Above photo taken at the opening of the library, where guests were treated to some LAMDA performances and poetry readings. Congratulations to Niamh, seated, who is the overall winner of the poetry competition.
This year, National Poetry Day took place on 7 October and the English department ran a poetry writing competition for Year 6 to 9. Pupils were allowed to write their poem in any style they chose and incorporate the theme of ‘Choice’ in any way they saw fit.
There was a record number of entries from all year groups, and it was such a difficult job trying to pick the winners. Each year group were awarded a first, second and third place winner with a small group of pupils in each year given a commendation for their efforts. House points, certificate and chocolates were given as prizes.
We are already looking forward to next year’s competition!
Niamh – Year 7 (read her poem below)
Year 6 – Beatriz
Year 7 – Niamh
Year 8 – Maximilien
Year 9 – Axel
Year 6 – Abbie
Year 7 – Alexandra
Year 8 – Ryan
Year 9 – Zac A
Year 6 – Michella
Year 7 – Nathan A
Year 8 – Ali H
Year 9 – Zach E
Year 6 – Archie , Makathi
Year 7 – Sofia , Luca , Cherie , Alexia , Abinav
Year 8 – Louis, Abraham, Phoebe, Ariana
Year 9 – Jayden , Leo
The Choice of War by Niamh, Year 7
The red glint of poppies, dark as blood.
They shine in fear, vivid against the mud,
Craters and hollows are gouged into the earth,
Same as the flesh of soldiers, destroyed for mirth.
What did we do?
We shot right back and put grey where there had been blue
The rancid smell of blood forms the many petals
That turn brown to sit among the thorns and nettles.
For war is a great beast that must be slain,
Declare the books, but on the ground I see lain,
A body with a life, melting away, as a bullet finds its mark,
For all with guns, since yesterday, were young and full of lark.
Declaring foolish wars each side of the walls,
For written in up above declares a mystical form, or so say the stars,
But where were they when the apple of understanding turned rotten?
For the firm of war, the greasy petals have gotten.
To the souls lain dead on the battlefield, hatred in their hearts,
No more care, no more patience for the arts,
To the trick the tongue and change the world,
The last chance was hurled.
As I paint this tragedy, an honor of mine,
I sing the weary war song, sung since the beginning of time…
I drive the blade of time,
Through the flesh of mine.
I see blood,
Bright against the mud.
I hear screams,
The stench of fear out of every pore,
And that’s the choice, the art, …of war.