Allsorts

The tiny and growing children
Are like round and narrow pencils.
Some are blunt
And are used.
The parents are the sharpeners,
Who sharpen their child’s future and decide their way.
The teachers are the erasers,
Who correct and teach them.
They can make a wrong word correct,
Or a correct word wrongly.
The siblings and friends are the scale,
Who make us go in a straight line.
What is important can become slant,
And a slant can become straight.
The paper is your life,
Where you write your script.
You can choose your way
And make your day.

One lone poppy sitting on a battlefield
Is thinking to itself,
Why in all the colours do I have to be red?
It resembles all the blood that has to be bled.
Why am I on a desolate battlefield?
Where all the fighting is to be dealed.
A last primal cry is all I hear,
As blood and death is always near.
A smouldering fire, a touch of heat,
A screaming cry, a sign of defeat.
The ‘Jerry’ will be there, dark and dim,
As the soldiers faces are always grim.
Why do I have to be on a grave
Where fighters die, scared but brave?
Why? Why does the fighting never end,
As the dark war was starting to mend?
As the poppies sway and bow,
I will make a simple vow,
No poppy big or small,
Will stand here not rising tall.
We are not silly flowers,
Because we have great powers.
One lone poppy sitting in a battlefield,
Is finally not alone…

You wake up you hear your annoying alarm clock
reminding you that your going to school
but you were dreaming about being in a pool
You’re warm and comfy but school is waiting

Your mom calls you to get dressed
You respond with a tired voice
and you’re thinking about the pool
Sun on your face
SO relaxing
SO nice
But you open your eyes
It’s time for class.

blue
a sea
shining in the sun
reminds me about swimming
peace

No Pads,
No Pause,
Just Grit and Grace,
In Rugby’s wild relentless pace.
While football stops for every play,
We chase ahead,
No time delay.

No helmets hide the fearless face,
We stand as one,
We hold our place.
The clock rolls on,
The hits are real,
No diving here,
Just strength and steel.

So call your plays and take your fall,
We’ll ruck and maul and give our all.
For in the game,
The brave belong,
Where hearts beat loud and bodies strong.

The language my friend and I use is unique,

No one can hear a peep,

We use it at break and

when we are awake.

We use motions to say,

“Hello, have a good day!”

When we are mad,

We say something bad.

We only say it to each other,

not even to our brother.

We like our communication,

When we face a strong temptation,

We’ll memorise it so it stays—

A secret for all our days.

We also talk when we walk.

We made it out of fun,

When lessons felt too long to run.

It makes us laugh, it makes us smile,

We use it every once in a while.

Maybe one day we’ll tell the rest,

And show them how our code’s the best.

But for now, it’s ours to keep,

A promise said before we sleep.

Cats on mats,
cats and rats,
bogs and dogs,
dogs get muddy
and they think it’s funny
but it’s quite literally not
foxes are cheeky
and quite sneaky
and they might even steal your socks
cats are lazy but smell like daises
and even get your shoelaces
tied up in a knot

Igor had gone to a garage sale
To find a box for his immense mail
When he saw something that was extremely weird
It was a small portrait of a person, and they had one eye and a huge beard

The frame was minute and a very dark brown
And the picture was of a smiling clown
But as Igor strode purposefully by
He could’ve sworn the clown followed him with its eye

He didn’t like anything, so he biked home
He happened to pass a neighbour’s garden gnome
He didn’t think anything of it and biked on
But when he looked back, it was gone

He went to his house to go to sleep
But as he prepared his bed, he saw something creep
Across the brown, carpet floor
And it seemed to enter into his bedroom door

Igor got into bed and tried to sleep
But he couldn’t sleep that deep
And every time he tried to dream
He would see the clown and wake up to scream

He was seeing the clown everywhere
The clown with the nightmarish stare
Igor fell onto the floor, breathing hard
But the room seemed to be set ablaze and charred

Igor couldn’t feel anything anymore
The heat was building up more and more
And every time he’d see a flame
It would look like the portrait’s frame

Igor felt the temperature, a billion degrees
But it was normal room temperature, and at ease
Igor was slowly going crazy
And the clown seemed to be acting bored and lazy

Its smile seemed to be taunting
Its eye appeared to Igor mocking
The clown was being very frightening
And to Igor it was tormenting

The clown started walking with a swagger
And to Igor every second felt like an hour
It reached where he was on the floor
And Igor to his mother he called for

The clown was supremely unconcerned
As the floor around them just burned
And the clown opened it mouth, its tongue blue
And it shouted, “BOO!”

The next day his parents entered Igor’s room
As they opened the door, smoke came out as a plume
They found Igor unable to articulate, shell-shocked and weak
The parents thought he’d just had a nightmare and so couldn’t speak

After a while, Igor became normal
He thought he had a dream that was just abnormal
Unbeknownst to him, the portrait did lie
With its hateful one eye

Oliver the octopus was feeling rather ill.
He went to see the doctopus who send him for a pill.
He said that’s chickenoctopus, your tentacles are spotty.
Poor Olly got a shocktopus, he felt a little dotty.
He bought 4 pairs of socktopus to cover up his legs.
He fed himself on choctopus and jellyfish’s eggs.
After that Olly had felt better then before.
The doctopus that olly had seen had found the perfect cure

Princess Julia Miranda, she sleeps on a bed of finest fabrics.
She has many dresses, made of silks, satins, cottons, jewels and velvets.
All of finest design.
Her bedroom is covered with flowers from the kingdom of heaven.
She lives in a palace so heavenly no mortal can ever see.
She has silky shining eyes which reflect all the beauty,
love, sorrows and romance of many generations past
and all there are to come.
Her lips are redder than the roses of paradise.
Her scent carries the breeze it steals from the flowers.
She sleeps on a bed of the finest fabrics.
She has many dresses,
made of silks, satins, cottons, jewels & velvets all of finest design.
Her hair is such as the greatest gold silk ever known.
No living mortal can ever see how fair she is
So fine and fair a maiden is she !!!
She is the queen of snow, beauty, love, anger, success, rise and fall
Her complexion is pale, her cheeks have the blush of sunrise !!!!