Friday 3 February 2012

Heaney Homework...

Write your own poem about either:

a) a childhood obsession or pastime that would be frowned upon now that you’re older

OR

b) a childhood experience where you suffered disappointment or shattered illusions

Your poem should be at least 8 lines long and you should consider and reflect upon the themes of innocence and experience that occur frequently in the poems of Seamus Heaney.

Due Friday 10th February.

19 comments:

Anonymous said...

Seven years old when you were snatched,
Out of my life forever, gone.
My special nan, no other nanny matched,
No more cuddles or your warming little songs,
In a better place I hope,
But too quickly did you leave,
My idol, my role model-
My Nanny, never really gone.


-Farrah Mills

Anonymous said...

I don’t remember how it happened,
I don’t remember when he came ,
I just remember him being there,
But Dad was his name,

His job was to hold my hand, tie my shoes, and teach me how to walk,
But there I stand and fall
It’s a tough battle
In which I feel so small.

Reynu Miah

Anonymous said...

When I was a child I lived the life of a thousand men


Each would span his world and time

Each life experience drawn and weaved with mine

As no spirit on this earth could ever dream to be,

To know so well

Each destiny



Formed by my hand and swaddled in love

Small forms of fledgling life

Forged and fashioned in fire: blessed knife

Each child holds this power,

Each grows his own flower,

And each with time’s gentle sighs

Withers and dies



I plant mine in my garden
And water them everyday
So they grow anew
Twist each and every-way


- Olivia B

K Morris Media Blog said...

Ah such joy I felt,
As I threw myself into my work,
Literally.
Hands smothered in greens and blues,
Purple and red
A funny coloured mess.
Concentrated and Determined,
This would be a masterpiece,
Of the highest standard-
-It was for my mum.
Such pride when the image was complete,
I didn't care that I was a paint smothered mess.
I had created a masterpiece.

I hold that masterpiece today,
Longing for that time,
When I could feel the paint,
As it squelched between my fingers,
As I experienced the art I created,
And enjoyed my matierials.
To be covered in paint today-
-is unacceptable.
As "Fingerpainting is for Children"
Adults use brushes.
Adults must be respectable.
And not experience the work that they create...

~Kayleigh Morris

Anonymous said...

I can still smell the freshness of the grass,
Still taste the salt in the air,
Still feel your hand in mine,
Nothing will ever compare.

I can still hear your laugh,
Still see your face,
Yet years have passed,
I miss you, Grace.

You was the only one I could open up to,
But I guess time took it's toll,
You was the only one who was there,
Funny, you was just a doll.

-Shannon Squibb

Anonymous said...

My new friend was tall
My new friend was Bold and strong
He stood over me, still and frozen
His wasn't like any other as he was different
He was quiet... some might say shy
He's Nose was long and an orange colour,
He wore a yellow and green scarf and a smile so proud
He's eyes wondered towards the house,
I invited him in but he won't move
At nigtht I could see him from my bedroom window
But...
The next morning
He was gone.

Hafsat Aminu

Anonymous said...

Bright nights
Adventure scratches, plaster patches and laughs
Scallywags we were
in the dirt on the beaten paths
doors were opened, we disappeared
the distant familiar shout
catch our breath, hands on knees
always to engaged for an ouch
the lamp posts flicker, too slow mister
home is whispering my name
I choose not to hear it for a while
the ginger shall be knocked again

Tayla Alexander.

Anonymous said...

'i promise i will always be here
my strong figure to look to
there to dry your every tear
take your hand through every fear'
*
False scenarios play endlessly in my mind ,tormenting
faded acts in my imagination would one day fall upon me right before my eyes, waiting
hours,days,months, fading.
let down ? still anticipating
after all he promised?
that must be merely what i was expecting..

Anonymous said...

'i promise i will always be here
my strong figure to look to
there to dry your every tear
take your hand through every fear'
*
False scenarios play endlessly in my mind ,tormenting
faded acts in my imagination would one day fall upon me right before my eyes, waiting
hours,days,months, fading.
let down ? still anticipating
after all he promised?
that must be merely what i was expecting..

kirsty hunter

Anonymous said...

The legs jittery, so dull so dead
When they were living I'd grab the body by its throat or head
The crunch. The snap although no bones broke
My grip so tight the poor guy would choke
Some pain. No hope
A little prayer call me the pope
The slimy skin green and warty
Just another number it now makes 40

--George Bird

Anonymous said...

I clutch at each individual piece,
All colours, red, white, blue,
A pasttime that is my release,
By myself, not with you.

Imagination runs wild,
As I create a playful scene,
The amazement as a child,
But now gone, a typical teen.

Creation was a strong point,
Build, design and play,
All the blocks were joint,
But won't be the same today.

For now, work has took the place,
Of my playtime, now put aside,
Put away back in its case,
For life is my new guide.

Daniel Friell

Anonymous said...

This was it...
It all looked so perfect
Its crystallised structure perfectly shaped over every blemish
Clear, cold and compact
Perfect for my creation
Gradually I lowered myself to make my mark
I beheld my masterpiece –
As fairy dust trickled from the sky
In the morning little did I know
It would be gone
Smothered by perfection
How perfection destroys the perfect

Alex.S

Anonymous said...

On the roof my imagination became reality;
Today was Spain, Tomorrow maybe Italy..
On the roof is where I found clarity,
My World made sense; and that's what mattered to me
On the roof I could become Anything I wanted to be -
An astronaut. or a doctor performing surgery !
On the roof I was free.
Now the roof is just a reminder of how simple life used to be

- Renee Instance

Anonymous said...

Though you were there, you just weren’t there!
When I used to come out of school
The excitement of seeing your face
Well I used to be such a fool
You just wasn’t there in the first place
Then when I saw him with his child all loving and kind …’Daddy’
I thought maybe you would realize what is on my mind …’Daddy’
Always obeyed and appreciated you,
Never did you show such gratitude..
Though you were there, you just weren’t there!

Tanzeela Cheema

Anonymous said...

Do you remember that day,
When you got told it was all a lie?
The stories, the films, the games
That everything you thought was right,
was wrong
From then have you always wondered,
What defines a family?
The blood through our veins?
A piece of paper telling us who we belong to?
The love given?
The time spent?
Or just, who’s left?
But most of all, do you wonder
why does it matter?
Why should it?
Whether you like it or not
Familys aren’t always happy,
People leave, no one stays forever
Happy families, Mummy’s girl,
Daddy’s little princess,
It’ll change sooner or later,
right?

Chantelle

Anonymous said...

The whirlpool goes round and round and round
it's motion, hypnotic. Intising.
Time ticks away, even the Aztecs couldn't predict.
After an aeonian the water was gone, gone, gone.

I climb my personal Everest
approach the peak, the rush
the wind, through my hair
I line myself up and let myself go.

Falling
No -- sliding
into the cooling basin,
only a second, that's all it took,

I get up to go again.
And again
and again.
One more time just for luck

The possibilities for the young are limitless!

Ryan

Anonymous said...

He was here, there, everywhere
Older people, just stopped to stare
A magnet, he never left my side
up the stairs, or down the slide

Only I saw him, not he or she
He'd be there, but only for me
A soul mate, a best friend
He'd be there, 'till the end

But now I work, not laugh and play
My best friends not here to stay
I need more than fantasy
Not a boy no one can see.

-Josh May

Anonymous said...

Sunday is my favourite day.
Every week,
A letter would come
With my name written in big on the front.

Sunday is my favourite day.
My Dad had written to tell
That he loved me lots
And wished me well.

Sunday is my favourite day.
I know he may be
Across the world,
But inside he's still with me.

Sunday is my favourite day.
Mum says he's a hero,
Fighting for justice,
For Ground Zero.

Sunday is my favourite day.
I sat up all day and all night.
Nothing had come,
But I still sat tight.

Sunday is my favourite day.
A man in a suit came to the door
And told me my dad
Would be writing no more.

Sunday was my favourite day.

Charlie Meehan

Anonymous said...

Shut tight and sealed, nothings getting in
Lips pouted and arms folded,
I was a stubborn little thing.
An hour or two my mother spent
Persistently trying
Open wide I would not,
Not as wide as a lion.
She tried faces.
She tries tickles.
She tried flapping,
In all the spaces.
But she was no match for my stubbornness.
These fights were like a möbius strip,
Until one day she was given a tip...
'Captain Scarlett!' she sung
She had found my cryptonite and I was
Defeated.
I threw my head back and
Chuckled, and giggled, and cheered.
Then in goes the mush
As quick as a flash.
There's no chance to say I've had enough.
Now there's only scrapings in the bowl.
I've lost all control.

-Alex hales