Jonny From 9B

I’ve done another voice recording to go with this one HERE

Never got on wi’ Shakespeare
Byron did nowt fa me
The only poet that I like is
Jonny from 9B

Sassoon sounds like a baboon
Wordsworth’s too wordy, you see
Nun a them ‘owds a candle
To Jonny from 9B

Coleridge couldn’t rime (or spell)
Rosen and Carroll ain’t fa me
Nun a them’s a patch
On Jonny from 9B

Dylan Thomas? Dad prefers Bob.
Larkin? Hughes? Big whoopee!
Nun a them’s fit to ‘owd a pencil
For Jonny from 9B

For Jonny’s a proper poet –
‘e makes sure all ‘is lines rhyme
Not just now an’ then
But time after time (after time)

‘e don’t bang on about love
An’ all that mushy stuff –
‘e tells us tales of scoring goals,
Playing pranks an’ acting tough.

All the teachers ‘ate ‘im
But Jonny – ‘e don’t care.
The playground’s ‘is stage
Telling tales wi’ style an’ flair

An’ for a precious few
Beneath that willow tree
A thousand dreams are dreamed
Through Jonny from 9B

 

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Picture credit: flickr.com/photos/herrmathisen/2892018505

Note for non-UK readers – “9B” refers to the year and class that he is in – Jonny would be 13 or 14 years old.

Limerick – Berk

I’m trying a new challenge this week. Esther Newton provides a range of prompts for different types of poems or stories every week. Check it out here!

For some, their time spent at school
Is a time for playing the fool
But on starting work
Don’t be a berk
Knuckle down, and play by the rules!

 

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Picture credit: flickr.com/photos/sabbianpaine/13695597924

Last Day of the School Year (poem)

Thirty tiny Santas
Struggle up the street
Loaded down with presents
Sweating in the heat.

Middle-class one-upmanship
Has claimed another thing
An excess of extravagance
Bundled in pink string!

M&S has emptied
Of fancy cakes and wine;
Handfuls of handmade jewellery
Ostentatiously designed;

Bouquets of beautiful flowers;
Diamonds and green gems;
Darling designer dresses,
All with tailored hems;

A personally signed picture,
Of footballer David Beckham;
A weekend at a health retreat,
In regency Cheltenham;

Crystal champagne flutes;
A piece of the Turin Shroud;
Original Oriental carpets;
(Olga looked ever so proud)

Sultry, silken scarves;
A fine, fake, fox-fur coat;
Some early designs by da Vinci…
And little Susie with a SPEEDBOAT!

So if you’re looking for a bargain,
Get onto ebay tonight.
It wasn’t like this in my day,
But for some the price’ll be right!

Couldn’t resist this picture, courtesy of flickr.com/photos/queenbeebh/8179594890
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“K is for… Kick-about” (poem)

Lined up straight outside the gym
Just one thought – pick me, not him!

(School’s okay, but without a doubt
I live to have a kick-about!)

Steve and Ed take their places
Staring hard at our faces

Don’t pick Pete! He’s two left feet!
(Though in goal he’s tough to beat)

Not Raj Brown! He’s such a clown!
Always fooling all around.

Jamie ‘Jamus’! His dad’s famous…
Pity he’s an ignoramus

(I’m not that big and not that fast
Please don’t tell me I’ll be last)

Big Bosh Brendan tackles hard
Leaves limbs strewn across the yard

Next picked out is Billy the Boot –
He’s a brute of ill repute

Anthony Rose, bogey nose!
But he’s missing two left toes!

Smelly Si and Limpy Lee.
What about me? What about me!

Evan Bevan? Willy Nilly?
This is all just getting silly!

Come on Steve! And c’mon Ed!
Time for you to use your head!

Pavel’s next… Just one to go…
Eeny. Meeny. Miney. Moe

Yes! It’s me. I won’t let you down!
I’ll give this lot the runaround.

I get the ball and dribble away…
Till Brendan hacks my legs astray

He passes right, to Billy’s Boot
It’s only going down one route

He blasts it high, he blasts it hard
It flies at speed across the yard

It keeps on speeding to the net
Before my team can break a sweat.

All eyes turn to me, in blame.
I hang my head.

I hate this game.

foot

F is for… First Day of School (poem)

First day of school
Lined up in a row
Stand behind a crying one
Who doesn’t want to go

Shuffle in in silence
Knowing no one’s name
Hand-in-hand clutched tightly
Others do the same

The whistle blows – PEEP!
Teacher leads them in

I stand there sobbing
Tears dripping from my chin

first day of school

Monster School Rules (poem)

NO LAUGHING. No licking
No bogey picking

No hissing, no hitting
No scaring, no spitting

No tugging, no talking
No weaving or walking

No crawling, no creeping
No classroom sleeping

No running, no roaring
And no being boring

No bashing, no bumping
No back of head thumping

No sliming, no squelching
No burping or belching

No smelling the roses,
No picking your noses
No cleaning and eating the fluff from your toeses

No furtling or fooling
No down-your-front drooling

No hiding, no seeking
No cheating or peaking

No fire, no ice
No “acting all nice”

No climbing, no cussing
No farting or fussing

AND NO EATING THE TEACHER!

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