Sunday, 26 April 2015

Owls class weather poems!


The tornado is a frightful rhino,
Raven black it is,
Stampeding towards its prey,
Eggshell horns as sharp as daggers,
Eyes as scarlet as blood,
The wind like howling wolves,
It rains like golden bullets
Shooting from the coal black sky,

When he starts to die down,
He disappears before your eyes,
Do you think he will be back?

By  HR

Owls Class Weather Poems!


The mist is a transparent ghost,
Creepily floating all through the night.
Gliding around making you wet,
With his long wet arms.
Drifting over the landscape
Leaving a trail of fear,
As you walk past him
He'll whisper in your ear.
How quiet, how quiet,
He hovers over the field,
Turning the grass a pure emerald.

You hear his lonely moan by dawn,
When the gentle breeze flows.
As the glowing sun rises again,
The ghost disappears
And only the trail of fear and nerve remain.


Owls Class Weather poems


The tornado is like a raging jaguar,
Ebony black it is,
It's clawing at its prey,
With his sharp claws and beady eyes,
It moans and groans,
While licking its ashen paws,
The lightning like shooting lasers,
Shooting from the charcoal battleship grey sky.

It disappeared behind some fluffy clouds,
Would it die?
Or would it come back tomorrow?


Owls Class poems


The mist is a floating ghost,
Translucent and moist.
Wavering in the dark damp air,
So faint, so faint, no sound you hear,
It's like a mouse scattering along the floor,
It throws spit at you so you are drenched,
Which turns the plain sky into a ghostly scene,
Hail is like ice falling down on you,
The wind is like a referee blowing his whistle,
The rain is like bullets raining down on you.

And when he starts to relax,
His excitement starts to die down,
When the sun comes back out to play,
He melts to the floor,
He'll come back out another day.


Owls Class Poems


The mist is a blank ghost,
Translucent ,waterlogged ghost
leaning in to touch you,
Noises as they fly around you,
Dripping water of the raging ghosts,
Throwing lights that immediately turn to mist,
The ghosts mysteriously clear away,
You can tell because the floor is damp and soaking wet.
So quiet, So quiet once the ghosts fly away.


Owls class poem


The mist is a lonely ghost,
Translucent and cold,
It floats around and hugs you
With its long, wet arms
While kissing you on your face.
It's so quiet as it creeps around
Causing an eerie atmosphere,
When you try to escape, it hits your face
Making your cheeks bright red.
It never stops following,
Never stops staring,
Just stands there waiting.
It surrounds you; makes you feel alone.

By dawn it slowly fades away,
The sun bursts its way through
The ghosts thick white body.
It disappears until it feels the need to haunt again.



The hurricane is a falcon
Chestnut brown,
He swoops down towards his helpless prey,
It screeches as he goes.
Crashing shrilly like a cliff falling down
His razor sharp wings slice through
The auburn bricks
The building will have no hope.

But maybe in March or May
He will calm down
And come back another day.
Do you think he will?


Owls class poems


The earthquake is an elephant,
Battleship grey,
He stampedes angrily through the jungle,
Stomping and munching as he goes.
Hour after hour he jumps
Upon the flattened leaves,
And splash, splash, splash!
The water erupts out of the pond,
Onto his great, big feet.

And when he gets sleepy,
He jumps no more.
He storms off to a cave,
Across the broken meadow.



The storm is an angry bull,
Giant and grey,
He stays in the sky all day,
Stomping loudly as he goes.
He drops white bullets some days.
Wind like a thousand wolves
Howling at the snow white moon.

Slowly the storm dies down,
And he hides behind
The golden sun,
Ready to rage another day.



The storm is a ferocious bull,
Battleship grey,
He rages in the sky all day,
The rain like shooting bullets
Crashing down like a thousand ebony rocks,
And lightning illuminating the charcoal sky.
He roars, roars, roars as he goes,
The wind howling like a hungry wolf!

On a calm sunny day the storm dies down,
He dances away into the sky,
Flying away calmly above the ground.
Will he return?


Owls Class poems


The mist is a frightening ghost,
Translucent and saturated.
Drenching you with freezing spit.
So silent, So silent,
He creeps around grabbing you with his dripping arms,
Throwing blinding mist at you.
So cold, So cold,
The wind is like a wolf,
Howling at the coal black sky.
The rain shoots down trying to hurt his enemies! You!

In the morning the mist dissolves.
The sun breaks his way into the sky,
As grumpy as could be.
When will he be back,
Tomorrow or today?

By AM (Herons' Class)

Owls Class Poems


The storm is a raging bull,
Ashen grey.
He rages viciously all around!
Stomping like a hundred bashing drums!
Rain shooting rapidly down like bullets.
Yellow lighting flashing from pointed horns
Snorting a gale from red nostrils!

When he calms down,
His howling turns to a whisper,
And he disappears and hides behind the golden sun
He will come back another day.


Owls class poem


The tornado is a vicious tasmanian devil,
Battleship grey,
Stomping around the ground,
Crushing house and roads,
Grasping everything in his path,
Gobbling house, roads and pathway,
Lighting illuminating the raven black sky,
Like a thousand fireflies.

The Tasmanian devil slowly calms down,
Travelling to his home,
Behind the golden sun,
Calming down and sleeping,
For the rest of the day.



The storm is an angry bull,
Ink black and grey,
He stomps his feet,
Like children in a candy shop,
He rages across the sky,
Dropping bolts down in anger,
Stomping and snorting as he goes,
The wind is like a million wolves,
Howling at the moon.

And when he finally settles down,
And he stops showing his anger,
Like birds singing in the sunlight.



The tornado is a ferocious bull,
Charcoal grey,
Bolting swiftly all evening,
Crashing hazardously across the emerald field,

The bull charges,
Like he is in a china shop,
It causes havoc,
All trough the ebony night,
It hurls chestnuts trees,
Waffling through the heavy wind,
It damages any victim,
That dares to confront it.

When the golden sun rises,
It shines upon the Lincoln-green land,
The raging bull calms down,
And then it gradually fates away.


Owls Class Poems


On sunny days the ghosts drift off,
Dreaming of when they had a life.
And might it be, that just a glimmer
Of light will just be able
To defeat the sadness,
That roams around in the mist?

After many tries it is clear,
The sun is smiling down,
For he is happy he has
Managed to steer away the mist.

On days when the sun has overslept,
All is different,
No sleep applies to the ghosts,
For work of spooking has just begun!
They reach for souls to fill,
The gap where the heart should be.

No droplets of tears come falling down,
For there is nothing to cry about,
As there is lots of life out there,
And people to scare.

They try to munch away,
But it is just no use
Taking someone's life,
For theirs is just not right!


Owls class weather poems!


The mist is a visible ghost,
White and pale,
He hangs around us most of the day,
Hour upon hour he circles you,
Hugging you with his moist fingers,
So moist so moist,

Slowly he fades away,
So you can not see him any more,
Will he return?
Who knows.


Owls class poems


The storm is a grumpy giant,
Ill-tempered and cross,
He struts around like he's the boss,
But when he loses his bowling game,
He stamps his bulky foot and loses his fame,
He loudly stomps across the room
And creates thunder that goes boom!
He throws his bowling ball onto the floor,
All the other giants think he's a bore,
The bowling ball makes lightning ,illuminating the sky,
All of a sudden he starts to cry.

Crying softly, he falls to sleep,
He doesn't make a peep,
All tucked up in his bed,
All the other giants think he's dead.



The storm is an angry rhino,
Raven and grey,
He roars and howls all day and night,
Crashing and banging giving everyone a fright.
Flash, flash, flash! He throws his gold, glittering lightning,
Bolts in a raging temper.

After he has settled down,
His frown turns the other way round,
And he skipped happily behind the sun.



The mist is a visible ghost,
Crystal white,
His sodden hands slide across your face.
It's breath whistles through the oak trees,
He pulls you down to the raven black.

As the mist becomes calm,
The sun comes out to play
And blows the mist away.


Owls class Poems

In the Owls' Class, we read 'The Sea' by James Reeves then created our own poems in the same style based on types of weather. The aim was to include figurative language in our poetry. We hope you enjoy reading them as much as we enjoyed writing them!

The Mist

The mist is a blank ghost
Transparent as can be,
Covering my face with his
Sodden palms,
Making my face as soggy as a wet towel!
He consumes me in his jet-black mouth
But I just pass straight through!
When the sun rises,
It devours him with its
Golden eyes!
All you can see is a silver face
Screaming, "I'll be back! I'll be back!"
Do you think that's true?