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National Poetry Day

Today is National Poetry Day - Mrs Hooper, our Head of English, has inspired her Year 7 class to write their own poems after reading 'The Witch' by Mary Coleridge. 

The Terrible Night by Megan

Lightning flashed across the sky,
while rain struck hard upon the ground.
The howling wind shrieked loud its cry
then whispered faint its haunting sound.
Out of the storm he came at nightfall
and threw himself at the hard oak door.
The fears inside his mind were frightful
as he dropped exhausted on the cold, damp floor.
Slowly he stood and heard his faint heart flutter,
tiptoed towards a beckoning room.
Ancient cobwebs veiled the shutters
which hid the world from his terrible doom.

Shadows by Isabella

The clock hit midnight as the moonlight shone
It was only me as everyone had gone
I looked around, and it was there,
He wouldn’t stop following me everywhere.
As he sneaked up on me, not to be seen,
Were his intentions to be incredibly mean?
I could hear someone’s footsteps creeping by,
Then something mysterious caught my eye.
Like the story of Pan, when he became two
Something inside me suddenly knew
There stood a silence so powerful and strong
It lasted a minute or so, which was not long.
I stared into the distance and wondered what it could be,
Then I looked down and realised that it was stuck to me.
How long would it stay, I did not know.
But as it held my hand, I didn’t want it to go.

Ghost in SW2 by Emma

There is a new girl in my class today.
Her hair is as white as snow
Her skin as pale as porcelain.
I have seen her somewhere, I know!
She always sits right next to me.
Is she looking at my work?
She never seems to write a thing
All she doe sis lurk.
There is always a bizarre chill in the air
Whenever she’s about
She makes me feel uneasy
Like I need a secret hideout.
My friends don’t seem to know her
They think I’ve made her up.
She seems to walk right through them
And never interrupts.
I find some old school photographs
In a dusty forgotten hall
In rows of Victorian children
I see her…and I start to fall.


The Prisoner by Beatrice 

‘Closer,’ he said.

I flinched. I didn’t want to walk where he had tread.


‘Closer’, he hissed.

The curtains rattled. You could just about see a flickering shadow.

I slowly moved toward the bars of stone,

where you heard his soft groans.


‘I’m waiting,’ he snarled.

He hurled himself toward the bars, his fingers long and gnarly,

quivering, he waited; I shivered in the cold.

I stopped. Thought twice. Do I really want to do this?




‘Hurry!’ He implored. His plea was cold.

I hesitated, undecided. Should I be bold?

‘Enough!’ I could feel his icy breath, colder than the cutting wind.

I stopped, wondering,


Foe, or friend?

Posted: 04/10/2018 at 11:42
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