Tag Archives: poems for the classroom

Poem of the Day

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Inside

 

What has my tummy got inside?

I often sit and wonder.

(Sometimes it makes the strangest noise,

like very angry thunder.)

 

Now, what did I eat for breakfast?

Not that much, as I recall.

Fried eggs, baked beans, and marmalade,

with hot porridge first of all.

 

And what about last night’s dinner?

That yummy seafood pasta —

With chocolate mousse to follow,

Now that might spell disaster!

 

And there’s something I’ve forgotten:

All those TV snacks last night —

Iced VoVos, Twisties, Jaffas —

Helped quell my appetite.

 

All the food that I’ve been eating

Has nowhere else to hide —

It’s all down in my tummy,

And I’d hate to see inside!

 

 James Aitchison
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #30

Poem of the Day

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B is for boring

A was for apple

and  B was for ball.

C was for something

I can’t quite recall,

maybe a carrot,

a cat or a comb,

but certainly something

you’d find round the home.

I love reading books

but I have to concede

that my first ever book

was so boring to read.

Jenny Erlanger
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #29

 

Poem of the Day

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Will I? Won’t I?

Our senses are detectives

 

I hear a kettle boil and click.

I see the steam rise soft and thick.

I sense that kettle’s very hot.

Will I touch it?  NO I’ll not.

 

I see green mould upon the fruit.

I touch it and it feels too soft.

I smell the scent of yucky rot.

Will I taste it?  NO I’ll not.

 

I feel the raindrops on my skin.

I smell the dampness closing in.

I see the lightning on the hill.

Will I hear it?  Yes I will.

 

I see the smoke and bonfire blaze.

I feel its warmth upon my face.

I hear the crackling spits and spills.

Will I smell it?  Yes I will.

 

I hear a mossie’s whining flight.

It stops.  And then I feel a bite.

Will I see it? Not at night.

Will I squash it?  Yes I might!

Celia Berrell

Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #27

Celia said: If asked to do something, people may say YES and then change their mind.  I tend to say NO first-up, THEN change my mind!  Which way round will it be for you?

Poem of the Day

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????  ????

 

Five

four

three two wonder.

Count down to question, speculate, think.

Imagine and ponder, let your mind wander

down winding pathways right to the brink.

Over the edge is the not knowing dark

but out there you’ll find

the spark!

the spark!

 

Penny Szentkuti

 

Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #17

Penny said: I am teaching a unit on space at the moment and indeed pondering on how much we don’t know and how we have to be brave and imaginative enough to spend time in the ‘not knowing’ to make new discoveries.

Poem of the Day

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Snowflake Nucleation

 

Fabulous flecks

of feather-white fluff

gracefully fall

from a frozen sky.

 

But moisture and cold

aren’t quite enough

to make water droplets

solidify.

 

Most of those freezing

flakes of snow

use something alive

on which to grow.

 

Those Jack Frost patterns

will only start

when a microbe lies

at a snowflake’s heart.

Celia Berrell

Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #28

Celia said: Fleeting, gentle, cool, melting … there’s something delightful about feeling the caress of a snowflake on my face. I can see all those rosy cheeks in the wintery weather down south. Love that snow!

Poem of the Day

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Polite Pause

 

Prawns,

floating commas in

the tidal way of things,

eyes bulging the full stop

as the net drops.

 

We complain

sweet morsels are

a pain to peel,

much like meaning in

conversation over dinner.

 

Just don’t forget

to take the rubbish out.

 

Dead prawns like tide and time

wait only for

the exclamation mark.

J.R.McRae

  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #25

Poem of the Day

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If Clouds Were Beds

If clouds were beds then I would sleep
upon a cloud that’s soft and deep.
A cumulus cloud, that’s its name,
though as a name it’s rather lame
because it doesn’t make you think
of fluffy clouds in which you’d sink
into their white caressing sheets,
nor how you’d lie and dream of treats
or winning that important game,
so, bed-cloud is a better name.

If clouds were cars then I would race
a wispy cloud, high up near space.
A cirrus cloud is what they say-
that doesn’t seem a place to stay
behind the wheel and speed around
a track that’s high up off the ground.
I want a simple name that shows
a cloud that goes and goes and goes,
a cloud that’s fast and fun to use
so, car-cloud is the name I choose.

If clouds were homes then mine would be
one stretching far as you can see.
A stratus cloud is what it’s called,
but that name doesn’t say it’s sprawled
across the sky- a wide, flat field,
where there’d be ample space to build
a house, with rooms for everyone,
a garden where we’d play and run,
and even an enormous shed,
so, I call those home-clouds instead.

 

Kristin Martin

(Previously published in Orbit (The School Magazine), Issue 9, October 2016.)

Poem of the Day

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Too Late for Chocolate?

 

It’s best to say YES to sensible food.

Eat all our veggies

with meat well chewed.

 

It’s best to say YES to exercise.

It helps keep us fit

and also wise.

 

It’s best to say YES to a good night’s sleep.

With eight to ten hours

of dreaming deep.

 

BUT

It’s hard to say NO to late TV shows

with popcorn or ice-cream

or marshmallows.

 

SO …

You wouldn’t say YES, if handed a plate

of yummy baked cakes

or some sweet chocolate …

would you?

Celia Berrell
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #22

Celia said: When we’re tired, we are more likely to give in to temptations.  Well that’s my excuse.  What’s yours?

 Self-controlled people have better lives – but for the rest, lack of willpower is more like physical fatigue than moral failure, says Roy F. Baumeister, professor of social psychology at Florida State University.

 

Poem of the Day

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Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #24

 

 

 

Poem of the Day

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A Plea for Green

 

Green are the hills for children:

a sunlit place of grasses,

dandelions and daisies;

 

as green as an apple, a fig,

an unripe fruit; the green

of memory and melody,

 

the scrubby bushy slopes

for exploration; tall trees

to climb, parks to run through.

 

Screens are not green

or sunlit; the blue wild

winds do not blow there –

 

a static buzz bends

the mind in dark rooms.

This is my plea for green.

 

Jaz Stutley

  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #22