Year 7 English students recently completed a Poetry unit. As part of this they read and analysed a range of poems and then focused on some poetic devices in the creation of their own poems. Below is a collection of their responses to Shallow by Gerda Mayer, I Will Do Nothing But Listen by Walt Whitman and This Is Just to Say by William Carlos Williams. The original poems are reproduced below the students’ own wonderful poems.
Anne Morrison
English Learning Area Leader
Extended Metaphor by Quinn S (7F)
Overwhelmed is a clock ticking
a million times an hour
it never stops
Like a crowded room in your head
every time you blink it adds and adds
there is silence in you that you don’t know where to go what to do or
when to stop
like weights on your shoulders constantly
Overwhelmed is like a balloon popping
right in front of your eyes and you catch all your thoughts
like a lighting bold just hit you
Overwhelmed never
Ends.
Extended Metaphor by Charlotte J (7F)
Time is a voice
being heard through the ages
but slowly being forgotten.
Time is a fence,
on one side you have the memories of the past
and the other side
is slowly being created
as you grow older.
Time is like a clock ticking,
never stopping
even when we wish
it would.
Extended Metaphor by Olive M (7F)
Arguments are waves, opinions crashing at each other.
Arguments are storms, it’s loud and messy.
Arguments are glass being smashed into many pieces.
Arguments are doors not being able to close.
Arguments are soccer balls being deflated.
Arguments are balloons
Rising up and popping.
The Sounds of OLMC by Mia R (7F)
Now I will do nothing but listen
To accrue what I hear into this song
To let sounds contribute towards it.
I hear the sliding door opening and closing.
I hear the cars yell
Screaming for attention.
I hear the footsteps
Tiptoeing like a little ballerina.
I hear the silence…
So loud yet so thin,
Like a simple pen click can break it.
I hear the clicking of a mouse
Like it’s taking you on a mysterious journey
And all you can hear is
Click… click… click… click…
I hear the pens scribbling onto paper,
Their fate is chosen by the line.
I hear the bell,
Everyone blasting to get out like a bullet train.
Until I finally get home
And once again there is
Silence.
The Sounds of OLMC by Lucy M (7F)
Now I will do nothing but listen
To accrue what I hear into this song
To let sounds contribute towards it.
I hear cars zooming by
engines roaring
I hear the angry yell of the train.
I hear the pristine silence
shattered by cars accelerating quickly like kids
running for the canteen at lunch.
I hear the printer spitting out pages, like Google
spitting out facts.
I hear the teacher droning on like the on call phone music
it goes through my brain.
I hear the bell shriek
and a stampede of elephants running to their lockers.
The school bell is their ticket to freedom.
The Sounds of OLMC by Tahli d (7F)
Now I will do nothing but listen
To accrue what I hear into this song
To let sounds contribute towards it.
I hear the crunchy gravel as students' feet crushes it.
I hear the whisper of the wind and honking of cars as
they yell at each other
Pens clicking, coughing, teachers teaching all sounds I listen to at OLMC.
The library is a quiet place where the ticking of
the clock is heard.
The printer makes a low grumble like a lawnmower in the background.
Laughter echoes through the halls and birds cry out.
The bell screams at me when the day comes to an end.
The school gates shake
as stampedes of students rush out
to catch the train shouting at them to hurry.
When I leave I smell freedom in the air.
Unapology Poem by Helena N (7F)
This is just to say
I have eaten
Your chocolates
That were in
The fridge
And which
You had
Bought with
Your own
Money
Forgive me
But they
Were so
Delicious
And I saved
You from
Getting diabetes.
Unapology Poem by Poppy K (7F)
This is just to say
Sorry I have eaten
The last donut that
Was in the pantry
And which you were
Definitely going to pack
In your lunch today
Forgive me
It was
So good and delicious.
Unapology Poem by Hannah M (7F)
This is just to say
I took up room
on your bed
Head on your
pillow
Muddy paws on
your fresh blanket
Which you
were probably
waiting
to sleep in.
Forgive me
it was warm,
comfy, and peaceful
without You.
This Is Just to Say by William Carlos Williams
I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox
and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast
Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold
Williams, W. C. (n.d.). This is just to say. Poetry Foundation. https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/56159/this-is-just-to-say |
I Will Do Nothing But Listen by Walt Whitman
Now I will do nothing but listen,
To accrue what I hear into this song, to let sounds contribute toward it.
I hear bravuras of birds, bustle of growing wheat, gossip of flames,
clack of sticks cooking my meals,
I hear the sound I love, the sound of the human voice,
I hear all sounds running together, combined, fused or following,
Sounds of the city and sounds out of the city, sounds of the day and night,
Talkative young ones to those that like them, the loud laugh of
work-people at their meals,
The angry bass of disjointed friendship, the faint tones of the sick,
The judge with hands tight to the desk, his pallid lips pronouncing
a death-sentence,
The heave'e'yo of stevedores unlading ships by the wharves, the
refrain of the anchor-lifters,
The ring of alarm-bells, the cry of fire, the whirr of swift-streaking
engines and hose-carts with premonitory tinkles and color'd lights,
The steam-whistle, the solid roll of the train of approaching cars,
The slow march play'd at the head of the association marching two and two,
(They go to guard some corpse, the flag-tops are draped with black muslin.)
I hear the violoncello, ('tis the young man's heart's complaint,)
I hear the key'd cornet, it glides quickly in through my ears,
It shakes mad-sweet pangs through my belly and breast.
I hear the chorus, it is a grand opera,
Ah this indeed is music--this suits me….
I hear the train'd soprano (what work with hers is this?)
The orchestra whirls me wider than Uranus flies,
It wrenches such ardours from me I did not know I possess'd them,
It sails me, I dab with bare feet, they are lick'd by the indolent waves,
I am cut by bitter and angry hail, I lose my breath,
Steep'd amid honey'd morphine, my windpipe throttled in fakes of death,
At length let up again to feel the puzzle of puzzles,
And that we call Being.
Whitman, W. (n.d.). Song of myself, 26. Academy of American Poets. https://poets.org/poem/song-myself-26 |
Shallow by Gerda Mayer
I’ve thought of a poem.
I carry it carefully,
nervously, in my head,
like a saucer of milk;
in case I should spill some lines
before I can put it down.
Meyer, G. (1978). Knockabout show. Chatto & Windus.
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