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Wooden Hill Primary and Nursery School

Wooden Hill Primary and Nursery School

Poem of the Week



On longer evenings,

Light, chill and yellow,

Bathes the serene

Foreheads of houses.

A thrush sings,


In the deep bare garden,

Its fresh-peeled voice

Astonishing the brickwork.

It will be spring soon,

It will be spring soon—

And I, whose childhood

Is a forgotten boredom,

Feel like a child

Who comes on a scene

Of adult reconciling,

And can understand nothing

But the unusual laughter,

And starts to be happy.


Philip Larkin





The Rainforest


I sit in the canoe, alone.

It gently rocks from

Side to side,

Nudged by the rivers flow.

The forest is quiet,

The heat intense.

On the opposite bank,

A large osprey and elegant

White heron perch together,

Searching the glittering water.


Above, a three toed sloth,

Grey, almost invisible,

Clings to a branch,

Lazily dozing.



A pair of scarlet and blue macaws,

Splash neon colours,

Across the hazy sky.


I sit in my wooden canoe and watch,

For a while I find a place,

Become part of the forests essence.

For a while I fit, for a while.

Week 4: 'Truth' by Barrie Wade

Sticks and stones may break my bones,

but words can also hurt me.

Stones and sticks break only skin,

while words are ghosts that haunt me.


Slant and curved the word-swords fall

to pierce and stick and inside me.

Bats and bricks may ache through bones,

but words can mortify me.


Pain from words has left its scar

on mind and heart that’s tender.

Cuts and bruises now have healed;

it’s words that I remember.


Week 3: ‘The Rider’ by Naomi ShihabNye

A boy told me 

if he roller-skated fast enough

his loneliness couldn’t catch up to him,

the best reason I ever heard

for trying to be a champion.

What I wonder tonight,

pedalling hard down King William Street

is if it translates to bicycles.

A victory! To leave your loneliness 

panting behind you on some street corner

while you float free into a cloud of sudden azaleas,

pink petals that have never felt loneliness

no matter how slowly they fell.


Week 2: 'Prayer to Laughter' by John Agard.

O Laughter

giver of relaxed mouths


you who rule our belly with tickles

you who come when not called

you who can embarrass us at times


send us stitches in our sides

shake us till the water reaches our eyes

buckle our knees till we cannot stand


we whose faces are grim and shattered

we whose hearts are no longer hearty

O Laughter we beg you


crack us up

crack us up