New Poetry Form - The Big Boss

I may have invented a new poetic form. It may have been used by other poets, but I can't recall seeing it anywhere else. It certainly seems a bit too good for me to have stumbled upon it all by myself, but I thought I'd codify it here in this blog post, so other poets can have a go at doing it too. I call it 'The Big Boss', because, well, it's my form, and I can call it what I like. It goes like this:

• 4 stanzas, 7 lines in each stanza
• 4 syllables in the first six lines of each stanza, and 6 syllables in the final line
• rhyme scheme is ABCBDBE, FGHGIGE, JKLKMKE, NOPOQOE.

Here are a couple of examples of Big Boss Poems. See if you can give it a go yourself (you can adjust the syllable count in some lines in order to maintain a consistent beat). I've found it to be a very effective technique when writing for younger children.

Tell it to the Dog

If you have had

an awful day

and all your woes

won’t go away

and no one wants

to come and play,

just tell it to the dog.

If everybody

picks on you

and all your plans

have fallen through;

if you feel lonely,

sad and blue,

just tell it to the dog.

They do not judge.

They understand.

They rub your leg.

They lick your hand.

If you feel lost

in no-man’s land

just tell it to the dog.

They keep your secrets

safe within.

They don’t care if

you lose or win.

So turn that frown

into a grin

and tell it to the dog!

 

The Day the Poet Came

The windows burped,

the hamster flew,

the walls spun round,

the grass turned blue,

things happened that

we never knew

the day the poet came.

 

The sky fell in,

the clouds dispersed,

the devils smiled,

the angels cursed,

the world inhaled,

began to burst

the day the poet came.

 

My desk became

a sailing boat,

an oak tree grew

inside my coat,

my friend got married

to a goat

the day the poet came.

 

The carpet turned

into a bath,

I think I saw

a pink giraffe,

but the strangest thing:

our teacher laughed

the day the poet came!

A Poem about Death

If Only

people spoke of the living

like they speak of the dead.

Just imagine:

people would go around declaring

how wonderful everyone else is;

how kind they are;

how, in spite perhaps

of outward appearances,

their hearts are made of gold.

People would cherish urns

of dandruff and nail clippings;

forgive each other almost anything;

treat each bad word as sacrilege.

Everyone would go out of their way

to attend the birthday parties

of distant relatives, declaiming it

“the right thing to do.”

Just think:

living itself would become an achievement.

The news would be a rolling dispatch

of everyone who made it through the day,

and when they died

we’d realise

that they weren’t that great anyway.

'Stuff' - new poem

Stuff

Miranda likes to point stuff out.

Walking hand in hand with her down the street

she’ll note the colours of the blossoming trees,

or a bird sitting high up on some branch,

or the interesting billowing of the clouds.

I don’t notice these things. Never have.

When I tell Miranda this she says

“you’re supposed to be a poet”, and I reply

that the only thing more boring than nature

is nature poetry. She smiles

and the pixels of her hand sink through mine

like sand through a funnel. She dissipates;

the street sucks up every trace of her.

“Was her name even Miranda anyway?” I ask

as I watch the pavement’s sutured lips

where a small, white flower grows. 

Wonderful Thank You Letter from my Students

Makes it all worthwhile.

Cats & Dogs - fun poem & workshop idea

Cats and Dogs

It’s raining, it’s raining,

it’s raining cats and dogs.

It’s raining owls and butterflies

and buffalo and hogs.

It’s raining moose and antelope

and guinea pigs and frogs.

It’s raining, it’s raining,

it's raining cats and dogs!

 

It’s raining, it’s raining,

it’s raining dogs and cats.

it’s raining mice and water voles

and billy goats and bats.

It’s raining crabs and crocodiles

and cheetahs, ducks and rats.

It’s raining, it’s raining,

it’s raining dogs and cats!

It’s raining, it’s raining,

I promise you it’s true.

It’s raining cows and ostriches

and dragonflies and gnu.

It’s raining bears and monkeys

and I even saw a shrew.

I think there’s been a whopping

great explosion at the zoo!

'It's raining cats and dogs' is a bizarre English idiom. What other weird and wonderful idioms can you think of? Examples include: 'hot potato', 'at the drop of a hat', 'best thing since sliced bread', 'costs an arm and a leg'. Write a poem imagining they are literally true. This activity can also be extended to pupils who speak other languages. The following poem was written by two Bengali students, for whom 'it's raining elephants' is apparently a common saying:

Raining Elephants by Masuma and Amaani

Thud! Thud! Thud!

The heavy lumps come crashing to the ground

Their rope-like trunks flare upwards

Before a loud trumpet noise belts out

In the misty atmosphere.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

One by one

Powering on top of people

Like dominoes they fall

As they reach the earth’s ground

They charge

Demolishing stalls in the overcrowded city.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

It’s not a lie, you must believe me

For it’s raining elephants and…

CRASH! OH NO!

JEALOUSY - fab poems by Year 9 students

About a year ago I posted on this blog a lesson plan on the theme of 'jealousy'. The lesson was based around the poem 'The Jealous Ones' by Jacob Sam-La Rose. As sometimes happens, it was a while before I actually got round to using the lesson idea myself. I am very pleased to be able to report that the lesson was a success, and resulted in some wonderful poetry by my students. Here are two poems on the theme of 'jealousy' that I'd like to share.

Jealous by Sadiyya

You have your flaws and your ups and downs

But still you have so much better qualities than me

My eyes have never been as bright as yours

Nor my smile so perfect like the sun in the morning sky

When I walk into a room heads don’t turn

Yet when you do all eyes are on you

And through all your flaws you shine and burn with confidence

Why can I not be like you?

I stand at the back of the class

Watching as you talk to all the others, laughing, smiling,

And I observe you, trying to learn how to do it

Though deep in my heart, I know no matter how much I try,

You will always be your confidence self

And I will always be the wanna be girl.

 

Jealousy by Shawmia

Jealousy…

What is jealousy?

Jealousy is what?

I, I just don’t know how to explain it…

It is like sinister is injected into something so gullible,

However, it has a lot more to it,

More hate, more annoyance going on…

Jealousy is like the poisonous green juice extracted

From envy which grows day by day abruptly,

Jealousy is now stabbing me one by one,

Jealousy gives me a feeling of deathliness,

It’s an emotion of perish,

But I will tell you one thing…

Jealousy is harsh and addictive,

Like the methamphetamine which devours through a human

And decays them…

I am now telling you…

Do not fall into the trap of jealousy,

It will make you suffer like you are in a great dilemma

Of choosing one of your beloved.

Prepare to loose and pass every second of your life hatredly.

Amazing Poem by Madiha, Year 8

I am honoured to be able to share this breathtaking poem written by Madina, a girl in one of my Year 8 groups. Part of the joy of what I do is that not only do I work with students to develop literacy skills and a love of language, but I also get a genuine insight into their lives. Madiha's poem is painful in its honesty, and is written with the kind of simplicity that I really like in a poem. She should be very proud of herself, I'm sure you'll agree.

Poem by Madiha (Year 8)

I can’t see very much as I sit at the very top of the stairs,

Watching and observing.

My sister gets up, as soon as she thinks I have fallen asleep,

to help pack.

I peek through the bottom of the door.

Gentle sobs come from the room.

The tear drops slam against the ground,

harder than I would’ve imagined.

The tiny droplets of salt water solution carry great emotion,

Pain and fear.

“You have to be there for your sister”, he says.

“Don’t tell Madiha”, my mum says.

“you have to be there for your sister. You must be her

everything”, he continues…

“Just 3 months”

A moment of silence, ‘til I hear my sister coming.

I run to my bed.

I pretend to sleep as I taste a tear roll down my cheek

and into my mouth.

Why?

That question remains in my mind.

Why was it hidden from me?

Why did no one want to tell me?

3 months turned to 6 months, then a year, then two.

Finally he came home.

Did they not think I would notice being searched

before a visit?

How I wouldn’t figure out, eventually?

I’m not that stupid.

I missed him very much, now I’m glad he’s home.

But every day I’m frightened of what his long work nights

Hold.

I’m scared he’ll go back.

And I don’t want that to repeat.

As to this day no one knows that I knew.

Only I did, then my sister, then my friends,

now you.