BALLYMENA FESTIVAL OF MUSIC, SPEECH AND DANCE SET POEMS 2018
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BALLYMENA FESTIVAL OF
MUSIC, SPEECH AND DANCE
SET POEMS 2018
The poems are taken from the following books:
Book A ‘Read me first’ MacMillan Children’s Books
Book B ‘The Poetry Store’ Hodder Children’s Books
Book C ‘ One hundred years of Poetry for Children’ Oxford University PressClass SS15 - P1 Girls ‘The Picnic’ by Dorothy Aldis We brought a rug for sitting on, Our lunch was in a box. The sand was warm. We didn’t wear Hats or Shoes or Socks. Waves came curling up the beach. We waded. It was fun. Our sandwiches were different kinds. I dropped my jelly one. ‘Read me first’ page 246
Class SS16 – P2 Girls ‘New Shoes’ by Ffrida Wolfe New shoes new shoes Red and pink and blue shoes Tell me what you would choose If you could buy some. Buckle shoes bow shoes Pretty pointy toe shoes Strappy cappy low shoes If you could try some. Bright shoes white shoes Dandy dance by night shoes Perhaps a little tight shoes? Like some? So would I. BUT Flat shoes fat shoes Stump along like that shoes Wipe them on the mat shoes – That’s the sort they’ll buy. ‘Read me first’ page 290
Class SS17 – P1 Boys ‘If I Were an Apple’ (Anon.) If I were an apple And grew upon a tree, I think I’d fall down On a good boy like me. I wouldn’t stay there Giving nobody joy; I’d fall down at once And say, “Eat me, my boy.” ‘Read me first’ page 176
Class SS18 – P2 Boys ‘The Worm’ by Ralph Bergengren When the earth is turned in spring The worms are fat as anything. And birds come flying all around To eat the worms right off the ground. They like worms just as much as I Like bread and milk and apple pie. And once, when I was very young, I put a worm right on my tongue. I didn’t like the taste a bit, And so I didn’t swallow it. But oh, it makes my mother squirm Because she thinks I ate that worm. ‘Read me first’ page 201
Class SS19 – P3 Girls ‘Moving Away’ by Peter Dixon My best friend’s leaving school today, she’s moving somewhere new. Her house is on the market, her brother’s going too . . . I saw the lorry loading her toys her coat her hat . . . her bike and books and bedclothes her hamster and her cat. She said – she’d come and see me, I said – I’d go and see her, but I don’t like these changes I liked things as they were. ‘Read me first’ page 227
Class SS20 – P3 Boys ‘Big Fat Budgie’ by Michaela Morgan I’m a big fat budgie, I don’t do a lot. Might park on my perch. Might peck in my pot. Might peek at my mirror. Might ring my bell. Might peer through the bars of my fat budgie cell. Might say: “Who’s a pretty boy then?” Might not. I’m a big fat budgie. I don’t do a lot. ‘Read me first’ page 175
Class SS21 – P4 Girls ‘Who’s There?’ by Judith Nicholls Knock, knock! Who’s there? cried the spider. Stand and wait! But she knew by the gentle tweak of the web it was her mate. Knock, knock! Who’s there? cried the spider. Call your name! But she knew by the soft tap-tap on the silk Her spiderlings came. Knock, knock! Who’s there? cried the spider. Who goes by? But she knew by the shaking of her net it was the fly. ‘Read me first’ page 355
Class SS22 – P5 Girls ‘Grudges’ by Judith Nicholls It isn’t fair . . . that I must be in bed for hours before, that I get all the blame and never her, that she’s allowed to choose what she will wear, it isn’t fair! It isn’t right . . . that she’s allowed out late at night, that she can choose when to switch off her light, whenever there’s a fight, it isn’t right! It makes me mad . . . that they think she’s so good and I’m so bad, that she gets extra cash for helping Dad, that her old coats are all I’ve ever had, it makes me mad! (I know I’m nine and she is seventeen; that’s no excuse at all for them to be so MEAN!) ‘The Poetry store’ page 22
Class SS23 – P4 Boys ‘My Card for Father’s Day’ by Wes Magee This is the card that I’ve made for my Dad. It’s sticky with glue . . . but it’s not too bad. I cut out this ship and then stuck it in And I drew this shark with a great big fin. Then I’ve written as neatly as I can “With love to my Dad. He’s the world’s best man!” This is the card that I’ll give to my Dad. It’s sticky with glue . . . but it’s not too bad. ‘Read me first’ page 195
Class SS24 – P5 Boys ‘Grounded’ by Eric Finney Grounded by Dad: That’s not too bad. He says: “It’s just the kind of trouble I got into as a lad. Of course, that doesn’t mean I can ignore it. You must take your punishment, I can’t withdraw it. But I’ll reduce it for a week To seven days (funny joke!)’ No – three days. And tonight We’ll watch the match together And I’ll treat you to a coke.” Grounded by Mum: That’s grim, that’s glum. No Saturday match, no phone calls, No pocket money; No way she’ll ever change her mind – It isn’t funny. She goes on and on And won’t leave it. She really means it. You’d better believe it. ‘The Poetry Store’ page 35
Class SS25 - P6 Girls ‘Marmalade’ by Peter Dixon He’s buried in the bushes, With dock leaves round his grave, A crimecat desperado And his name was Marmalade. He’s the cat that caught the pigeon, that stole the neighbour’s meat . . ., and tore the velvet curtains and stained the satin seat. He’s the cat that spoilt the laundry, he’s the cat that spilt the stew, and chased the lady’s poodle and scratched her daughter too. But – No more we’ll hear his cat-flap, or scratches at the door, or see him at the window, or hear his catnap snore. So – Ring his grave with pebbles, erect a noble sign – For here lies Mr. Marmalade and Marmalade was MINE. ‘The Poetry Store’ page 396
Class SS26 – P7 Girls ‘The Colour Collector’ by Roger McGough A stranger called this morning Dressed all in black and grey Put every colour into a bag And carried them away The goldness of cornflakes The ivory of milk The silverness of soupspoons The see-throughness of silk The greenness of tennis-courts When play has just begun The orangeness of oranges Glowing in the sun The blueness of a dolphin Nosing through the sea The redness of a robin Breasting in the tree The creaminess of polar bears Sliding on the floes The little piggy pinkness Of tiny, tickly toes, The sky that smiled a rainbow Now wears a leaden frown Who’s sobbing in his caravan? Wizzo the monochrome clown A stranger called this morning He didn’t leave his name We live now in the shadows Life will never be the same. ‘The Poetry Store’ page 252
Class SS27 – P6 Boys ‘Nativity’ by Gervase Phinn Oh Miss, I don’t want to be Joseph, Miss, I really don’t want to be him, With a cloak of bright red and a towel on my head And a cotton wool beard on my chin. Oh Miss, please don’t make me a shepherd. I just won’t be able to sleep. I’ll go weak at the knees and wool makes me sneeze And I really am frightened of sheep. Oh Miss, I just can’t be the landlord, Who says there’s no room in the inn. I’ll get a fright when it comes to the night And I know that I’ll let Mary in. Oh Miss, you’re not serious – an angel? Can’t Peter take that part instead? I’ll look such a clown in a white silky gown, And a halo stuck up on me head. Oh Miss, I am not being a camel! Or a cow or an ox or an ass! I’ll look quite absurd and I won’t say a word, And all of the audience will laugh Oh Miss, I’d rather not be a Wise Man, Who brings precious gifts from afar. But the part right for me, and I hope you’ll agree, In this play – can I be the star? ‘Read me first’ page 409
Class SS28 – P7 Boys ‘Cake in the Staffroom’ by Brian Moses Nothing gets teachers more excited than cakes in the staffroom at break time. Nothing gets them more delighted than the sight of plates piled high with jammy doughnuts or chocolate cake It’s an absolute stampede as the word gets round quickly, And it’s ‘Oooh’ these are really delicious and ‘Aaah’ these doughnuts are ace. And you hear them say, ‘I really shouldn’t’ or ‘Just a tiny bit, I’m on a diet.’ Really, it’s the only time they’re quiet when they’re cramming cakes into their mouths, When they’re wearing a creamy moustache or the jam squirts out like blood, or they’re licking chocolate from their fingers. You can tell when they’ve been scoffing, they get languid in literacy, sleepy in silent reading, nonsensical in numeracy, look guilty in assembly. But nothing gets teachers more excited than cakes in the staffroom at break time, unless of course, it’s wine in the staffroom at lunch time! ‘The Poetry Store’ page 64
Class SS29 – Choral Verse Speaking P1, P2, P3: ‘Traffic Jam’ by Bernard Young We started early And travelled far But now we’re sick Of being in the car Traffic jam Traffic jam We’re stuck in a traffic jam When we set off Six hours ago We never imagined We’d feel this low Traffic jam Traffic jam We’re stuck in a traffic jam Mum is grumbling Dad is growling My brother’s moaning I feel like howling Traffic jam Traffic jam We’re stuck in a traffic jam I fear I’ll grow old And my hair will be grey By the time we begin Our holiday Traffic jam Traffic jam We’re stuck in a traffic jam This is unbearable When will it end? We may not be moving But we’re going round the bend Traffic jam Traffic jam We’re STILL STUCK in a TRAFFIC JAM!
Class SS30 – Choral Verse Speaking P4, P5, P6 and P7
‘Sea-Side Song’ by John Rice
It was a
sun-boiled, bright light, fried egg, hot skin, sun-tanned
ssssizzzzzzzler of a day.
It was a
pop song, ding-dong, candy floss, dodgem car, arcade, no shade
smashing seaside town.
We had
a well time, a swell time, a real pell-mell time,
a fine time, a rhyme time, a super double-dime time.
We
beach swam, ate ham, gobbled up a chicken leg,
climbed trees, chased bees,
got stuck in sand up to our knees,
played chase, flew in space,
beat a seagull in a skating race,
rowed boats, quenched throats,
spent a load of £5 notes,
sang songs, hummed tunes,
played hide and seek in sandy dunes.
Did all these things
too much by far
that we fell asleep going back in the car
from the seaside.
‘The Poetry Store’ page 270Class SV31 – Boys and Girls under 6 ‘On the Beach’ by Marian Swinger They buried their dad in the golden sands, buried his legs, buried his hands, buried his body and buried his toes and just left his face and a very red nose. ‘Read me first’ page 233
Class SV32 – Girls 6 and 7 ‘In the Mirror’ by Elizabeth Fleming In the mirror On the wall, There’s a face I always see; Round and pink, And rather small, Looking back again At me. It is very Rude to stare, But she never Thinks of that, For her eyes are Always there; What can she be Looking at? ‘Read me first’ page 28
Class SV33 – Boys 6 and 7 ‘Hiding’ by Coral Rumble Behind this tree You can’t see me, I’ve made myself thin So I can fit it. I’m as still as a photograph, As quiet as a blink, I won’t sniff or laugh Just quietly think. Behind the tree You can’t see me, I’ve made myself thin So I can fit in. ‘Read me first’ page 277
Class SV34 – Boys and Girls under 8 ‘The Cat Next Door’ by Trevor Harvey The cat from next door Is as quiet as a mouse; If your front door’s ajar, Then she’ll enter your house; She will creep up the stairs; And she’ll search high and low; When she’s seen all she wants, She’ll just turn tail and go. Unless you’re around You’re unlikely to know That the cat from next door Who’s as quiet as a mouse Has enjoyed a good sniff Through the whole of your house! ‘Read me first’ page 219
Class SV35 – Girls 8 ‘Watch the puddles’ by Dave Ward “Watch the puddles,” Said Mum. I did, I watched them all day long. But the puddles didn’t do anything. Just lay there in the playground. They didn’t sing, they didn’t dance, they didn’t run . . . they weren’t much fun. Just splashed themselves all over me, till I was soaked from head to toe. “Now look what you’ve done,” said Mum. ‘Read me first’ page 111
Class SV39 – Girls 9 ‘I Can See You Now’ by Eric Finney When I first met My blind friend Grace She said, “Will you please let me Touch your face?” I felt her gentle hands Upon my skin: She felt my lips and eyebrows Then my nose and cheeks and chin. Last of all she felt my hair And gently held my head Then with a lovely smile: “I can see you now, ” she said. ‘The Poetry Store’ page 261
Class SV37 – Boys 8 and 9 ‘Penguins on Ice’ by Celia Warren Every penguin’s mum can toboggan on her tum. She can only do that as she’s fluffy and fat: It must be nice to live on ice. Every penguin’s dad is happy and glad. He can slip and slide and swim and glide: It must be nice to live on ice. All penguin chicks do slippery tricks. They waddle and fall but don’t mind at all: It must be nice to live on ice. ‘Read me first’ page 235
Class SV38 – Girls 10 and 11 ‘The Snare’ by James Stephens I hear a sudden cry of pain! There is a rabbit in a snare: Now I hear the cry again, But I cannot tell from where. But I cannot tell from where He is calling out for aid; Crying on the frightened air, Making everything afraid. Making everything afraid, Wrinkling up his little face, As he cries again for aid; And I cannot find the place. And I cannot find the place Where his paw is in the snare; Little one! Oh, little one! I am searching everywhere. ‘100 years of Poetry for Children’ page 43
Class SV39 – Boys 10 and 11 ‘A Friend . . .’ by Trevor Millum A friend is someone who borrows your ball And returns it to you later in the day; Who will lend their newest pens – and will play Your games. Who’ll come round to your house and call For you in rain as well as when it’s fine; Who’ll listen to your secrets, share your fears, And won’t divide things into ‘yours’ and ‘mine’. A friend will peel the plaster gently off your cut And won’t say ‘Yuk!’. A friend laughs at your jokes When others just go ‘Eh?’; who likes you but Will tell you when you’re wrong; who strokes Your favourite pet in spite of all the fleas – Who knows your family but, when invited, says ‘Yes please!’ ‘The Poetry Store’ page 76
Class SV40 – Girls 12 and 13: ‘Something told the Wild Geese’ by Rachel Field Something told the wild geese It was time to go. Though the fields lay golden Something whispered, - ‘Snow.’ Leaves were green and stirring, Berries, luster-glossed, But beneath warm feathers Something cautioned, - ‘Frost.’ All the sagging orchards Steamed with amber spice But each wild breast stiffened At remembered ice. Something told the wild geese It was time to fly, - Summer sun was on their wings, Winter in their cry. ‘100 years of Poetry for children’ page 37
Class SV41 – Boys 12 and 13 ‘Everyone Sang’ by Siegfried Sassoon Everyone suddenly burst out singing; And I was filled with such delight As prisoned birds must find in freedom, Winging wildly across the white Orchards and dark-green fields; on – on – and out of sight. Everyone’s voice was suddenly lifted; And beauty came like the setting sun: My heart was shaken with tears; and horror Drifted away . . . O, but Everyone Was a bird; and the song was wordless; the singing will never be done. ‘100 years of Poetry for children’ page 32
Class SV42 – Girls 14 and 15 ‘Tich Miller’ by Wendy Cope Tich Miller wore glasses with Elastoplast-pink frames and had one foot three sizes larger than the other. When they picked teams for outdoor games she and I were always the last two left standing by the wire-mesh fence. We avoided one another’s eyes, stooping, perhaps, to re-tie a shoelace, or affecting interest in the flight of some unfortunate bird, and pretended not to hear the urgent conference: ‘Have Tubby!’ ‘No, no, have Tich!’ Usually they chose me, the lesser dud, and she lolloped, unselected, to the back of the other team. At eleven we went to different schools. In time I learned to get my own back, sneering at hockey-players who couldn’t spell. Tich died when she was twelve. ‘100 years of Poetry for children’ page 68
Class SV43 – Boys 14 and 15 ‘My Boy Jack’ by Rudyard Kipling ‘Have you news of my boy Jack?’ Not this tide. ‘When d’you think that he’ll come back?’ Not with this wind blowing, and this tide. ‘Has anyone else had word of him?’ Not this tide. For what is sunk will hardly swim, Not with this wind blowing and this tide. ‘Oh, dear, what comfort can I find?’ None this tide, Nor any tide, Except he did not shame his kind – Not even with that wind blowing, and that tide. Then hold your head up all the more, This tide, And every tide; Because he was the son you bore, And gave to that wind blowing and that tide! ‘100 years of Poetry for children’ page 145
Class SV44 – Girls 16 and 17 ‘The Animals’ Arrival’ by Elizabeth Jennings So they came Grubbing, rooting, barking, sniffing, Feeling for cold stars, for stone, for some hiding-place, Loosed at last from heredity, able to eat From any tree or from ground, merely mildly themselves, And every movement was quick, was purposeful, was proposed. The galaxies gazed on, drawing in their distances. The beasts breathed out warm on the air. No one had come to make anything of this, To move it, name it, shape it a symbol; The huge creatures were their own depth, the hills Lived lofty there, wanting no climber. Murmur of birds came, rumble of underground beasts And the otter swam deftly over the broad river. There was silence too. Plants grew in it, it wove itself, it spread, it enveloped The evening as day-calls died and the universe hushed, hushed. A last bird flew, a first beast swam And prey on prey Released each other (Nobody hunted at all): They slept for the waiting day. ‘100 years of Poetry for Children’ page 33
Class SV45 – Boys 16 and 17 years ‘The Sunlight on the Garden’ by Louis MacNeice The sunlight on the garden Hardens and grows cold, We cannot cage the minute Within its nets of gold, When all is told We cannot beg for pardon. Our freedom as free lances Advances towards its end; The earth compels, upon it Sonnets and birds descend; And soon, my friend, We shall have no time for dances. The sky was good for flying Defying the church bells And every evil iron Siren and what it tells: The earth compels, We are dying, Egypt, dying And not expecting pardon, Hardened in heart anew, But glad to have sat under Thunder and rain with you, And grateful too For sunlight on the garden. ‘100 years of Poetry for Children’ page 160
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