Wonderful poems from Year 7, on the theme of 'Home'.

I recently worked with a brilliant bunch of Year 7 students at Westminster Under School, London. Their challenge was to write the first draft of a poem on the theme of 'Home'. After an initial task, in which I asked them to note down any associations they had, and encouraged them to broaded their horizons beyond merely considering the bricks and mortar of their houses to the specific emotions and events that signify 'home', I shared some poems on the theme, and then set them to work on creating their own. I am delighted to share a few of the results. I think you'll agree that the following poems are deeply moving. 

Home by David

The laughing of my little sister 

as dessert is served. 

The roar of happiness from my father

when his team finally scores. 

The tutting of my mother

as the dishes are left undone again. 

The comfy 1950s Christmas movies. 

The broken chords my one-year-old cousin

smashes on the piano 

while the sweet melody of a violin

is drowned out. 

My snail called Bob sliding across 

the dinner table. 

The look on my grandma’s face. 

Running barefoot with the dogs

through the rainforests of Africa. 

Home. 

My uncle thrashing us on FIFA. 

Playing football with ny cousin. 

Sunday roast with our family twist. 

Warm apple pie dripping with custard. 

Church on Sunday mornings. 

Orchestra, a place where I can flow

with the music. 

These are places I’m always welcome.

Where is Home? By Ari

Where is home?

One half of home lies in the sunshine 

scattered away on the other side of the world. 

The other home lies here,

where I hope, where I live ,

but still it is not fully home. 

Where is home?

It is split across the earth.

One half is where half of my dearest heart lies.

Home is here where the other half lies,

like two pieces of a tricky puzzle

struggling to go together. 

Where is home?

I am lost. 

The real meaning of home is split.

I don’t know who to look to.

I don’t know where to go. 

Where is home?

Remember by Luke

Remember the time

that was truly mine?

Remember nursery toys

and loud, angry ‘OI!s’

Or maybe the toy

I was always dreaming of,

home cooking and pak choi,

Lego building on a cold day.

Remember the time

that was truly ours?

My brother watching television,

football and loud roars.

Or maybe the bunk bed 

I always shared,

I would lay down my head

and dream without any care. 

Remember the time

that was truly yours?

Remember building Lego 

and parents that always said ‘No’

Or maybe your home cooking,

your bedside light,

the last chocolate,

yours for the taking.

So what are your memories,

big and small?

What are the times

that are truly yours? 

Home by Henry

Home,

The place of all feeling, 

Happiness, sadness and confusion,

The comforting feeling of my bed,

Slowly drifting off into deep rest.

Ice puddles,

Long walks, 

A wet dog

Jumping up at once-dry trousers.

The salty, fresh smell

Of buttery pasta

After a long day at school,

Kind, bright pictures on the wall,

The blue wallpaper in the big hall.

The constant drilling from next door,

The annoyance, 

The excitement and anticipation

Of cricket on TV,

Constantly watching with my cousin.

My friends,

My family,

Home. 

I will never let you go.