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Sixteen years of teaching poetry to children have furnished me with a wealth of ideas. Do dip in and adapt any of these for your own lessons.
You can get in touch via my Contact tab above if you would like to know more. This blog is dedicated to the brilliant young writers whose exquisitely wielded words made it possible. RSS Feed. County Mayo Dublin.
Bay of Kotor Budva and Cetinje areas. This was certainly not the kind of poem that one might typically expect Year 7 children to be grappling with, but they responded with incredible maturity and insight, using the regularity of the structure together with the openness of the metaphorical possibilities to make profound statements about things that matter to them.
The standout response was by Charlie, an unassuming Year 7 boy, who had never shown any particular inclination towards poetry and had previously struggled to find a voice in his creative writing in general.
Requiring no further external input or assistance, he quietly got on with writing this: Dad His hair was icebergs clashing together His eyes were whirlpools pulling in ships And his bite was blacksmiths smashing steel His neck was a spear And his shoulders were tree trunks in the autumn His handshake was fire His elbows were knives blunted His shadow was a cumulonimbus His legs were steel doors His feet were bells ringing with every step His fingers were snipers His footprints were maps And his heart was a bus We were the sword that cut through his cancer.