SJCS Poetry Anthology 2023

Poetry 2023

Paper Transportation

I open pristine white pages and I am transported into Medieval England, Into a grand, magnificent castle.

Great braziers crackle with curling scarlet flames and freezing air makes me shiver in anticipation and fear. Dust showers down from peeling wallpaper and the flames disappear as I am enveloped by inky darkness.

I open pristine white pages and I am plunged into the clear sapphire waters of the Mediterranean. Shoals of fish curl around me in a cocoon of dazzling colours and seaweed dances to the music of the sea. But dark, brooding shapes lurk in the background. So I close the book and I am back in the comfort of my bed in a bundle of blankets , Anticipating, Eyes wide with suspense, Waiting for the next chapter.

Lucy Keightley (aged 12)

Ocean

Don’t be bored Ocean, Feel the soft silky sun grazing your waters, Let your ocean blues dance with the atmosphere, Hear the whales sing their song forever long.

Elizabeth Diggle (aged 10)

Sailing

The sun came early, golden and glorious, Clouds freckling the sky, Sea spray cleansing the morning air.

We chase rolling waves, And cut them till they froth a foamy white, And we ride the currents, Until rocky shores are out of sight.

And when the sun hangs high across the deck, We dream of lifting our feet and pretend to walk in the air

Persephone Trippett (aged 11)

Run away and protect yourselves, For the dark, the dark is rising, Nowhere is safe, So all you can do is run, For the dark, the dark is rising.

Bring only your loved ones, For the dark, the dark is rising, Leave your belongings, And run for your lives, For the dark, the dark is rising.

Run for your brothers and run for your sisters, For the dark, the dark is rising, It will take everything,

So all you can do is run, For the dark, the dark is rising.

Lily Walpole (aged 12)

Remembrance

A set of ghoulish faces staring red, Reminds me of the faces of the dead, The sounds of shells and rockets bang and soar, And blood red poppies must never let us ignore, The sacrifice of those who’ve gone before.

Charlie Jerram (aged 11)

Poppies

Scarlet red poppies growing by our feet, As the buds open petals start to peep, A glimpse of hope for peace when battles end, And enemies once more become friends.

Megan Munro (aged 11)

Ode to Crickets

Your preludes resonate with the wind, Your nocturnes chirp in the night, As evening falls and lights are dimmed, What sounds do you bestow upon us!

The lark and thrush sigh and weep, Singing to find something to eat, As you cross the grass and leap, The cycle never ends.

You scurry away when footsteps are near, And you are frightened when dragonflies pass, And in the night, when fireflies appear, You venture out into the dark.

The senseless leaves and the sky above, The birds flying against the breeze, For which animal can resist to indulge, In something as crunchy as you.

Anne Vinokurov (aged 12)

Lovely Green

Green is like a shiny emerald glistening in the sunshine.

Green is like a sleek frog, Jumping to each lily pad, dancing. Green is like a squishy lime refreshing your tongue, Green is like pointy grass dancing through the meadows. What is your favourite green?

Tara Roshan (aged 6)

Shades of Green

Green is a pickle stinging my tongue, Green is mint ice-cream freshening my mouth, Green is a creamy olive tickling my lips, Green is slime - smooshy and squiggly and wiggly, Green is a vine creeper climbing up the fence.

What is your shade of green?

Roopkatha Adhikari (aged 6)

Visiting Twenty Minute Cottage

When you leave for Twenty Minute cottage you must not hesitate, Jump in the stuffed car, crammed full of unessential beach things, Put up with the songs like ‘Graceland’ and ‘Under African Skies’ that my dad will insist on playing at full volume. And pretend that the sandwiches have enough gherkins to satisfy.

When you arrive go straight to the corner shop and stuff your pockets full with as many sweets as you can buy, Then run along the sandy lanes towards the field by the sea; leap on to the zipwire and forget all you learnt at school, French verbs and English grammar.

When you go to Twenty Minute Cottage, You must take care to never break the china, but we always do so, On the last day scurry around town and buy multiple replacements. Don’t forget to leave a note of apology. Then leave with that sinking feeling of going back to the city.

May Guttridge (aged 11)

Devon

The blood-orange sun sinks lower, Diving deeper into the horizon, And the undulating waves of the sea, Are lit by twilight’s final sparkle.

A swift - nimble and brisk, Pierces the crisp evening breeze, Its flight - graceful and elegant, Holding unshared secrets of African lands.

The rolling hills, Plentiful in profile below us, Stretch out, far and wide, Prodigious, expansive, vast.

Milan Patel (aged 12)

Ping Pong Parlour

Ping pong balls scatter around, Shoes squeaking, Bats clacking, Children shrieking, People yelling over the music. My serve. My point.

Sophia Wickham (aged 11)

Henstead

Dirt track winding into the distance, With marshes coming into view, The small river snaking through the fields, And the subtle tint of rich blackberries, Hidden in the bushes, Guarded by nature’s spears.

The sparrows fly neatly in the darkening sky, Their calls chirping weaker to the ear as they settle into the blanket of sleep. Ground dwellers are still and silent as the moon rises and imprisons everything with silky bars of light. This is when the night life rises, And a cacophony of noise begins.

Olivia Inglis (aged 12)

The Grafton Centre

Neon lights gleam from shiny walls, The sweet smell of brewing coffee, Squeaking shoes across the floor, Children nagging and babies crying, And the scent of freshly baked bread.

Georgia Chesterfield (aged 11)

I stand on beds of crumbling earth, My tired arms stretch to grey, I am bare, but figures hold me close, They come and go, they sing and weep, They sit around me, shapes around a flame.

My mind lies in slumber, Only to be broken by the snap of a twig, the hoot of a bird, Sometimes I am cold, othertimes warm.

I have friends and I have enemies, My skin is a map to the trials of time, Yet I stand still and tall and proud, Though twisted and tangled by my eternal tormentor, My everlasting saviour. However, I am content to age and die.

Hugo Wells (aged 12)

Forest

Fiery phoenixes crying pearly tears, Reaching roots and searching leaves, Peeling paper, the animals’ dainty work, Pretty snow, fresh from the clouds, Caves of wonder and branches, Woodland slides, making loops, Dragon’s eye glaring sneakily, Blinding sunlight, sparking amazing trees, Magnificent forest, full of gleaming trees, And orange peacocks, ending this tale.

Forest

Spreading roots are reaching for water, Scaly trunk, growing fast, Golden peacock moulting flaming feathers, Peeling bark slug-slow, Crisp golden leaves rotting away, Trunk black as soot, Maple syrup the sticky sweet blood.

Bryony MacLeod-Jones (aged 8)

Magnus Moore (aged 8)

Tall red towers, spiralling up, Clashing apple-coloured beer glasses, Laughing, joyous children, Devouring delicious sweets, Munching moist pretzels.

The looping roller coaster, Screaming when it stops, Carrying smiling faces shouting in delight, Sparkling eyes filled with joy.

Towering stuffed toys, Surrounding the street, Sugary treats fly from hand to mouth, The warm embrace of hot chocolate, Glowing the children with heat.

Steam rising all around, Turkey-smells drift on the air, Stomachs rumbling, Schnitzel soaring out of the stands, Rich food surrounds.

Everyone in lederhosen, Singing out their hearts, Sizzling sausages on forks and ketchup squirting.

George Gibbes (aged 12)

My Grandfather

I see him now, In his carob and seaweed chequered beret, Standing firm, his knees unbent, Muddied from a day’s gardening, And smelling of garden mint. His hair smoothed back and clean.

Taking light and purposeful steps, He picks me up, twizzling me in the air, He’s firm, yet sweet and kind all at the same time.

His smile makes my day, He takes me on long walks, Bird watching or sledding in the snow.

The memories flash back. They make me want to cry. Not sad tears but tears of happiness.

Alyse Baines (aged 11)

My Grandma

My Grandma, With a paintbrush in hand, Humming in the sunlight, As she continues to paint her own view of the world.

Never letting us call her Granny, With her five chickens and a cat, She continues to wear her pleated skirts, colourful scarves and her summer hats.

There she is, baking her famous recipe: Chocolate cupcakes with choc chips inside.

She always manages to make me smile as soon as I enter the door, Taking off shoes to pad across the cold kitchen floor.

Every room is filled with the smell of cupcakes and tea, And her amazing paintings hanging up, Which always inspire me.

Megan Munro (aged 11)

Chocolate Cake

Let us all welcome the astounding chocolate cake.

He is...

Birthday - surpriser, Mouth - waterer, Chocolate - smiler, Tummy - filler, Mess - maker, Life - depender, Taste - creator, Tummy - acher, Strong - taster, Day - enhancer, Craving - filler, Memory - maker, Finger - licker, No food - greater.

Delicious.

That’s what you areA treat from the heavenly stars.

Written by 3B

English (aged 9)

When I Eat A Fish

When I eat a fish, I find it delish. All you do is take a rod, Then add some bait and concentrate and check if anything is attracted to your bait.

Once you’ve caught the fish, Turn it into a dish, Because a fish dish is more than delish and is nearly everybody’s dearest wish, Just take a bite and see how you like your fish.

So try the delish fish dish and soon it’ll be your dearest wish.

Arindam Roshan (aged 9)

Dylan

once i had a playdate with poppy poppy had some puppies poppy was selling her puppies but dylan didn’t find a home

we already have a doggy we didn’t need another i wanted to adopt dylan so i begged and begged my mother

soon enough she gave in so we took him to his brand new home and he danced and pranced in the garden and he slipped and fell in the pond

i saved him and hugged him he’s just so cute, i totally love him and to this day he sleeps on my bed

Imogen O’Reilly (aged 9)

Big, black bushy tail, Tells me his mood:

Happy, his tail is a duster, Trying to get rid of spiders, Sad, it’s a broken washing line.

Huge malteser eyes, Stare into my soul, Small, wet, nose Shoves in my face, asking questions: Where have you been? New dogs for me to play with?

His large, warm heart is all mine, Always loyal at my side, Keeper of my secrets, Better than any friend

Sebastian Gray (aged 12)

Homeless

I’m hidden. No one sees me, People pass by, Like I’m not even there.

I’m hidden. My life is like a dream, I observe but it feels so surreal, A living ghost, Trapped in a world where I don’t belong.

I’m hidden. In my own invisible prison, Locked in with no escape.

No one sees me, But I see them.

Isabella Dixon (aged 12)

My sense of loneliness was abandoned when I met you, When I looked into your soul, You reflected light and happiness.

My face lit up, When I felt the warmth of your reflected sun, And you make my room feel bigger, Even though you are only a few feet high.

Georgie Formston (aged 12)

Dreaming

Smiling butlers open the doors, And I race into the garden, Waving at the giggling sunflowers, As they nod and bob together.

I find the pool, Its glimmering golden depths, Inviting me closer, I jump high into the air

stretching my arms above my head, And plunge into the water, It closes around me, Warm and welcoming.

Arms reach out to me, Pulling me in all directions, Hands beckon to me, And fingers point out wonders:

I can see Jupiter, Spinning in its icy rings, Bruce Lee invites me for pizza, But I already have a commitment.

Then suddenly I reach the bottom, My hands land on the dusty earth, And the sky tickles my toes, Clouds sponging my bare feet.

Suddenly, I am ravenous, That’s fine as my coat has many pockets, And in each one is a new thing. I am sure one must hold food.

I sit up and check my pockets: A spanner, a pony, a rainbow, a statuette of Zeus, And at last, something I can eat, My birthday cake.

I open my mouth to take a huge bite, But my mouth closes around nothing, And I am back in my room, awake.

Vita Rainey (aged 12)

I am a City

I am a furry city with lots of monkeys. All have patterns.

I am a hungry city with silly sausages and clowns.

I am a beautiful city which is as high as the mountains.

I am a swimming city with lots of amazing fish going around in circles doing tricks and flicks.

Charlotte Holly (aged 6)

I am a City

I am a cold city in the Antarctic, With bold, friendly huskies, Who keep me warm at night.

I am a city thick with snow, So I ride on my husky’s back.

I am a warm city sitting on the sandy beach, Watching the turtles swim.

I am windy city, Leaves sweeping across me. I am a jumpy city. Everyone is a slimy frog.

Grace Malyon (aged 6)

Whale Song

The ocean glowed in summer heat, My arms reached out, I could hear his song in my heart and feel it beneath the waves, I knew he was calling to me.

So I leaped from the boat and his song was clearer now, Beckoning me ever closer.

The rise and fall of the melody, Singing of rainbow fish and coral caves, Of lightning storms and white capped waves, So a whale came that day, He came and sang to me.

Lily Walpole (aged 12)

The Night

Oh! Look at the stars, Great big fireflies, Tiny lightbulbs, Beautiful fireworks, Look up at the stars.

Oh! Look up at the moon, Massive grey pizza, A pearl in the black sea of night, The grainy crystal ball, Look up at the moon.

Oh! look up at the night, The starry prism, The blindfold, The silencer, Look up at the night.

Charlie Lipscomb (aged 11)

Starry Night

A black cloud towers over us like a cloth, It is as dark as a void, The blackness swarming closer and closer.

Then it stops, It parts, And through the clouds, through the heavens... comes a star. The star shines bright, People gape in awe and wonder, The nativity all over again.

Kevin Ke (aged 11)

On the Road when it Rains

The soft invasion of mud from the field, Seeping into the hurrying drains, A collection of spilled fruit washed onto the road when it rains.

I often gaze outside and wonder, How it would feel to be a sycamore seed, That descends with grace to the soil and is washed onto the road when it rains.

It’s easy not to notice the smaller details: The water being kicked up by cars, But other than that they leave no trail, On the roads and on the lanes.

When the trees’ leaves start to fall, to lie on the ground and cook, That’s when the clouds start to rain on the road and into the drains.

Rain infects the great old silos, Filled to the brim with gold harvests, To ruin the produce, making levels low, And flooding the road with grain.

Theo Whiting (aged 13)

Meal of the Mid Cretaceous

Glistening sun rays steadily climb down the looming conifer’s trunks, Landing with a shimmer on a sauropod’s crimson-red ruby scales, And the dinosaur munches happily, Cacao trees twinkle, wincing in the light, As he crunches on their sweet, rich leaves.

Peregrine Brice (aged 10)

Running a Race

I’m running, running, running a race, With the wind rushing past my face, It’s whistling and whistling past my ears, Among the crowds and roaring cheers, I’m near, I’m close, I’m close to the end, And nearly at the final bend, I’m jumping over the finish line, This running race is all mine!

Ingrid Birchall

(aged 9)

November

The plopping, splashing drips from stormy clouds into puddles making circles ripple round, Like a planet’s rings, towards infinity, Reflecting the passing of the day.

November Fireworks

They’re exploding rainbows in the sky, Like sea anemones blooming at high tide, Fireworks like dahlias bursting bright from bulbs, Crackling in the dark, a blue midnight heaven.

Evie Oates (aged 11)

Dotty Gardiner (aged 11)

Winter

Falling snowflakes glow like descending stars, As crystalized diamonds.

Voices echo through the dark ivory woods, As naked, spiky trees loom like prying dark skeletons.

Milo White (aged 12)

Willow

Naked branches crawl across the dark sky, How thin, how old, how colourless, Groaning loudly, throughout the forest, Bending down, seeking rest.

A nest of chirping chicks, The lively tree enjoys their company, As pink blossoms fall and the first bird flies.

The sun pierces through the leaves, Little emeralds shine, The warmth beckons the tree to lie down and sleep.

The willow sways as if a ghost, Leaves drop silently in the spooky night, A tangle of branches like frizzy hair swallows the darkness.

Kasra Mohaddes (aged 10)

The Beetle

The beetle scuttles cautiously up the tree, Its tiny legs carefully grip thin cracks laced randomly along the great oak.

Speeding up and slowing down, It dodges birds’ nests, moss, lichen and mushrooms,

And reaching the top of the tree, It slowly climbs onto a small green leaf and pauses, swaying in the morning breeze.

Then, using its hind-most legs, It pushes off the soft surface, Immediately catching the cool wind on delicate, paper like wings, and flutters away towards the sun.

Emre Tunc (aged 12)

Crows

Condescending eyes ever judging, Stalking your every move, Peering down at the world below, With their suffocating arrogance, A puff of the chest and a roll of the eye, A cackle and a scoff, Eerily looming, watching, waiting.

When the time comes, They swoop down from their haughty perch, And caw their pompous cry, Laughing and sniggering, As their prey scurries away.

They flap their silent wings, And retreat to their carping ways.

Anon (aged 12)

Shark

Scary huge terrifying shark, Silver steel grey, Slithering fast, Over sandy beds, Hunting, pouncing, biting.

Turtle

Beautiful shiny smooth shell, Magical emerald, Gliding through the deep blue sea, Twisting, twirling turtle.

Philip Maisinger (aged 5)

Katynke Macswiney (aged 5)

Fish

Gliding smooth and beautiful, Pink as rose petals, Blue as the skies, Shimmering scales, turning gracefully, And diving in and out of corals, Fantastic fish.

Aubrey Elliott (aged 6)

Hallucinations

Hallucinations, Are order in chaos, Light in darkness, Liable to lie, Undeniably hated, Created to consume hope, Incredibly believable, Naming truths beyond truth, Annoyingly deceptive, Teasing falsehoods, Immersing you in doubt, Yet opening your mind to possibilities of life.

Riley Neville (aged 12)

The Bowl of Life

The empty bowl of life, Full of doubt: Not worthy, Not able, Not good enough, Dull, Cheap, Empty, Insignificant, and a mistake.

The full bowl of life, Full to the brim: Joy, Happiness, Experiences, Love, Family, Strength, Power, Values, and Priceless moments.

Ophelia Wright (aged 12)

The Tram

Colourful trees surround me as I wait for the tram to arrive.

The Mumbai City Tram Station is comforting and clean. Happiness rushes through me when the tram arrives.

Inside, I am surrounded with rich scents, There are candles lit everywhere, The lining is green, The seats soft and luscious.

I think that the cream seats and the green lining go together quite well, The windows too are tinted green, I sit down and eat my wrapped-in-a-tissue-cupcake.

When the tram starts I’m so excited as It is my first time. It is loud, and bumpy, and it is raining outside.

Abhinav Bole (aged 10)

Wind jolts the plane unpredictably as we rise through the stormy clouds, Lightning strikes narrowly missing us, Turning night into day.

Once out of the darkness, A beautiful view, The sun glistening, Soft clouds carpeting over the chaotic world. Again we descend through the soft clouds, Back into the rainy, stormy day.

Teddy Rigby (aged 12)

The Swing

Holding on for dear life, I fly high towards the sky, And then swoop back to earth, Swaying forwards and backwards, A cloud catching the wind and I see lime green trees waving their branches, A lake sparkling and shimmering,

Forwards and backwards, Like a clock pendulum, Up like a bird, Down like a leaf, And when it’s over, I feel like I’m chained to earth.

Isabella Bishop (aged 12)

Days at St John’s

First day.

Nervous goosebumps scatter up my arm, Welcoming faces fill my view, A kingdom of red brick walls towers over me whispering in my ear that it’s going to be ok, Children run around me, Darting this way and that as if they had somewhere to be.

Laughter and happiness swarm my hearing, A smiling face, A beckoning arm and I never look back.

Sports day.

The gun fires, A noise of a herd of elephants thundering down the track, The baton curled in the tight grip of my hand, Blurred shouting rises behind me, Fists punching the clouds as I speed round the corner, My tongue, paralysed inside my mouth, The last stretch,

I can see the next runner, Closer and closer they come, Before I know it, the baton has left my grip, It’s off! Off, into the distance.

Drama day. Lights beam on my face, Eyes darting from one place to the next, Splurge fired, Screaming and shouting, Complete chaos, Smiles widened, Electricity coiled across the stage. The last day.

Nervous goosebumps scatter up my arm, Familiar faces fill my view, A kingdom of red brick walls bids me farewell, whispering in my ear that it’s going to be ok.

Isobel Morbey (aged 12)