Saturday, 18 October 2008

Work poems written for Old Possum's Poetry Competition

The children have written these 'Work' poems to enter in a nationwide competition called 'The Old Possum's Poetry Competition to be judged by a number of poets headed by Michael Rosen.

Gymnastics

Wearing costumes for their country,
Red, white and blue,
Swirling, twirling,
Twisting too,
Looping around getting dizzy,
Trying to know it off by heart, so busy,
Very flexible,
Pointing toes,
Staring when the buzzer goes,
Worried girls, all depressed,
Who will win, who will be the best?
Will the judges be generous or cruel?
Sitting there with their buzzers, strong and powerful,
What will it be out of ten?
Will your score be top or bottom?

Teegan Talbot (9 years old)

Clothes Designer

The sewing machine sews pretty threads,
Crimson, orange, green and scarlet red,
Dresses, tops, trousers and coats with braid,
Designs all waiting to be made,
The workshop is sweaty and hot,
People hurrying around a lot,
Silk, denim, satin and lace,
Needles and threads all over the place,
Books full of drawings, what’s your pleasure?
Scissors, pins and tape measure,
Leather belts and silky shirts,
If a pin goes in it really hurts!
Clippings and clippings of denim and lace,
Most of us now, bright red in the face,
Stunning models, striking poses,
Everyone throws out bright red roses,
Flowery ribbons and gingham bows,
The stack of designs just grows and grows.

Eve Mitchell (9 years old)


Going to School

I awake and rub my eyes,
Dreading going to school today,
I put on my smart clean uniform,
And wash my sleepy face,
Watching out the window,
I see the sun glistening,
I can hear a cockerel crow,
Slowly I walk down the everlasting stairs,
“Morning Mum,”
and eat my breakfast, yummy and chewy,
On goes my jacket and comfy shoes,
And off I trot, down the old lane,
Across the long field and there I am,
At the playground of a great school,Right, let’s do some work!


School Work

School can be boring,
School can be cool,
But I think I would rather swim in the pool,
Maths, Science English, all the things I do,
I don’t like some of them,
How about you?

Luke Wilton (10 years old)

My Day of Work

The sun fills the house in all the darkest of places,
Curtains open their eyes, but I see no faces,
A typical day of work lays ahead,
I wish I could stay asleep in my bed,
Hop into my car and drive away,
I’m not looking forward to this boring day,
Grab a cup of tea, work till late,
This is the part of the day I hate,
Drive back home in the dark all alone,
The thing to do ever known,
My day is over, work is done,
All of this work is just no fun!

Alfie Rolfe (10 years old)


My Headteacher’s Job

My Headteacher, she’s a preacher,
Works like a busy bee always entertaining me,
Smells like a field of flowers but stands as strong as a tower,
Wants us all to improve, and keeps the school running smooth,
She is proud to hand out awards, but only if we obey her laws,
My Headteacher is small and funny, and likes to raise a lot of money,
She is the best there can be, and is absolutely perfect for me.

Chloe Lummis (10 years old)


My Teacher’s Job

My teacher’s voice bellows across the room,
Boom da da Boom!
My teacher starts with hard subtractions,
And then some difficult puzzling fractions,
My teacher’s chalk board is dark and dusty,
Which makes this room feel really musty,
My teacher brings out the cane,
Everyone knows there’s going to be pain,
My teacher’s classroom is dark and dingy,
And my teacher is very whingey,
My teacher gives a weekly spelling test,
I hope I do my best, better than the rest,
My teacher may be mean and cruel,
But underneath she really rules,
My teacher has a great job,
So why does it always make her sob?

Chloe Lummis (10 Years old)


The Dustbin Men

It’s very early when I start,
Getting ready our rubbish cart,
To clean the streets and keep homes clean,
It’s what we do to tidy up,
Streets and homes are now rubbish free,
That’s up to people just like you and me,
We are a team of many men,
We’ve even cleaned around Big Ben,
They may not gleam they may not shine,
But at least the streets aren’t covered in grime.

Thomas Watkins (10 years old)


Policeman

Patrolling the streets,
Or safety talks to children,
Looking for evidence,
Investigating crime scenes,
Chasing villains in cars,
Eating doughnuts at break time,
Making people drive carefully,
Arresting people that don’t,
Never off duty.

Ryan Osborne (8 years old)

A Day to Day Punishment

The monstrous noise of my alarm clock rings in my ears,
Misery running through my heart and my head,
As another day of exhausting work begins,
My punishment won’t end till the end of the day,
I finally wake myself up,
Hit the alarm clock,
The monstrous noise ends at last,
Step by step I climb out of bed,
Stressed, I get dressed wondering what today will be like,
Angry and depressed I stomp my way out of the house,
Ready to catch the bus in the cold, dreary weather,
Awaiting at the bus stop, I remove my glasses,
Wiping the condensation from the thick lenses,
Staring lights come from nowhere,
All of a sudden the sight becomes clearer,
The bus is arriving,
I couldn’t get on the bus, full to bursting,
The impatient driver in a flash drove off,
Leaving me gloomy and angry,
It’s hopeless,
This is where my day to day punishment begins.

Sophie Leppard (11 years old)

Mountain Rescue Dogs

These brave dogs set out to work, waiting, snooping in the snow,
They are very cold from their head to their paws,
They chomp on the snow.

They search every acre of the snow.
Pushing through the blizzard fighting against you,
Now they know what they are up against.

The dogs are getting close,
they hear screeching in the distance,
Now putting their noses to the floor,
They start to sniff.

At last one of the people are found,
The bloodhound barks,
Helicopter paramedics on the ground,
He is filled with delight.


Then a Labrador finds an arm,
he starts to bark,
Another person rescued,
He gets a rewarding treat.

At last everybody is found,
They can all be treated,
And every body can go safely home.

Kyle Osborne (9 years old)


Working in a Primary School

Jobs, jobs everywhere,
Working hard, but do we care?
In noisy classrooms teachers go spare,
Teachers going mad ripping out their hair.

Teaching students in primary schools,
Doing lessons in swimming pools,
Students unlock doors with tools,
This is breaking the school rules.

Students screaming in every classroom,
Teachers wishing it were afternoon,
Wishing they could see the moon,
Whilst the dinner ladies look for their kitchen spoon.

Students working as hard as they can,
While they hear crashing of spoon and pan,
Teachers wish they had a good tan,
Even the teacher that looks like a man!

Students sitting with their hands up,
Whilst watching a film about a pup,
Teachers sit drinking out of a cup,
Watching the students playing up.

All the students try to look cool,
As they walk into the assembly hall,
Then the teacher sits on her stool,
Behind her back the students play mini pool.

As the nice weather appears in May,
It’s now the end of the school day,
Students have little time to play,
When caught throwing around the clay!

Chloe Oliffe (8 years old)

Parent’s Work

Parents, parents, why oh why do they have to work?
They are not spending as much time with us,
As they would normally,
Bosses say they have to work at weekends,
We children wish they wouldn’t because,
The children have to be all alone,
Mums have to work to earn the money,
Kids know they have to earn the money,
But if we want to speak to them,
Or ask them for help, they will only say,
“I am too busy right now.”
This is what upsets us children,
Dads and mums are spending so much time working,
They are forgetting to spend time,
With their pets and children,
Parents need to understand children’s minds,
And their children’s school work!

Charley Wright (10 years old)


Bakery

As I enter the wonderful cake factory,
A delicious smell fills my nose,
I place my white hat firmly on my auburn coloured hair,
I feel the smooth flour run through my clean hands,
Like snow falling in winter.

As I stir the thick mixture, like a whirlpool spinning round,
A dash of ruby red colouring dripping,
Like raindrops slowly falling,
The sound of the blender churning the mixture,
I sprinkle in the white crystal sugar,
Slowly it fades into the whirlpool.

Everything ready, placed in a shiny round tin,
And into the hot oven to bake,
Washing dishes, making the icing,
Icing sugar, water, stirred carefully,
Getting thicker.

Beep beep goes the oven,
Quickly I dash to get the cooked cake,
I leave it to cool down a while,
Finally the cake is cool, I add the snowy white icing,
It smells delicious,
Now placed carefully into a cake box
Soon to be eaten.

I can’t wait to eat it,
I love this job! It’s great!

Emma Staines (8 years old)

Baker’s Work

Yummy hot bread, fresh from the oven,
Light and airy, a baker’s dozen,
A large machine to slice seal and wrap,
A lovely hot buttered poppy seed Bap.

Cherries and icing all on a cake,
They are not so very hard to bake,
A lovely smell comes from the oven,
In the window there’s a bakers dozen.

Serve your customers and take their money,
The delicious cakes are really yummy,
Straight from the oven wonderful pasties,
With delicious hot fillings, customers milling.

Crusty buns with jam inside,
Hot steam comes out from either side,
By your plate a delicious hot drink,
Don’t eat it too fast, your face will turn pink!

The baker kneads the dough without a fuss,
Hoping they will come out with a crispy, golden crust,
Spread them out on the baking tray,
Mmm out they come golden brown, “Hurray!”

They taste like heaven,
When they’re out of the oven,
Then do it all over again,
Chuck Ching! Goes the till,
As you put the money in!

Chloe Wheeler (8 years old)

Poetic Work

Poem, poem on the wall,
Poem, poem you’re so cool,
Poem, poem you’re so good,
Poem you rhyme, because you should.
Poem, poem, big or small,
Poem, poem on the wall,
Weak or strong, rich or poor,
Thin or thick, that’s the trick,
Poem, poem you’ve worked so hard,
You must have been written by a bard!

Jay Wright (8 years old)

Life as a Detective

Detective by night,
Detective by day,
My life as a detective,
Never goes away.

As I lay on my bed,
Thoughts running through my head,
Tick tick goes my intelligent brain,
It’s driving me insane.

At anytime or anywhere,
The criminal could be over there,
Going to have to interrogate suspects,
But who knows who has really done it?

Detective, my job,
I’m always around,
And clues are always,
there to be found.

Detective by night,
Detective by day,
My life as a detective,
Never goes away.

Taylor Smith (9 years old)

Football, Work?

I’m going to go to football,
It’s going to be real fun,
I’ve got to have a strong kick,
Or my work will not be done,
I run to the right,
I run to the left,
I’ve really got to do my best,
Now off I go to the match,
Our goalie really should practise his catch,
I ask myself, “Will we win?”
I need good eyesight,
I think we might!

Daniel Toley (9 years old)

Ancient Egyptian Farming

Egyptian farmers,
What a life,
Every day and every night,
Exhausted, anxious,
Farming for crops,
Will there be enough?

Egyptian farmers,
What a life,
Sickles heavy, ploughed by hand,
Animals weary, dry land,
Sweating, shrivelling, sleepy,
Will there be enough?

Egyptian farmers,
What a life,
Sun beaming fiery topaz,
Golden barley, ivory wheat,
Sowing, growing, chopping,
Will there be enough?

Egyptian farmers,
What a life,
Dehydrated, must go on,
Pray to Ra for sun to thrive,
Prosper or not,
Will they survive?

Ashlea Brewin (9 years old)

Work

Work is hard, work is dull,
It takes forever to finish,
But there are some good points.
P.E. very sporty, Art, especially messy,
Maths, hmmm, I can’t think of one for that!
Science, brilliant experiments,
Music, fantastic instruments,
R.E. different cultures,
Spellings, it’s a challenge,
Singing, using all your breath.
Unfortunately there are bad points too,
P.E. basically killing yourself,
Art, always doing something wrong,
Maths, I would be using up all the poem to tell you about Maths!
Science, experiments, you never get to do them,
Music, always going out of tune,
R.E. you have no idea about the religion,
Spellings, everyone’s shaking, well at least, I am,
Singing, very high pitched songs,
But one thing that’s worst than all of those things,
Brace yourself…..
…..It’s homework,
I’m sure you’ll all agree!

Adam Rose (9 years old)


Office Manager

“Oh no!”
6 o’clock and my alarm clock rings,
Time to go to work,
“Ahh!” I cry,
Must get to work on time.

Hurry, hurry!
I feel stressed,
Signing papers, reading letters,
A day full of disaster,
There must be more to life than this,
“Oh yes!”
Five o’clock, time to go home and rest,
I wonder what will happen tomorrow,
Probably just the same!

Lauren Ashby (8 years old)

SATs Work

“Oh No! SATs day is here,”
As I struggle to work out the answers,
My mind goes blank,
“Oh No! SATs day is here,”
My pencil slipping from my sweaty hand,
I hear the distracting tick of the clock,
Time is running out,
“Oh No! SATs day is here,”
I am so nervous I feel myself shaking,
I imagine that I can hear my knees knocking,
“Oh No! SATs day is here,”
As I glance at the test paper I notice my handwriting is spidery,
My teacher collects the papers in,
I feel like I am going to get the worst mark in the class,
“Oh No! SATs day is here,”
“SATs day is here,”
“Oh No!”
What will I do?

Kelly Johnson (9 years old)
My Nan’s Job

My Nan works at a pub,
It’s way hard!
All the screaming and shouting,
“Give us a brew!”
“Make it a few!”
“Vodka Ross,”
“Yes boss!”

Ashlea Le Brun (10 years old)

Working for my SATs

As I wait anxiously for my test,
My heart is racing as fast as speeding train,
The teacher, very seriously, drops the pages on my desk,
My throat feels dry and my hands are sweating,
The sharpened pencil hovering over my paper,
I’ve been dreading this day for ages,
Now I can’t believe it’s here,
The start of …….SATs week.

Amy Arthur (10 years old)

Fireman

Red heavy coats over their brave chests,
Racing to sites all over the city,
With their great red trucks,
Extinguishing fires,
Killing the hungry flames.

Crescendo and diminuendo of shrieking sirens,
Forcing traffic to scatter,
Silver ladders mounted on engines,
Dashing to distressed cats,
Clinging to snapping branches.

Acrid smoke billowing from blazing houses,
Panicking parents screaming for help,
Tearful, smudged faces,
Wide-eyed at windows,
Waiting for a life-line.

Fierce heat pushing rescuers away,
Walkie talkies springing to life,
A well-trained army,
Conquering the enemy,
Just another day in a fireman’s life.

Jake Ellis (9 years old)

Early Riser

Alarm clock rings I turn to look,
The time says eight, “Oh no, I’m late!”
I rub my eyes, pull on my clothes,
Run to the bathroom, I blow my nose,
Run down the stairs and out of the door,
Rush up the street, my feet are sore,
As I look down I see no shoes,
What do I do? This job I cannot lose,
Already late I carry on,
The starting time by now has gone,
I arrive at work so very late,
Suddenly this is a job I hate!

Hannah Davies (10 years old)

School Work

“Amy Brighthouse, are you here?”
Register taken, blackboard clear,
“Today we are learning all about nouns,
Open your books and write this down.”

Now it’s break time, the lesson went fast,
And all the children zoom on past,
Out in the field they play,
Until the bell rings, “Oh no!” they say.

Back at their desks they try to concentrate,
“Hold on Sammy, You’ve forgotten the date,
We’re learning about Egyptians and pyramids,
“This is so much fun, Wow!” say the kids.

The dinner ladies dish up with a smile,
The children sit down and are quiet for a while,
Chicken and veg, “Please pass the mustard,”
Warm apple pie with cream or custard.

PE kits on “Ready, set, go,”
The children are racing, some are too slow,
The teachers encourage, “You can do it,” they say,
They cross the finish line “Hip Hip Hooray!”

“Here’s your homework to hand in next week,”
Parents in the playground ready to greet,
The children race out to see Stan, he’s the best lollipop man,
Teachers with the books to mark sit down with a sigh,
To do this task.

Tess Young (10 years old)

Work, a Way of Life

Work never seems to end,
Day in day out work goes on,
I’ll need a break some time,
In the break work seems distant.

Work is not easy, it is hard,
It all depends on what you do,
Sometimes you are happy but sometimes sad,
That’s how work goes though.

Many different types of work,
Housework, homework, schoolwork,
All running through a cycle,
These are the things we have to do.

Some things work and some things don’t,
Still attempts have to be made,
Experience is earned,
But the effort sometimes fades.

School work is something a child should always do,
Whether housework or homework, it’s a rule,
Work is always a tiring thing,
And will always be a tiring thing.

You will face different chores,
As you grow older they will get more and more,
This is the circle we go through in life,
The way of life will never end.

Prince Sefa (11 years old)

In the Army

I look around,
There’s no one there,
I hear a rustle and a bang,
Risking my life everyday,
To keep my country safe,
All of a sudden I feel weak,
I touch my neck, sticky,
Blood pouring,
I say my goodbyes sadly,
As the world slowly drifts away.

Reece Cooper (10 years old)

Fireman’s Work

The dreaded phone rings, the fireman answers,
The firetruck sings in the cold dead night,
Finally they see the burning house,
The flames were as bright as the sun,
Flames jump towards the fireman,
Three long hoses spread cold water,
Over the burning house,
One of the family, stuck inside,
A few minutes later a little girl in his arms,
The fireman’s face covered with ashes but smiling,
Tired fireman head back to their station,
Waiting for the dreaded phone to ring,
Waiting for another rescue.

Amy Ba (10 years old)

Tuesday, 30 September 2008

Autumn Leaves






The G & T students have written Autumn poems using a variety of photos as their source. From this stimulus they were able to create interesting metaphors and similes to describe the leaves and capture their feelings of Autumn.

Brick Red leaves,
Crying for each other,
As the soft Autumn breeze catches,
A pointed Russet leaf,
Grasping for life with it’s dry crispy stem,
It spirals down, spinning like a Catherine Wheel,
And huddles together in a leafy pile,
An old, bronze, jagged leaf,
Shrivelling, it was to be it’s last movement,
Empty veins, not a drop of liquid,
Still, silent as a skeleton,
Pointed fingers like a star,
Grasping,
Floating, spiralling to the green earth,
Lying like an injured soldier,
Huddled together, dying together,
His beautiful charms and colours,
Like well deserved medals,
Lying there, shrivelling up hiding it’s jewels and treasures,
All is still,
Lifeless,
Souless,
Dead.


Thomas Watkins


Swirling down, a rainbow of colour,
Floating, scattered on the ground,
Falling swiftly not a sound,
Yellow, brown and ruby red,
Reflecting in the sun, colours bright,
Shining like jewels in the light.

Blazing jewels drifting slowly on the hillside,
Grieving pain, the leaves have cried,
The beautiful colours have almost died,
Falling soft as snow
Gasping for life.

Prince Sefa










The scattered leaves lie dead on the ground,
The fiery colours drain out of each leaf,
They huddle together,
Their beautiful shapes lay silent,
In brilliant formation.

Kyle Osborne


The leaves falling with their last breathe of life,
Lying on the damp, damp ground like injured soldiers,
Even in death they shine,
Beautiful colours, Ruby Red and Lime Green,
Lying on the naked earth,
Curling up sadly as other leaves die on top of them,
Turning to skeletons,
Ribs cracking,
Using up their last breathe of life.

Joshua Evans




Topaz, Amber, Blazing Orange leaves hang from the tree,
Like Ruby Red flowers, or Sunset Yellow butterflies,
Blood red leaves lay on the ground like injured soldiers,
Scattered, rotting, curling, falling,
Apple Green, Jade, Gold and Bronze skeletons.

Chloe Lummis

I see a forest of pure gold,
Glistening in the sunlight,
Crimson gracefully floating in the breeze,
As red as the crown jewels,
Even in death their colours shine,
A rainbow of colour surrounds me.

Reece Cooper









Autumn leaves shining,
Shimmering down to the dry ground,
Like velvet Topaz curls,
Colours from Jade to Rosy Red,
And Blushing Rubies,
Rich multi coloured stars,
Twirling to the ground,
Locking tightly like a stained glass window,
Bright fiery colours melting into one,
And soon,
Dying.

Ashlea Brewin


The leaves on the trees swirl and twirl over the winds gentle billows,
Orange, Amber, Green and Red,
They fall to the ground like a blanket on a bed,
Butterflies of peaceful colours, fly around the earth,
Dew covered leaves of old Oak trees,
Cling onto branches.
They whistle and rustle as they dance to the ground ,
Through the trees in the forest, safe and sound,
The forest’s friends have dried up and died,
The forest’s trees with sadness cried,
But the leaves of the forest are always near,
And the trees wait impatiently until next year.

Eve Mitchell



Wonderful September rainbow leaves,
Swirling and twirling down to the ground,
Crunchy, Rose Pink star leaves,
Dancing like Divas and Ballerinas,
The colours of a paint palette,
Honey orange, dripping,
Leaves clinging onto the trees,
Rosy Red, layered, crunchy leaves
Falling to the ground,
Colourful, dry, spiky and Gold,
Amber, prickly, dying leaves,
Dry weak leaves, the colour of a Tiger’s Eye,
Snapping, crunching, like a fire sparkling,
The trees now as bare as a skeleton,
The Autumn ending quickly.

Teegan Talbot












The trees become lonely as the leaves float free,
They are dry, thirsty and dying,
The weakened shivering leaves swirl to the ground,
Rosy red and crunchy Gold,
Twisting and dancing to the hard earth,
Bright green leaves turn crispy brown,
Layered and waiting for rain,
To quench their thirst.

Chloe Wheeler


The leaves have fallen,
Autumn has begun,
Graceful leaves spiralling down,
Empty souls, tired and alone,
All huddled, no space around,
Crimson, Amber, Russet Red,
Injured soldiers,
Tattered,
Dead.

Alfie Rolfe


Gliding leaves swoop down like birds,
Burning leaves, turning rusty
And sweating in the fiery heat,
Praying for rain, gasping for life,
Tattered and crispy it falls,
Like a feather,
Lying dead, skeletons snapping,
Ribs cracking,
Ruby red flesh spreading,
Tombs needed.

Alex Clarke


Crimson leaves drifting down,
Brunette, Bronze and Rusty Red,
Vibrant colours falling silently,
A golden blanket covering the hilltops,
One leaf dies,
Another cries,
Scattered here and there,
Curling leaves lie motionless like skeletons,
Not a care as the tree becomes bare.

David Doyle








Beautiful butterflies falling,
Jade, Bronze, and Crimson,
Gold tinged, shivering in the cold,
She shines like a star,
Her jagged edges shrivel as she’s contracting,
Her golden treasures like patchwork,
Dead leaves like scattered flowers,
Colours clashing,
Paint palette,
She lies like an injured soldier,
Covered in Ruby red blood,
Her rib cage is open as blood bursts.

Sophie Leppard



Rich golden leaves hang desperately to the old gnarled branches,
The colourful, cold, dying leaves,
Scatter on the ground as the gloomy moon is full,
One after the other, piling up, overlapping,
Curling like a Rabbit’s ear,
Spiky Russet leaves fall like crumpled paper,
Huddling together trying to keep warm,
Shaped like a star and falling softly onto the unforgiving earth,
The rusty leaves still,
As it life ends.

Amy Ba


The leaves hang on for dear life,
Colourful as a rainbow,
Falling like snowflakes,
To the earth, silent as a pin’s drop,
Woodlands blanketed, full of leaves,
Jaggered and layered as a smashed window,
As yellow as honey and as red as fire,
Leaves stacking, layer upon layer,
Orange, Brown and Ruby Red,
The leaves settle,
Their day has gone.

Che Mc Queen



The leaves twirl down,
Like a rainbow as they drop,
Crunching, layered, one on top of the other,
They were like stars hanging in the sky,
Now like butterflies fluttering,
Treasures glittering,
Some are Topaz,
And some are Bronze,
All different colours as they touch the ground,
Dying, dying, dying,
Dead.


Nicola Davis



Golden leaves cling to the tree,
Silhouetted against the sky,
The velvet ruby leaves twirling like a hurricane,
They fall like golden coins from the tree,
Amber leaves floating in the air,
They land softly, as light as a feather,
As they lay on the ground they shrivel,
And die on the hard concrete.

Emma Staines


The leaves like stars on the trees,
All crunchy and Bronze,
Spinning like a tornado,
Fluttering in the sunlight,
All the multi coloured leaves so bright,
Spiralling down, a lovely brown,
Leaves are dying, no more flying,
Leaves all Ruby red, floating to their leafy bed,
Colours like a rainbow,
No more now are trying to grow,
Leaves are dying, dying, dying,
All the leaves are dead.

Joseph Wootten


The Autumn changing colour like a paint palette,
Leaves twirl as they softly touch the ground,
Like a butterfly landing,
The Yellow Ochre colour sparkles in the low sun,
As the Topaz and Bronze leaves fly in the wind,
Suddenly the dancing stops,
The veins dry up and die.

Daniel Cain



The curled leaves falling down,
Like a multi-coloured tornado,
Shimmering as the sun glistens on them,
Their colours shining in the sun,
Yellow Ochre, twisting and turning,
Like a magical fire in the forest,
They fall to the ground like butterflies,
Fluttering to land.

Christoper Clarke


The leaves are bright like fire lighting the sky above,
They’re changing to bright rainbow colours,
Leaves clinging to the branch,
Like holding hands tight,
Falling now, like tornadoes swirling and dancing,
A multi-coloured collage on paper.

Tess Young


Soft brown leaves fall swiftly and silently,
Honey Yellow and Fiery Red,
Shrivelled brown or brilliant Topaz,
Scattered leaves, as colourful as a paint palette,
Dead leaves curled like rabbits’ ears.

Charley Wright


The sunlit yellow leaves,
Twisting and turning from the trees,
Twirling down like butterflies,
Floating one by one,
Ruby Red, Shimmering gold and Topaz,
Turning into a stained glass blanket,
The trees now stand bare and cold.

Adam Rose


Forest leaves scattered everywhere,
Amber, Topaz, Lime green and Ruby red,
All lay asleep in their bed,
Dry and crispy, twisting, curling,
All huddled together,
Leaves falling as silent as a feather,
The richness in the veins slowly fading.

Ashley Le Brun


Autumn leaves shivering down,
Like raindrops falling to the ground,
Struggling to escape from the branch,
Red, yellow and green,
Multi-coloured leaves overlapping,
Falling like lava,
A paint palette of leaves.

Daniel Toley



Lime and Apple Green,
Rich Ruby and Crimson Red,
Their hearts as Bronze,
Dying slowly,
Silent,
They shine like a ruby,
Like a stained glass window,
Each one the missing piece.

Jake Ellis


The sweating leaves, green, orange, red,
Drifting slowly to a crispy blanket bed,
Floating down to colourful piles,
Swirling and curving and swerving for miles,
Lying there like an injured soldier,
Shrivelling, no more life,
Saying ‘Goodbye’ to his comrades,
Gathered around a warm sunlit fire,
Rusty and crispy,
A rainbow of colour shivering on the cold ground,
Damp and cold,
Crumbled but bold.

Chloe Carrington



A tornado of crispy, golden leaves fall to the ground,
They lie on the dry floor,
Like beautiful, silent butterflies,
They start to change.

Kelly Johnson


Yellow Ochre leaves fill the ground,
Dancing and swirling,
Not making a sound.

Amy Arthur


Leaves as colourful as a stained glass window,
Hanging from the trees,
Swirl, swirl, swirling everywhere,
Leaves as dry as sand,
Brown leaves lie on the ground.

Taylor Smith

Leaves hanging from the trees,
Honey Yellow, Jade Green,
Ruby red leaves twirl to the ground,
They lay in a blanket peacefully sleeping,
Crunching in my hand.

Tilly Minns


The crispy leaves shiver on the rough branches,
Amber leaves, as bright as lava,
Dewdrops sit on the golden leaves as they twirl to the ground.

Lauren Ashby



Ruby Red and Apple Green,
The leaves veined and sleeping,
Showing their beauty for one more day,
Even though they are dying,
Their colours still so bright,
Clinging to the branch like bats,
Then curling up in their Autumn bed.

Luke Wilton

The red leaves are the colour of fire,
Yellow Ochre leaves spinning like a tornado,
The sun shining brightly on the bronze star leaves,
All the leaves are dancing,
Golden leaves like coins thrown into the air.

Ryan Osborn