 National Poetry Day celebrated "Heroes and Heroines" this year across the UK. Once again the Education Library Service joined in the celebrations with our annual poetry competition open to all pupils and staff.
Congratulations to the winners of the Berkshire Poetry Competition!
We were delighted to receive over 460 entries this year. Special thanks to our external judges, popular performance poet Steve Turner and Secondary English adviser for Bracknell Forest, Anita Spires, who will be presenting the prizes at the Awards Ceremony on 3rd December in Reading Museum. Click the links below to read the winning poems in each category. KS1
1st "Dear Diary" Matthew Sullivan, Waltham St. Lawrence School Y2
2nd "My hero is?" Amelia Phillips, Burchetts Green C of E Infant School Y2
3rd "In My Heroes Pocket" William Morrison, Burchetts Green C of E Infant School Y1
KS2
1st "If I Were a superhero" James Trussell, Christ the King School Yr 6
2nd "The Penguin That Wanted To Play Beach ball" Morgan Sumner, Waltham St. Lawrence School Y5
3rd "A Fire that Doesn't want to Burn" Christian Norman, Waltham St. Lawrence School Y5 Secondary
1st 'Timmy Whistler' Amy Brandis, Cranford House Y10
2nd 'Sir Edmund Hillary' Samuel Palmer, Crosfields School Y7
3rd 'Lonely, Dark, Knight' Jake Morley, Denefield School Y8
Commendation David Jones, Denefield School Y10 Staff
1st 'A Modest Man' Michelle Gregory, Oakfield First School
2nd ' Heroes of Omaha D-Day, June 1944 - for Uncle Alf' Claire Costello, Downe House School KS1 winners
Dear Diary
Dear Diary today I was a
Superbear Hero. I was a
Beelisner, a tree climber, a
branch Bracker, a Honey Stealer, a
Bee finder, Sing ho for the life of a bear
I was a mud roller, a cloud pretender, a
Song singer, a tune hummer, a
Paw licker, Sing ho for the life of a bear.
Matthew Sullivan, Waltham St. Lawrence School, Year 2
My Hero is?
My hero helps people when they were injured.
My hero is careful and kind.
My hero wants to stop wars.
My hero is hopeful when she has no medicine.
My hero saved people a long time ago.
My hero
Florence Nightingale
Amelia Phillips, Burchetts Green C of E Infant School, Year 2
In my Heroes Pocket
A telescope to look
where he is going.
A compass to look if he
is going north, east,
south or west. A mince
pie to keep him awake.
Who is my hero?
William Morrison, Burchetts Green C of E Infant School, Year 1
(Answer: Father Christmas!) | KS2 winners
If I Were a superhero
If I were a superhero
This is what I’d do
I’d turn charon sapphire
And pull it down to Earth.
I’d make the sun orbit the Earth,
And make the stars shine at midday.
I’d play hopscotch on the six continents,
And use Mount Everest to roll.
I’d play the stepping stones on the Alps,
And use the Gobi as my river.
I’d squeeze out the colour from a Ruby,
And stain skin a new shade.
I’d steal the Gold from Fort Knox,
And scatter it in Heaven.
I’d use the Empire State building as a needle,
And make a jacket for the Statue of Liberty.
I’d place the Eiffel Tower into the Atlantic Ocean,
And see all the killer sharks swimming through.
This is what I’d do if I were a superhero for a day.
James Trussell, Christ the King School, Year 6
The Penguin That Wanted To Play Beach Ball
Penguins don’t play beach ball
It’s something they can’t be taught
Because the ball is much too big
And their arms are much too short
But sliding on their tummies
Is a game they love to play
The fact that they’ve just fallen over
Is purely by the way
‘Cos balance is a problem
When your arms are incomplete
And it’s very hard to walk on ice
When you cannot see your feet
They even tried skating once
But they hadn’t got the knack
And nothing looks as silly as
A penguin on its back
That’s the worst position
Looking at the sky
It always makes them feel so sad
Knowing they can’t fly
Morgan Sumner, Waltham St. Lawrence School, Year 5
A Fire that Doesn’t want to Burn
They tell me I should burn
High above the sky
Crushing buildings with my flaming roar
Sending smoke up into the sky
They tell me to keep the warmth flowing
As I sit in the fireplace
Sneaking round the logs
Bright and colourful
They gather all around me
Absorbing my glow
Poking me with gooey marshmallow
Feeding me with sticks
They tell me I should burn
But I don’t want to
I really don’t see the point
It gets far too hot!
Christian Norman, Waltham St. Lawrence School, Year 5 | Secondary winners
Timmy Whistler
Timmy Whistler perches on his step,
The sharp night air whipping through his ragged soul,
Clutched to his glowing cigarette,
Tears crawling down his unshaven cheeks, who knows?
1917 Timmy Whistler,
Eyes and cheeks ablaze with pride, clutched to his gun,
Salutes to his sergeant starts to march,
He’ll be a hero, that is what is to come,
Timmy Whistler lying spread eagled,
A fallen boy lost in gunfire and hatred,
Heat scorching his nerves, white pain teasing
sanity out from the creases of his mind,
Bullets flying like a swarm of bees,
Raindrop bombs showering the landscape, Timmy,
Wide eyed at the thick guttering mess,
The suffocating scene of despair, helpless,
Timmy Whistler lying wrapped in sheets,
His soft cheek bones feathered with bruises, peaceful,
As nurses tend with shrouded doubt, he
burns beneath the serene mask, mind dancing away,
Timmy Whistler sinking to his knees
Crumpling like a wet paper bag, unwanted,
People pass with polite disdain,
He’s a drunk, mad, evil, never a hero,
Timmy Whistler gazing at heaven,
Shreds of pin-prick stars shine down at him, mocking,
Tonight Timmy Whistler will die, soon,
But he’ll die an unsung hero, until now.
Amy Brandis, Cranford House School, Year 10
Sir Edmund Hillary
Walking, the last few steps
The slow rising and falling of the feet,
Sucking in a last gulp of air through my respirator,
I hold my breath.
It seems to take an age,
This last step means everything,
I attempt the step and as I bring my foot down,
A buzz of the welcoming sense of achievement fills my body,
I have reached the summit of Everest.
I thrust my rusted ice axe into the icy snow and fall onto my
buckling knees,
I cry of mixed emotions,
The thought of what its like to reach the top is nothing like you
think it will be like,
It’s better.
I stand there smiling,
Full of excitement,
I stand looking around, the wind blowing in my face,
It’s beautiful.
Samuel Palmer, Crosfields School, Year 7
LONELY, DARK, KNIGHT
When I scan, the lonely city, lonely dark city, I swoop
through the endless polluted night sky, I stop and
wonder……………………WHY? I can see the crime, but
why do I intervene, there will always be others to step
in their shoes, this night is as dark space, running
through the mist, POW! WHAM! WHACK! They mean
nothing, only if you can put one of ‘em away, this urban
wasteland……. It kills the souls……..there’s no love or
compassion, all I can hear is the windows smashin’,
then I’m there and they better not
forget………………………..
Jake Morley, Denefield School, Year 8
The way the world ends Hero, a young soldier,
Finally gets to come home,
In a body bag
David Jones, Denefield School, Year 10
| Staff
A Modest Man
A black and white image
No more than three inches square
Slips shyly from its hiding place between curled pages –
Fragile.
Creases snake from the gaping wound of a tear
Parting the slicked hair of a lad –
Impossibly young – no more than twenty – with a self conscious smile and a faraway look in his eyes,
Sitting proudly astride his motor bike,
In a sunlit field of rough grass.
No sign here of what was to come
No clouds blot this horizon
The shadows that fall here are benign.
A snap taken before the uniform was fitted
Before screaming sirens tore at the night sky
Before the safe riding of a motorbike became a mission
Before the youth became a husband
Then a father,
My father.
I did not know
You did not tell
You never spoke of how you rode, dodging the doodlebugs to deliver those military messages
Dispatch Rider –
Lance Corporal Cyril Joseph Gregory, (known affectionately as Cig), Royal Corps of Signals.
The letter from the King
The medal, the yellowed newspaper report,
all lay hidden discreetly
amongst folded monogrammed handkerchiefs and soft cotton gloves –
In a drawer smelling of sandalwood.
The War ended
Decades passed
Daughters were born.
It was only when you were no longer there to hold me
that I knew that you had been so honoured.
My beloved Daddy.
My modest hero.
Gone from me too soon.
(My father died in 1968 and only then did I discover he had been awarded the British Empire Medal for services to his country)
Michelle Gregory, Staff, Oakfield First School
Heroes of Omaha
D Day, June 1944 - for Uncle Alf
I dreamed I went down to the deep again
and saw the fight in a thousand faces;
they float like flotsam to the water’s margin,
still singing songs from foreign places.
A thousand strangers on sea horses fly,
their crystal gazes stare with eyes of dun,
and in my dream I hear the sigh
of Pluto gathering the dying sons.
I dreamed they came ashore like Trojans rising,
igniting earth and sky for Paris, Paris
had fallen; they came bravely to the fighting,
St Elmo’s fire lit the unknown and eyeless.
A nightmare dismal when you look upon;
I looked away as one who shuns the enemy, even
his friends – they were my friends – now they’re gone
beyond redemption, salvage for the shriven.
I dreamed I went down to the sea again
and saw the waves on Omaha’s shore,
and lined up far below the water’s margin
a thousand souls who are no more.
The widows and old men will gather
to change the world from ageing perspective;
lament we will not be together
when black clad monks become selective.
The fragile melt in the archives of day
and soon we’ll weaken like the dust in sand –
‘my generation’ and to them hear myself say:
Are we still worthy – those who inherit the land?
Claire Costello, Staff, Downe House School
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Look at entries from previous years in our National Poetry Day Archive. |
