Page 1

Poetry Portfolio Friendship

Friendship sounds like happy laughter echoing through your ears. Friendship feels like warm feelings running through your veins. Friendship smells like freshly baked cookies that you made together. Friendship tastes like the sweet lollies you bought and shared. Friendship looks like two friends embracing as a cheerful day ends.


Intelligent Sure Abnormal Book-lover Extraordinary Loving


Why do I love it? Right. The smooth feel of the pen moving across the paper and the Incredible feeling of drifting into a separate world, filled Tight to the brim with dreams and happiness Is amazing as I let go of reality and I Never want to leave. But, alas, I must travel back to Earth, the land of Gaming and modern technology, where writing is a forgotten dream.

Poetry Techniques Simile: His bedroom is like a bomb site.

Metaphor: The blank page is an unforgiving wasteland.

Hyperbole: His brain is a lump of soggy bread.

Alliteration: Sweet, smart Sara saw sweaty, stupid, smelly Sam, stumbling sadly to sit down. Onomatopoeia: Frogs croak, birds whistle and the wind whooshes as the first rainfall comes and plops into the pond.

Personification: The book groans as it’s opened for the first time in years, gasps as the page is turned and sighs as the back is closed for another person to discover the adventure beneath the dusty cover.

The Chilling, Crumbling Castle Gravel crunches underfoot, As rusty iron gates clang shut. Growling sounds echo from the looming castle, Accompanied by rattling chains, Suddenly eerily silent again like drifting in a place where time has been banished. The grand doors burst open to reveal cackling clowns, Who dart backwards as shuffling feet announce the arrival of blood-thirsty zombies, But they are still cloaked in darkness and not easily seen. The old, fire-lit torches flicker, Casting a mysterious glow in the gloomy corridor that swallows up the intruding creatures as soon as they appear. Thunder cracks overhead and cobwebs brush by, Full with scuttling spiders. The rotten stairs are a terrible ambush waiting to entice the trespasser into their depths. Wolves howl outside, though the moon is far from full. A thick, sticky substance splattered across the mouldy walls, Makes it clear to think that death is approaching fast. The light is thrown onto a freshly-made corpse, And vomit threatens to make an entrance as the dreadful smell wafts up. Turning around does not make matters better than a hungry lion’s den. Death, dreaded death, must surely be easier.

The Magic Box I will put in my box A score of magical, mythical creatures, The wooden creation of a wand made of holly, The trident of a long-forgotten god. I will put in my box A dusty book full with adventures of old heroes, A simple pen and paper to keep writing dreams, The lamp of genie for wishes to come true. I will put in my box A picture frame for looking at those so close, The memory of an elephant, And a wardrobe of hope and exploration. I will put in my box A sliver of the brightest moon, The prettiest flower of springtime, A tumbling snowflake from winter. I will put in my box One tiny seed to start new life, A floating leaf from a beautiful tree in autumn, A scoop of sand from the whitest beach in summer. I will put in my box Tales of wizards, gods, genies and more, A fresh breath of wind, And a sip of still, cool water. I will put in my box The love of a mother to child, The happiness of playing with a friend for life, And the courage of those who have fought battles in many ways.

Ebony & Ivory Fingers travel up and down the piano, Sweet and soft like a fluttering fairy, But at times the loud and plunking notes are elephant’s feet. To make such a magical, marvellous sound must be impossible, But those fingers have a mind of their own and hit the keys perfectly. Ebony and ivory, Complete opposites but together in harmony. The beautiful sound reverberates around the vast room, Creating images of a swirling sea that swallows up a small rocking boat, The music escalates and finally the boat is spat out onto the sandy shore. Brought back to earth abruptly, As the piece finishes quietly and the musician sits still, Frozen in time, Music still floating through his mind. Swiftly, his fingers spring back to the keys and a new piece begins. On ebony and ivory.

Leaves in the wind

Leaves flutter gently Through the wind. Tumbling, turning, Down to the bare earth.

Captivating Books

Books filled with magic, Invite you into their depths, To tell you their tales.

Bright Night

Brightly shining on Treetops, hangs the glowing moon, Slowly sinking down.

When Happiness Comes Happy times are dear When you come here But don’t fret There’s time to bet On when joy will come near.

You’ll See Naughty, I will be If you don’t invite me to tea I’ll play nasty tricks Bang down the door with sticks If you don’t invite me, you’ll see.

Camping Don’t turn on the lamp I like to be in the dark at camp I also need my sleep Or in the morning I’ll be a heap Especially if the ground is damp.

Books Please, take a look See this big book? It’ll give you shivers As you read about rivers Sailed by evil Captain Hook.

Consider The Future Near Running down the white sand, Stopping suddenly as rubbish threatens to crawl up the beach. Dread comes quickly at the sight of a trembling, terror-filled turtle, Entangled in a plastic fishing net in its last moments. Waves crash upon the shore like a raging lion, Angry that its seas have been taken over by human discards. But still ignorant people do not notice their effect on our deteriorating planet. Among the scattered garbage lay dying creatures, Suffering because we humans are bulldozers, Tearing their world apart. The end of this wasteful Earth must surely come soon, Putting the wildlife out of its misery. Crouching down next to a stranded dolphin, Hearing the last whine of breath before it stops struggling. Fury’s hot hand claws its way up and tries to make an entrance. We need to save our seas, our land, our everything, If we want the generations to come to have the luxury of glistening, clean beaches on our doorsteps. As already the plastic comes straight back to us in the food chain, Consider this as a warning: Happy we may be here, but consider the future near.

Poetry portfolio  
Poetry portfolio  

A poetry portfolio that was done as a school assignment and is now being published online.