All other poems entered by children for the Headington Poetry Competition 2003


St Andrew’s Primary School

Walking to school in the freezing cold air,
Apart from the cars, there is nobody there,
Hands will go numb as the morning bell rings,
Dozens of children will put up their things,
Run into the classroom and grab a chair,
Read your book and refuse to share,
Writing comes next which is fun for me,
Show it to your teacher and it’s time to flee,
Out in the playground the girls sit and chat,
The boys will just play with a ball and a bat,
Scattering feet as we run through the door,
Start on your maths, this is a bore!
Come out to lunch, my favourite part,
Munching my sandwich and my custard tart,
Come back in and it’s time for RE,
Learn about countries which seem strange to me,
The clock strikes 3 and we run out the door,
Lets go home and it’s time to snore. Zzzz

Imogen Charvill Ryall (9)

St Andrew’s School

Violins squeaking
Guitars playing
Flutes whistling
Saxophones playing
Choir singing
Children working
Teachers teaching
Pencils scratching
Rubbers rubbing
Sharpeners sharpening
Timer going
Naughty children shouting
Books lying on the book-shelf
Clock ticking
Paper rattling
Pencil cases open.

Anuszka Maton (9)

St Andrew’s School

S chool is a great place to be,
T he teachers are very kind.

A nd most of the children too
N ow St. Andrew’s is a primary school,
D oing work is rather fun and
R eading stories too.
E ating lunch in the canteen and
W andering round the playground,
S chool is really a great place to be.

S cience has lots of experiments
C omputers is a fairly new lesson
H istory is all about the past
O ccasionally we have I.T.
O n the three last days of term,
L earning is so much fun!

Claire Baker

St Andrew’s School

St Andrew’s School is the best,
Much, much better than the rest
All the children work with glee,
For the school’s harmony.
Year Six is top of the school
You can tell ’cause they’re really really cool!
The head teacher’s name is Mrs Baker
And the school’s got its own caretaker
I love P.E., to go outside
And if it doesn’t rain, well we’ll go on the slide
The school is great and all the time take….

Sararh Hasan

The New St. Andrew’s School

S chool with people coming early,
T eachers teaching lessons,
A ndrew as a statue,
N umeracy with tables to learn,
D esign and Technology, things to make,
R eading books in reception,
E nd of playtime back to work,
W ork has ended time to go home,
S chool with no one here.

Felix Bird (10)

Headington Traffic

As I sit inside my warm, snug car,
I see the cold, weaving wind
Spinning the delicate crisp leaves
Through the thin, frosty mist.
The car is creeping like a lingering snail,
Although the bikes outside are whizzing past.
As the car window opens,

I feel the silky breeze stroke my skin,
The ice cold air, flows through my hair,
And the leaves fly in like orange parakeets
On a light frisky breeze.
As the traffic moves on,
The autumn trees turn into a huge building
And little shops.
Red brick houses waking up, sit primly,
I see children waving to their parents
As they trot like horses off to school.
As I get closer to Rye,
I wave Headington streets Goodbye!

Yara Abifaker (10)

Summer at Rye

The sun beams down on the great oak trees of Rye.
The rigid chains on the swings shimmer wildly while the children rock on them.
Children sprightly play in nature’s dens or sprint into the swunlight.
The swimming pool shrieks as the children swim, making the water lurch.
The bluebells in the field are blossoming whilst giving out their colours.
Our red uniform stands out against the maroon trees
When we charge round the woods.
Yells of laughter pierce your ear as that summer feeling is in the air.

Sarah Kehoe (10)

Hanging around Headington

Stop and starting round Headington,
I’m getting really bored.
Everyone we meet she just talks to endlessly.

Tap mum on the shoulders,
Pull at her jumper, whine.
Don’t interrupt.

At last Frog Orange.
Oh no! Another friend.
Mum starts to chatter.
But there’s good stuff in there
And friendly people:
They let you touch the toys.
Can we please go in?

Eloise Stoneman (10)

Autumn and Christmas at Rye St Antony

Burnt crisp smell of men collecting the autumn leaves,
Scattered cornflakes smother my feet,
A masquerade of piercing eyes gawk up to the bleak skylight,
Blankets of white drift onto my vivid uniform,
Different sounds surround my body,
Various trees make up my wood,
While I gnaw my snack, my teeth totter,
Voices enclose around me,
The shadows sweep onto the sunburnt turf,
As I smelt the pasty white grass it makes my nose tingle,
It smells of burnt cinders fresh from the hearth of archaic bonfire,
People’s eyes being lit up like sparklers when they hear about the Christmas pantomime,
School has been hushed to a mild silence.

Lucy Wong (10)

Pen to paper

As I squeeze through the hustle and bustle,
A shop of colours holds me back.
Coloured pens for drawing dreams,
And bringing life to paper.

I am lured inside, powerless
Yet drawn to acquire just one pen
To share my thoughts with paper.
I push the door, I step inside,
A waft of warm air welcomes me.
The colours, patterns and shapes,
Dance before my eyes, bewitching me.

But which to choose?
Elegant and thin, or bold bright and big?
I close my eyes and pick one.
Oh, no a sad black sombre ballpen!

I smile faintly. No colour for me today,
but who needs colour to write a poem?

Alice Turner (10)

Frog Orange

Frog Orange sells lots of different things
like toys, accessories and cards.
But at night the toys are waking up,
talking about their days.
Some have been all poked and hurt
and some have been cuddled and squashed.
Some have bruises and bumps.
The cute toys have been sold and the
ugly ones wriggle from the back.
So when they see the sunrise, they all
get back to their places.

Abigail Hack (10)


I step into a fairytale dream,
Lots of sparkly dresses on display
Shimmering in the sun
… Shimmer shimmer shimmer …

Taffeta rustles, silk swishes and satin sparkles,
Tiaras encrusted with many jewels,
Sequins scattered in intricate patterns,
Pearls and beads on the sewed gown

Petticoats with lots of tulle
That hangs on silver rails;
Then the bride tries on a Cinderella slipper,
She then strikes a pose and swirls about.

Then my mum shouts ‘the dress is ready’
As the pins fall onto the floor;
The bride hugs the dress and slips it on:
She’s delighted and exclaims it’s a dream come true.


Reliving Rye

It was as hot as an oven,
No face was bare from sweat,
Children fled out of the hallway,
Shouting, cheering,
Yet secretly wondering,
What occurs at school in the holidays?
Were there ghosts?
Or silence?
They weren’t sure but wanted to know….

Faces as white as milk,
Bodies, clear as glass,
There was no whispering.
Just mystic silence painting the room,
They were old-fashioned children of the past,
Reliving their life, over, over, and over again.

Robotic was the teacher,
He never said a word,
His words were written slowly
In a white crumbling chalk.

One thing will give out shivers,
One look will make one freeze,
This school … is not normal,
It is the living dead
They don’t shout or talk,
They chant songs,

Daisy Bernard (10)

School run

Just the same old day:
Mum is late for work and in a bad mood,
My sister is whining as the dust swirls around us,
The car is like a rumbling tummy,
The mist is enclosing in a tight grip
While the traffic rumbles noisily by.
We pass familiar landscape:
Shops stuffed with goodies, pubs full of drinks,
And some jubilant, some doleful people.
The radio is on, with music slipping
Gently through the air.
The cold in the seats begins to melt
And ice on the windows clear.
I blow out my warm breath
And draw pictures in the steam.
In the distance the traffic lights
Change colour
But we can hardly see.
My mum just squints and
Cars are honking Impatiently
But mum just doesn’t move.
The light was green but now it’s red
And we start the wait all over again
Just the same old day.

Ellie Sudges (10)

The Headington Shark!

Shark, shark there’s a shark in a roof.
Why mummy, why mummy, why?
I do not know, my young girl.
But why, why?
Most likely because the shark was swimming through the deep
ocean in the sky after a seal and missed and landed in a roof top.

That must have hurt, mummy,
Oh yes! And if you don’t behave Mr Shark will eat you all up
too. Every last drop.

Every last drop? oh no, mummy.
You’d best behave then.

But mummy, how can you swim in the sky ?

Collette Nicholls (10)

The Dens

Like buzzing bees we scatter into our dens
Awaiting us impatiently are our wooden tree houses,
Our big, wide mansions, comfy tiny houses, or dripping caves.
Suddenly we spin into our imaginations, creeping animals,
Posh rich people, explorers, or just ourselves,
Then we hear the clanging of the bell through the playground,
We flip back into ourselves:
It’s time to go inside.

Rebecca Powell (10)

When I’m good

Occasionally when I’ve been good at the
End of the day after school my mum gives
Me £2.50 for sweets.
So with this money
In my pocket to the newsagents I must rocket
Down the hill past the hospital
Through the garage horns peeping, revving
I’m overtaking
Zig zag, Zig zag
Screeching brakes as I skid through the
Door of the newsagents and then I see it
The pic and mix a new selection to
Sweet and sour sherbet lemons which made my
Tastebuds explode like a million fireworks,
All going off at once, a laughter bonnet which
Makes you laugh for ten whole minutes, citrus polos,
Fizzie winegums, sherbet dib-dabs, liquorish
Candy, fried eggs, gobstoppers, marshmallows
Twixes and chocolate raisins. I run out of the shop
I grab handfuls and stuff them in my mouth
Gobble! crunch munch snap and a few winks to finish.
Uh oh I have to go to the dentist next door.

Francesca Dean (10)

Headington Snow

Giant grey clouds rolled across the moon
Like waves that never break.
The man on the moon sighs as he look down on Headington.

The snow begins to fall, muffling every sound.
The moon hears a parent singing a child to sleep
Like a nightingale.

At sun rise screeches of joy fly from every window.
Snowmen are built, some huge, some small.
Fingers go red like a robin redbreast.

First Headington snow
Fills everybody with joy,
From snow boot to bobble hat.

When the sun goes down
And the moon rises again
He looks down on the carpet of muddy footprints.
He smiles.

Georgia Howard-Merrill

The Shark in Headington Waters

What lies at the other end to the shark’s tail?
Is there a head? If so…
Does the owner hang his underwear from its jaws?
Is the shark used as a chimney?
Does it go to the dentist?
Or at Christmas, does the owner wrap tinsel
Around its head? Does he hang
Fairy lights from its mouth,
Or maybe even dangle baubles
From its sunken eye?
Only the man at number two would know.

Bea Swords (11)

Waiting at the bus stop

The horns beeping in my ear,
The wheels squeaking is all I hear,
People shouting very near,
Waiting at the bus stop.

Winds whistling round my head,
People dreaming of their bed,
“Be patient!” people said,
Waiting at the bus stop.

Buses come all the time,
Everyone else’s, never mine,
But then I see my magic sign,
No more waiting at the bus stop.

Amy Freeman (11)

Richard Strange

There once was a yeoman,
His name was Richard Strange,
He lived his life in Headington
And there too he died.

Four children he did have:
Three daughters and one son,
His wife had happy years
But unfortunately died young.

When he eventually died,
His will was read out in Headington
To all his fellow people
Whom he had served well.

To his eldest he left his silver tankard,
To Elizabeth money,
To Sarah his silver pots,
And to his youngest his eight-day clock.

Richard Strange lived in the 1800s,
As the town records show,
Raising four children
Whose descendants live there still.

Georgia Parry (11)

Headington is a place

Headington is a place where education is strong,
But they don’t mind if you get a question wrong.
It’s a fantastic place to be if you like to shop,
Selling trousers shorts and little tops.

But if you’re more laid back, go to a restaurant or pub,
A great place to be if you like lots of grub;
South Park on the hill is a great place to walk
Or just to sleep, eat, read, play or talk.

If you look closely you might see a shark
Sticking out of someone’s roof — be wary if it’s dark.
So if you want to go somewhere where the fun never ends.
Come to Headington and bring some friends.

Flora Cooper Maddocks (11)

Seasons in Headington

I can hear the birds chirping happily,
I can see the beautiful daffodils springing into life,
I can smell the wonderful smell of fresh growing grass:
Springtime is here.

The temperature is slowly creeping up,
The grass is dry and needs water, feel free to add a cup:
Springtime is over.

I hear young children yelling for ice creams,
I see picnics in the park,
I smell hotdogs and cold drinks:
Summertime is here.

The wind comes slowly but surely,
The hotness is cooling down:
Summertime is over.

I hear the rustling of falling leaves,
I see squirrels gathering chestnuts for their long time inside,
I smell the burning of the great bonfire:
Autumn is here.

The snow is failing to keep away,
But the lovely pine trees need to stay:
Autumn is over.

I hear Christmas carols being sung,
I see all the children fooling around,
I smell freshly baked warm mince pies:
Winter is here.

The flower buds are starting to bloom,
The scent of fresh air entering my room:
Winter is over.

The four seasons are over;
But they will be back next year.
Hey, look at that tulip:
Springtime is here!

Lucy Lin (11)

Flossy’s View

Soaring above Headington park,
The children are playing, the trees are swaying,
The sparrow, the bluebird, and lark.

Over the roof tops I fly,
Look at me sail! Is that a shark’s tail?
Could my eyes be telling a lie?

I hover above the shops,
Parents are buying, babies are crying.
The bustling never stops.

I land in the school playground,
The children are learning, their minds are burning,
But break is soon coming around.

I’ve shown you the best of my home town,
I hope you enjoyed it. I’ll see you around!

Priyanka Pal (11)

Birds in Headington

Robins are red,
Swans are white,
A barn owl hoots
In the middle of the night.

Blue tits are blue,
Black birds are black,
A jackdaw stole my ring
And I want it back.

Sparrows are brown,
A woodpecker is green,
With a bright red crown
That is seldom seen.

I love to watch the birds
In my garden as they play,
I feed them nuts and seeds
But the cat scares them away.

Leanne Brooks (9)

Headington to me

Headington to me is ever so big,
But in the whole of England it’s only a twig.
Out of one of the roofs sticks a shark,
It sort of reminds me of Noah’s ark.
All the animals two by two,
From ants and fleas to a big kangaroo.
The shops sell nearly everything,
From cakes and sweets to a ring.
Now let’s get on to the park,
Did I really mention the stranded shark,
The one that sticks out of a roof?
Oh yes I did, it’s come back, poof.
The park is a wondrous place,
There is a rocket bound for space.
Not really, it’s bolted to the floor,
Now go up in the library through the door
Into a room filled with books,
In there you won’t find any rooks.
There is a primary called Windmill,
Where there are plants on every window sill.
Headington middle has been shut,
The grass on the field never cut.
Now anyway I’ve got to go,
But didn’t my talent really show.
I’ve got to buy for my bike some tyres,
But don’t forget my name, Matty Spiers.

Matthew Spiers (10)

Headington Caius Galliers, age 10)

H eadington rules
E xcellent shops
A good set of schools
D efinitely tops.
I n the middle is a clock
N ear the bank is a park
G oing tick going tock
T ill way after dark
O n a roof there’s a shark
N ot real it’s a lark”

Headington Festival

My dad had a good idea:
“A festival is what Headington needs.”
So he went along to the HCDA,
And there he sowed the seeds.

In June it came to fruition,
A monumental feat
Of music in the cafés and pubs
And dancing in the street.

Bill Heine declared it open,
But he did not bring his shark.
I think it might have been frightened
By the crocodile in the park.

Roza Jeffery (12)

The Potion Brewers

A deadly musical band of three
With music so bad it should be banned by decree.
The witches’ names be
Bertha Bri
Coral Can
And Agatha An.
Their performances have had mysterious deaths
But Bertha Bri
Coral Car
And Agatha An
Always can explain
They’re commonly known as the Potion Brewers
(That’s what the locals say)
One tap of a heel
A ping on guitar
A bang on drum
And An
Hypnotise all
Sending the audiences into the deepest
Of sleeps ….DEATH.

Amy McNee (11)

The Witch

Her long black hair,
The colour of night,
Purple eyes,
In the shape of a kite.

A pointy chin,
And a long crooked nose,
High-heeled shoes,
And square-edged toes

The cauldron bubbles,
While the witch slowly stirred,
With guts of a dog,
And legs of a bird.

Her potion of death,
With the ingredients if you only knew,
And her smelly breath,
It would make you spew.

Amy Clifford (11)

The Witches’ Chase

In the darkness of night,
Appears an old house.
Enter the door and you will see three hags.
Approach them if you care!
Approach them if you dare!

Wrinkly faces covered in bugs,
Hair of slithery snakes and slugs.
Jet black eyes,
Like the night skies.

Jagged teeth made from the shell of a snail,
Crackly voices thin as a wail.
Ugly noses,
Big, fat warts.
Bright green skin,
All shrivelled and thin.

Race out of door,
They’re preparing for war.
Sprint down the street,
You can hear their big feet.
Hurry, they will catch you as their broomsticks zoom,
If you don’t you’re definitely doomed!

Esha Gupta (11)


If you go down to Dcmolly
And some old lady gives you a lolly.
She may be witch of some description
So watch! What’s on her prescription?

If she wears a long blond wig
And she has a secret supply of figs.
She may be witch of some description
So watch! What’s on her prescription?

If she’s old
But very bold.
She may be witch of some description
So watch! What’s on her prescription?

And if she has a long nose that
Looks suspiciously like a hose.
She may be witch of some description
So watch! What’s on her prescription?

If her nails are long and red and
She taps them even when she’s in bed.
She may be witch of some description
So watch! What’s on her prescription?

Six of them mean trouble
But twelve of them means double trouble.
She may be witch of some description
So watch! What’s on her prescription?

Her medicine is poison
This is called Enozon.
She may be witch of some description
So watch! What’s on her prescription?

This helps her to detect children
Which she can boil up in a cauldron.
She may be witch of some description
So watch! What’s on her prescription?

Lizzie Currie (11)

I Am The Cat

I am the cat in the luminous hat,
I can cackle, I can brew and I swear that I flew,
For I am the cat in the luminous hat.

My master is a witch an evil one too!
For I am the frog of the green slimy bog,
If you are naughty then she will get you.

In go the eyes then the tongue of spies
A sickening crunch, and it goes up in smoke,
The smell of it, might make you choke,
For I am a maggot surrounded by flies

I am the cat in the luminous hat
I can cacklely, I can brew and I swear that I flew,
For I am the cat with the luminous hat.
Rosie Brown (11)

What Are Witches?

Witches have zits,
Witches hate children
They eat and dissect them,
Witches wear black,
Because they mourn for their husbands,
For they kill all who they marry.
Witches wear high heels,
Because they are short,
Witches give bad marks,
Even though you try hard,
This describes only one creature

Lauren Townson (11)

Have you not seen her?

Flying through the sky
Thinking of a spell
Riding on her broomstick
Just about to tell.

On a little child
Sleeping in her bed
Coming in the window
Very nearly dead.

If you have not seen her
She’s really very mean
If you dare come closer
She maybe very keen.

To pull your cuts
And eat them up
On your bones
She’ll soon sup.

So if you’re worried
You’ve been hexed
I’m sorry to tell you
You’re now next.

Louise Ford (11)

Pole to Pole

Glacier landscape,
White bear swims in cold kingdom,
White foxes run quick,
Great tundra rocky landscape.

High pine trees sleeping,
Snow drops from slender branches.
Ice smothers mountains,
Like a rocky birthday cake.

Small waterfalls splash,
Leaves turn orange and gilded,
The floor turns bright red.

Green and red coloured fields,
Containing poppies,
The lake reflects a picture,
Of blue and white sky.

The land is now bright and gold,
Little lizards run,
The cacti stand like statues,
After nothing moves.

Trees block out the sun,
The eyes follow you,
As the undergrowth gets thick,
And the bugs run quick.

Back to the ice kingdom,
Penguins skate on ice,
Killer whales drift on water,
And seals sleep quietly.

Ross Gilligan

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