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charlie, computer cat

September 2017

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charlie, computer cat

Poetry

I have to read a favourite poem in assembly tomorrow (as do all the other teachers). What would you pick?
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Ozymandias, or a Psalm, or one of Stewart Henderson's from A Giant's Scrapbook.
'In winter when the field are white' from Alice Through The Looking Glass. It's funny, scary, short, and has a good rhythm.
Strange Lights Over Bexley Heath
http://www.mikeharding.co.uk/books/poetry/poems/strange-lights

Probably inappropriate for the age range though.
Jabberwocky. What? *innocent*

Sick


'I cannot go to school today, '
Said little Peggy Ann McKay.
'I have the measles and the mumps,
A gash, a rash and purple bumps.
My mouth is wet, my throat is dry,
I'm going blind in my right eye.
My tonsils are as big as rocks,
I've counted sixteen chicken pox
And there's one more-that's seventeen,
And don't you think my face looks green?
My leg is cut-my eyes are blue-
It might be instamatic flu.
I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke,
I'm sure that my left leg is broke-
My hip hurts when I move my chin,
My belly button's caving in,
My back is wrenched, my ankle's sprained,
My 'pendix pains each time it rains.
My nose is cold, my toes are numb.
I have a sliver in my thumb.
My neck is stiff, my voice is weak,
I hardly whisper when I speak.
My tongue is filling up my mouth,
I think my hair is falling out.
My elbow's bent, my spine ain't straight,
My temperature is one-o-eight.
My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear,
There is a hole inside my ear.
I have a hangnail, and my heart is-what?
What's that? What's that you say?
You say today is...Saturday?
G'bye, I'm going out to play! '

Spike Milligan

String
Is a very important thing.
Rope
Is thicker
But string
Is quicker.
We have recommendations from children. Ellie says Aliens Stole My Underpants while Alice likes the first two verses of The Fairies.

Speaking as adults, we recommend Jabberwocky.
and of course "Noise" by Pooh always has them in stitches...

Oh, the butterflies are flying,
Now the winter days are dying.
And the primroses are trying
To be seen.
And the turtle-doves are cooing,
And the woods are up and doing,
For the violets are blue-ing
In the green.

Oh, the honey-bees are gumming
On their little wings, and humming
That the summer, which is coming
Will be fun.
And the cows are almost cooing,
And the turtle doves are mooing,
Which is why a Pooh is poohing
In the sun.

For the spring is really springing;
You can see a skylark singing,
And the blue-bells, which are ringing,
Can be heard.
And the cuckoo isn't cooing,
But he's cucking and he's ooing,
And a Pooh is simply poohing
Like a bird.

(particularly if you start off in a posh, proclaiming voice, and pretend to get more confused as you go on)
much appreciation to all the above. My first thought was 'something brief'.


The Bunny Poem - Pam Ayres:

I am a bunny rabbit,
Sitting in me hutch,
I like to sit up this end,
I don't care for that end, much


Spike Milligan

The Rain

There are holes in the sky
Where the rain gets in,
But they're ever so small
That's why rain is thin.


The Hippopotamus

I'm not frightened of Pussy Cats
They only eat up mice and rats.
But a Hippopotamus
Could eat the Lot of us.

I know Spike's Silly Verse for Kids was already referenced above, and I don't have me copy to hand, so that's made up titles (I think they had titles, didn't they?) and sourced from an unreliable internet where people seem to repeat them from memory, so there are lots of conflicting versions, some with 'there' for 'they're' even, goddammit. Teach 'em better.
I first parsed this as "poem-in-assembly [language]" and was thinking code poetry. But no.

I'm very fond of Walt Whitman's On the Beach at Night, and Edgar Allan Poe's The Bells, but I think those may both be too long for an assembly.
McGonagall's poem on the Tay Bridge disaster.

I found a small dragon in the woodshed

True to stereotype - The Sons of Martha by Kipling.

What was your choice?

implicit was that you were asking what we would have done in your place, not what you were about to do - what was yours?

Edited at 2010-10-08 08:25 pm (UTC)
I rose from dreamless hours and sought the morn
That beat upon my window: from the sill
I watched sweet lands, where Autumn light newborn
Swayed through the trees and lingered on the hill.
If things so lovely are, why labour still
To dream of something more than this I see?
Do I remember tales of Galilee,
I who have slain my faith and freed my will?
Let me forget dead faith, dead mystery,
Dead thoughts of things I cannot comprehend.
Enough the light mysterious in the tree,
Enough the friendship of my chosen friend.

But maybe not in a 'faith' school...