The Changing Picture
The changing picture changes day and
night , stores anything I like...
It is a fire breathing dragon to a tiny mouse
It is a forest full of fire flies to the Amazon's
amazing animals
It is fireworks bursting in the night sky
It is a tree swaying in the Autumn breeze.
Charlie Jay
My Magic Door by By Ben Paul
The stars float like boats on the dark sea,
Anger is a violent volcano about to erupt.
Trees stretching their branches like arms
ready to grow
The sun, shines like a diamond in the sky.
A kitten about to pounce,
A field weaving its hands.
The changing picture changes day and
night , stores anything I like...
It is a fire breathing dragon to a tiny mouse
It is a forest full of fire flies to the Amazon's
amazing animals
It is fireworks bursting in the night sky
It is a tree swaying in the Autumn breeze.
Charlie Jay
My Magic Door by By Ben Paul
The stars float like boats on the dark sea,
Anger is a violent volcano about to erupt.
Trees stretching their branches like arms
ready to grow
The sun, shines like a diamond in the sky.
A kitten about to pounce,
A field weaving its hands.
The Magic Door
I walk through the door and find ...
An eye from space that gazes at us
The fire from the little star
The water from a sacred well
A sound that says all the secrets
The snow that sits on the ground.
The magic from a shooting star
The dust from a that flies above
ground
The sea that swims upon the shore
A key that can unlock every door
A machine that can take me to the
future
A stone to make me live forever
A helmet to make me really clever.
By Harvey Barlow
I walk through the door and find ...
An eye from space that gazes at us
The fire from the little star
The water from a sacred well
A sound that says all the secrets
The snow that sits on the ground.
The magic from a shooting star
The dust from a that flies above
ground
The sea that swims upon the shore
A key that can unlock every door
A machine that can take me to the
future
A stone to make me live forever
A helmet to make me really clever.
By Harvey Barlow
In my mirror, my mirror I see,
The glistening moon on a light
blue sea, mixed with stars smiling
at me!
But soon its time for them to go,
and make way for the sun's glow.
I hear the wind blowing at me
whistling secrets of unknown
belief,
The leaves fall gently to the trees
anchor like feet.
that's what is in my mirror , my
magic mirror.
By Kalum Fickling.
The glistening moon on a light
blue sea, mixed with stars smiling
at me!
But soon its time for them to go,
and make way for the sun's glow.
I hear the wind blowing at me
whistling secrets of unknown
belief,
The leaves fall gently to the trees
anchor like feet.
that's what is in my mirror , my
magic mirror.
By Kalum Fickling.
Alone
This term, Year 6 have been exploring the use of figurative language in poetry. Here are some of the fantastic poems that were produced.......
The Magic Mirror
The frail old man gazes down to the
handsome young earth, teaming with life, wishing that he was not alone.
Looking round the universe, every nook and cranny, wishing he was not alone.
As the sun takes over he starts to disappear, nobody ever notices him, he is still alone.
Harry Vincent
handsome young earth, teaming with life, wishing that he was not alone.
Looking round the universe, every nook and cranny, wishing he was not alone.
As the sun takes over he starts to disappear, nobody ever notices him, he is still alone.
Harry Vincent
The future
The future is a time
where the time is mine!
The future is place
a fantastic fantasy in front of my face!
The future is a star,
Moving around near and far!
The future is an angry sea,
waiting to be discovered by me!
The future is a time
where the time is mine!
Harry Edge
where the time is mine!
The future is place
a fantastic fantasy in front of my face!
The future is a star,
Moving around near and far!
The future is an angry sea,
waiting to be discovered by me!
The future is a time
where the time is mine!
Harry Edge
My magic well
A forest full of fireflies,
A blue sea just like an eye,
A fountain of water that will give us eternal life
Magic coming coming from a loving star,
Red roses just like a heart,
A memory of a burst of colour on a dark night sky.
5 seasons of exiting activities
A key to open all the secrets in the world,
A future to be lived.
The moon closing up,
A blanket of snow,
And a star blinking to the big, big city, Goodnight
Charlee Rowland
A forest full of fireflies,
A blue sea just like an eye,
A fountain of water that will give us eternal life
Magic coming coming from a loving star,
Red roses just like a heart,
A memory of a burst of colour on a dark night sky.
5 seasons of exiting activities
A key to open all the secrets in the world,
A future to be lived.
The moon closing up,
A blanket of snow,
And a star blinking to the big, big city, Goodnight
Charlee Rowland
My mythical kingdom
My mythical kingdom has..
Sapphire's blue as the sea
Badger holes are houses in large crop fields
Wonderful waterfalls that lead to large lakes
Fragile sapling that is the future of the peaceful land
the sun as a ball of joy flying high
Raspberries as red as rubies the kind folk love to eat
Jack Hemus
My mythical kingdom has..
Sapphire's blue as the sea
Badger holes are houses in large crop fields
Wonderful waterfalls that lead to large lakes
Fragile sapling that is the future of the peaceful land
the sun as a ball of joy flying high
Raspberries as red as rubies the kind folk love to eat
Jack Hemus
The moon
The moon like a dingy floating on the the dark blue, cold sea.
it is like a white and cold face, like it is sick and ill.
Alone like an old toy in the loft not been played with for years.
The moon, like a soft snowball showing up every night when the ball of fire has gone down to sleep.
the moon is like an old person compared to the small grandchildren that dot the sky each night.
Ginnie Granfield-Elliot
The moon like a dingy floating on the the dark blue, cold sea.
it is like a white and cold face, like it is sick and ill.
Alone like an old toy in the loft not been played with for years.
The moon, like a soft snowball showing up every night when the ball of fire has gone down to sleep.
the moon is like an old person compared to the small grandchildren that dot the sky each night.
Ginnie Granfield-Elliot
