Winning poems by children in the Headington Poetry Competition 2003

FIRST PRIZE

Thoughts before Autumn (Poppy Hatrick, aged 11)

Birthday party children running joyfully around ME
Whilst tomato-red balloons float wildly everywhere.

A milky white blanket of glistening ice frosted among my bouncy sponge cake.

The creamy buttery yellows, hazel nutty browns, wine reds, dark oranges and luscious greens of one leaf as it swirls down from a big old oak.

The melting chocolate mud squelching under my mucky Wellingtons.

The bewitched pumpkin glowing in the coal-black darkness of the haunted night.

The misty cobwebs hanging off sooted black witches’ hats.

A shower of gleaming jewels exploding out of the coal-black damp night that had magically come alive.

The eager children wait impatiently as the lit rocket zooms up and up and up and then BOOM!
And still the booming noise rings in the startled children’s ears!

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SECOND PRIZE

School (Reshma Bharamgoudar, aged 9)

Teachers Teachers Teachers,
Everywhere I look,
Outside or inside,
Wherever you go.

Rules Rules Rules
Everywhere I go,
On the door or on the floor,
Anywhere I go.

Friends Friends Friends
Nearly everywhere,
Helping you or talking to you
Wherever you go.

Homework Homework Homework
Everywhere I see,
Today or tomorrow,
Wherever wego.

Kids Kids Kids
Everywhere I see,
Fighting here or
Laughing there.

Playing Playing Playing
Not everywhere
Only once or twice a day
THAT’s NOT FAIR!

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THIRD PRIZE

The Ghosts and Ghouls of Headington (Kathryn Hampshire, aged 10)

The ghosts and ghouls of Headington,
Come out at midnight.
They appear not a second before that time,
It is cold. Icy cold.

A mysterious whistle fills the air,
A shiver creeps down our backs.
Tap, tap on the window,
It is cold. Icy cold.

Floating wedding dresses,
An antiseptic spirit wafts from Boots.
Sizzling fat in the frying pan,
It is cold. Icy cold.

A mysterious whistle fills the air,
A shiver creeps down our backs.
Tap, tap on the window,
It is cold. Icy cold.

The spirit of the shark jumps out of the house,
Hats, scarves, and babygro’s come floating out.
A ghastly frog leaps out of the orange,
It is cold. Icy cold.

A mysterious whistle fills the air,
A shiver creeps down our backs.
Tap, tap on the window,
It is cold. Icy cold.

Ghosts running up and up,
Gulp gulp the spirits are drunk.
Ghouls snatch all the money with the smell of success,
It is cold. Icy cold.

A mysterious whistle fills the air,
A shiver creeps down our backs.
Tap, tap on the window,
It is cold. Icy cold.

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