing in
the middle
and it sticks to your hands and you
can lick your fingers
and lick your lips
oh it's lovely.
yeah.
Anyway,
once we had this chocolate cake for tea
and later I went to bed
but while I was in bed
I found myself waking up
licking my lips
and smiling.
I woke up proper.
'The chocolate cake.'
It was the first thing
I thought of.
I could almost see it
so I thought,
what if I go downstairs
and have a little nibble, yeah?
It was all dark
everyone was in bed
so it must have been really late
but I got out of bed,
crept out of the door
there's always a creaky floorboard, isn't there?
Past Mum and Dad's room,
careful not to tread on bits of broken toys
or bits of Lego
you know what it's like treading on Lego
with your bare feet,
yowwww
shhhhhhh
downstairs
into the kitchen
open the cupboard
and there it is
all shining.
So I take it out of the cupboard
put it on the table
and I see that
there's a few crumbs lying about on the plate,
so I lick my finger and run my finger all over the crumbs
scooping them up
and put them into my mouth.
oooooooommmmmmmmm
nice.
Then
I look again
and on one side where it's been cut,
it's all crumbly.
So I take a knife
I think I'll just tidy that up a bit,
cut off the crumbly bits
scoop them all up
and into the mouth
oooooommm mmmm
nice.
Look at the cake again.
That looks a bit funny now,
one side doesn't match the other
I'll just even it up a bit, eh?
Take the knife
and slice.
This time the knife makes a little cracky noise
as it goes through that hard icing on top.
A whole slice this time,
into the mouth.
Oh the icing on top
and the icing in the middle
ohhhhhh oooo mmmmmm.
But now
I can't stop myself
Knife I just take any old slice at it
and I've got this great big chunk
and I'm cramming it in
what a greedy pig
but it's so nice,
and there's another
and another and I'm squealing and I'm smacking my lips
and I'm stuffing myself with it
and
before I know
I've eaten the lot.
The whole lot.
I look at the plate.
It's all gone.
Oh no
they're bound to notice, aren't they,
a whole chocolate cake doesn't just disappear
does it?
What shall I do?
I know. I'll wash the plate up,
and the knife
and put them away and maybe no one
will notice, eh?
So I do that
and creep creep creep
back to bed
into bed
doze off
licking my lips
with a lovely feeling in my belly.
Mmmmrnmmmmm.
In the morning I get up,
downstairs,
have breakfast,
Mum's saying,
'Have you got your dinner money?'
and I say,
'Yes.'
'And don't forget to take some chocolate cake with you.'
I stopped breathing.
'What's the matter,' she says,
'you normally jump at chocolate cake?'
I'm still not breathing,
and she's looking at me very closely now.
She's looking at me just below my mouth.
'What's that?' she says.
'What's what?' I say.
'What's that there?'
'Where?'
'There,' she says, pointing at my chin.
'I don't know,' I say.
'It looks like chocolate,' she says.
'It's not chocolate is it?'
No answer.
'Is it?'
'I don't know.'
She goes to the cupboard
looks in, up, top, middle, bottom,
turns back to me.
'It's gone.
It's gone.
You haven't eaten it, have you?'
'I don't know.'
'You don't know. You don't know if you've eaten a whole
chocolate cake or not?
When? When did you eat it?'
So I told her,
and she said
well what could she say?
'That's the last time I give you any cake to take
to school.
Now go. Get out
no wait
not before you've washed your dirty sticky face.'
I went upstairs
looked in the mirror
and there it was,
just below my mouth,
a chocolate smudge.
The give-away.
Maybe she'll forget about it by next week.
http://viewpure.com/7BxQLITdOOc?ref=search
The Hairy Toe by American Anon
Once there was a woman went out to pick beans,
and she found – a hairy toe!
She took the hairy toe home with her,
and that night,
when she went to bed,
the wind began to moan and groan:
away off in the distance she seemed to hear
a voice crying –
“Who’s got my hairy toe?
Who’s got my hairy toe?”
The woman scrooched down,
way down under the covers,
and about that time
the wind appeared to hit the house Sw-oo-sh!
And the old house creaked and cracked
Like something was trying to get in.
The voice had come nearer,
almost at the door now,
and it said –
“Where’s my hairy toe?
Who’s got my hairy toe?”
The woman scrooched further down under
the covers
and pulled them tight around her head.
The wind growled around the house like some
big animal
and r-rumbled down the chimney.
All at once she heard the door cr-r-eak, cr-r-eak at every step
the Thing took towards her bed.
The woman could almost feel it bending over
her bed.
Then, in an awful voice, it said –
“Where’s my hairy toe?
Who’s got my hairy toe?
YOU’VE GOT IT!”
http://viewpure.com/16B9qI5EqJg
I've Got A Cold by Roger McGough
I've got a cold
And it's not funny
My throat is numb
My nose is runny
My ears are burning
My fingers are itching
My teeth are wobbly
My eyebrows are twitching
My kneecaps have slipped
My bottom's like jelly
The button's come off
My silly old belly
My chin has doubled
My toes are twisted
My ankles have swollen
My elbows are blistered
My back is all spotty
My hair's turning white
I sneeze through the day
And cough through the night
I've got a cold
And I'm going insane
(Apart from all that
I'm as right as rain.)
Hurt No Living Thing by Christina Rossetti (1830 – 1894)
Hurt no living thing;
Ladybird, nor butterfly,
Nor moth with dusty wing,
Not cricket chirping cheerily,
Nor grasshopper so light of leap,
Nor dancing gnat, nor beetle fat,
Nor harmless worms that creep.
http://viewpure.com/10vhwnXEpxE
Year Three Poetry: Summer Term
Year Three will be focusing mainly on these poems this term. As with the previous
two terms, there will also be a few surprises thrown in for good measure!
Blackbeard, Bluebeard and Redbeard by Kenn Nesbitt
Blackbeard and Bluebeard and Redbeard, they say,
Hijacked a ship and went sailing away.
Seaward they scudded and skipped on the breeze,
Searching for treasure to plunder and seize.
Riches, regrettably, couldn't be found.
Ships bearing booty were nowhere around.
Therefor the buccaneers wandered afloat
thinking of things they could do with their boat.
Bluebeard said, "Aargh, since we've nothing to do,
Why don't we paint our new pirate ship blue?"
Redbeard spoke up, saying, "Aye, but instead,
wouldn't ye rather we painted her red?"
Blackbeard said, "Blimey, you're both off the track.
No other color's as handsome as black."
"Blue!" shouted Bluebeard, and Redbeard yelled "Red!"
Blackbeard said, "Black! You're both cracked in the head!"
Redbeard grabbed brushes and buckets and paints
Over his shipmates insistent complaints.
Rather than letting him paint the ship red,
They got some blue paint and black paint instead.
Swiftly the three of them painted their boat,
Each a completely dissimilar coat,
Making a color not red, black or blue;
Mixing, instead, an entirely new hue.
That was the last that was seen of the three
Simply because they refused to agree.
They weren't torpedoed or shelled or harpooned.
They disappeared, for their ship was marooned.
http://viewpure.com/exads7KV-Y0
Fairy Names by Clare Bevan
(When Clare found this poem, all the names had been crossed out…except for one!)
What shall we call the Fairy Child?
Mouse-Fur? Cat’s Purr?
Weasel-Wild?
Bat-Wing? Bee-Sting?
Shining River?
Snakebite? Starlight?
Stone? Or Shiver?
Acorn? Frogspawn?
Golden Tree?
Snowflake? Daybreak?
Stormy Sea?
Snail-Shell? Harebell?
Scarlet Flame?
How shall we choose the Fairy’s name?
The Mouse, The Frog And The Little Red Hen by Anon
Once a Mouse, a Frog, and a Little Red hen,
Together kept a house,
The Frog was the laziest of frogs,
And lazier still was the Mouse.
The work all fell on the Little Red Hen,
Who had to get the wood,
And build the fires, and scrub, and cook,
And sometimes hunt the food.
One day, as she was scratching round,
She found a bag of rye:
She said, "Now who will make some bread?"
Said the lazy mouse, "Not I."
"Not I," croaked the Frog as he drowsed in the shade,
Red Hen made no reply,
But flew around with bowl and spoon,
And mixed and stirred the rye.
"Who'll make the fire to bake the bread?"
Said the Mouse again, "Not I."
And, scarcely op'ning his sleepy eyes,
Frog made the same reply.
The Little Red Hen said never a word,
But a roaring fire she made;
And while the bread was baking brown,
"Who'll set the table?" she said.
"Not I," said the sleepy Frog with a yawn;
"Nor I," said the Mouse again.
So the table she set and the bread put on,
"Who'll eat this bread?" said the Hen.
"I will!" cried the Frog. "And I!" squeaked the Mouse,
As they near the table drew;
"Oh, no, you won't!" said the Little Red Hen,
And away with the loaf she flew.
Tortoise And Hare Race by Jill Townsend
‘Tortoise, you’re very slow you know.
No wonder. Your legs are so short.’
‘I get to where I want to go,’
said the Tortoise with a snort.
Hare
was everywhere,
light and springy,
pinging past
fast,
all over the place.
‘Besides, I’d beat you in a race
if we were having one.’
‘All right, we’ll let Fox choose the place,
and see it’s fairly run.’
The race began.
Off Hare ran.
‘I’ll probably win
before you begin,’
he jeered
as he disappeared.
And Tortoise was slow getting away
but he said as he jogged along,
‘Little by little wins the day.
And Hare will get bored before long.’
Hare
was so sure
he’d be there
before
the Tortoise,
he thought
he’d take
a short break
and fell deep
asleep
in the sun.
He slept
and slept
while the minutes
kept on ticking away
through the heat of the day.
And still he slept
as Tortoise crept up and passed
on his way to the Finishing Post.
The end of the race was in sight at last.
He expected Hare there to boast.
But Hare woke
with a shock.
His body-clock
said he’d overslept.
So up he leapt
and started to run —
but there was someone
already ahead
and at this minute about to win.
‘It can’t be Tortoise.’
But it was.
Yes, there ahead with Fox was Tortoise —
winner of the race
and that despite his legs’ shortness
and his slow pace.
The Fox And The Grapes by Celia Warren
a fable by Aesop
Grapes are growing, round and ripe,
High upon the vine.
Fox says, as he licks his lips,
‘Those grapes will soon be mine.’
The grapes look plump and juicy.
The fox, on his hind legs,
Stretches up to reach for them
Just like a dog that begs.
Fox jumps and keeps on jumping
To try and take his treat.
The grapes will be so tasty:
Succulent and sweet.
At last, the hungry fox gives up.
He’s tried for many an hour.
He cannot reach the fruit and cries:
‘I bet those grapes are sour!’
MORAL
If something is good,
But it’s not to be had,
Don’t fool yourself
By pretending it’s bad.
The Three Little Pigs by Marion Swinger
The first little pig in a house of straw
heard a tap tap tap on her little green door.
“Little pig, little pig, let me come in,”
said the big bad wolf with a big bad grin.
Then he huffed and he puffed and he huffed some more
and down went the little pig’s house of straw.
The next little pig was taking a nap
in her house of sticks when she heard a tap
and the big bad wolf with a big bad grin
gave a huff and a puff and blew her house in.
Then the big bad wolf, still up to his tricks,
went off to the third little house of bricks.
“Little pig, little pig, let me come in,”
said the big bad wolf with a big bad grin.
And he huffed and he puffed till his face turned red.
“My house is too tough,” the little pig said.
“I’ll come down the chimney,” the wolf yelled, “Now!”
But the fire was lit and the wolf yelled, “Ow!”
and shot straight out in a cloud of smoke
as the third little pig gave the fire a poke.
The wolf blew on his paws with a huff and a puff
and he hobbled off home. He’d had enough.
The Sound Collector by Roger McGough
A stranger called this morning
Dressed all in black and grey
Put every sound into a bag
And carried them away
The whistling of the kettle
The turning of the lock
The purring of the kitten
The ticking of the clock
The popping of the toaster
The crunching of the flakes
When you spread the marmalade
The scraping noise it makes
The hissing of the frying pan
The ticking of the grill
The bubbling of the bathtub
As it starts to fill
The drumming of the raindrops
On the windowpane
When you do the washing-up
The gurgle of the drain
The crying of the baby
The squeaking of the chair
The swishing of the curtain
The creaking of the stair
A stranger called this morning
He didn't leave his name
Left us only silence
Life will never be the same
http://www.poetryline.org.uk/poems/the-sound-collector-530
A Poem To Be Spoken Silently by Pie Corbett
It was so silent that I heard
my thoughts rustle
like leaves in a paper bag . . .
It was so peaceful that I heard
the trees ease off
their coats of bark . . .
It was so still that I heard
the paving stones groan
as they muscled for space . . .
It was so silent that I heard
a page of this book
whisper to its neighbour,
‘Look he’s peering at us again . . .’
It was so still that I felt
a raindrop grin
as it tickled the window’s pane . . .
It was so calm that I sensed
a smile crack the face
of a stranger . . .
It was quiet that I heard
the morning earth roll over
in its sleep and doze
for five minutes more . . .
http://viewpure.com/4zLfCnGVeL4?ref=search