You can find them on a muffin,
Or in the fur of a puffin.
The North Sea,
Your Granny’s tea.
An ice cream cone,
The app on your phone.
The back of your car,
Near a cookie jar.
On a crane,
In a plane.
Under your bed,
In your head!
I Have Not But I Have
I have never walked across the whole world,
But I have hiked 15 kilometres in a forest near Sutton.
I have never swum across the Pacific Ocean,
But I have paddled 10 metres across Wavelengths’ swimming pool.
I have never flown on a spaceship to Mars,
But I have read a lot about the planet.
I have never proved that aliens exist,
But I have always thought they do.
I have never seen the Northern Star in the night sky,
But I have gazed at a lot of stars that look alike to it.
I have never invented an engine that can go faster than the speed of light,
But I have assembled a solar powered robot.
I have never hunted a fire dragon,
But I have swatted at a fly in my kitchen.
I have never talked on a television show,
But I have always talked a lot.
I have never made a poem better than Pie Corbett’s,
But I have made pretty good ones!
The Summer Of 69
Hot dogs sizzle in cheap frying pans. The Victorian houses loom over the tarmac streets. Young babies whinge in the comfort of prams. Birds tweet happily, singing a soothing melody. Square cars roar quietly in the quick traffic during the afternoon. The occasional planes soar over me like a bird as I watch in wonder. Ducks squawk on the circular ponds. The sun beams over the whole incredible city. As it knew now is the summer of 69. What I didn’t know was that an invisible alien is standing behind me! That is when the darkness came…
The horror of the morning
Mac woke up because of a loud bang. He thought it came from the sound of an annoying car but there was a groan afterwards. With his curiosity getting the better of him, Mac creeped cautiously to his balcony only to discover something horrible. A tall man in a khaki uniform laid lifeless on the waterlogged ground of Elmon Grove, his pale eyes staring at nothing. Later, the man would be identified as Sergeant Bradwell – one of the most intelligent people in Britain. Beside Sergeant Bradwell, laid a stainless steel gun that was soaked in burgundy blood. Mac was too frightened to gasp. Yet more horrors were to come in the dark, evil future…
Four seasons of senses
Rain pitter patters,
the wind whistles through oak trees,
Autumn has arrived.
Snowmen have been built,
Christmas dinners have been baked,
Winter has arrived.
Happy pigeons squawk,
flowers bloom, welcoming Earth,
Spring has come to us.
Sunshine warms my skin,
strawberries nourish my mouth,
Summer has arrived.
Old bike
The abandoned bike,
leaned as lifeless as a dead pike,
Its rusty gears won’t spin,
without making a din.
It has had happier days,
when the wind would sway,
Its aluminium chassis has rusted,
and its tyres have busted.
The bike’s handlebars have been bent,
and in the seat there is a dent,
The torch’s light doesn’t show,
the bike is a great place for weeds to grow.
This bike is mine.
Invisible things
Strong gales of wind blow loudly at the unfortunate yew trees,
happiness beams as bright rays of sunshine beams on Earth,
anger rages like a bull chasing the colour red.
Oxygen floats around softly whilst keeping life alive,
laughter touches people and helps make their day,
proudness stands tall superior as everything else watches in awe.
Sadness sobs in the corner of the school building as he gets bullied,
revenge teams up with anger to teach people a lesson,
Those are the invisible things.
Old bike
The abandoned bike,
leaned as lifeless as a dead pike,
Its rusty gears won’t spin,
without making a din.
This is my bike.
It has had happier days,
when the wind would sway,
Its aluminium chassis has rusted,
and its tyres have busted.
The bike’s handlebars have been bent,
and in the seat there is a dent,
The torch’s light doesn’t show,
the bike is a great place for weeds to grow.
This bike is mine.
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