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NIGHT
All the creatures of the wood have long gone,
Now only the majestic owl roams the sleeping trees,
The silhouettes of awesome oaks,
Tower sneeringly above their shrivelled shrubs.
They watch the spirit of the wood,
It creeps round the plants and kills them,
They too join the crowded grave-yard of dead
leaves on the moss.
The stars flee from the great bear in the sky
They dazzle spectators and seem to send out desperate messages.
But, no help can reach them,
They each peter out one by one.
The sun drifts over the awakening countryside,
Mountain valleys are dressed in the glory of crimson and gold,
And the animals clamber out of their midnight dreams.
By Sean Dolan, P7A
DAWN
"Cock-a-doodle-doo" crows the country alarm clock
The moon sinks,
The sun rises.
The wet dew lies on the grass,
Birds cheep and chirp,
Animals stir,
The farmer goes collecting mushrooms,
Up on the hills
A rabbit darts in front of him
All is coming to life again.
The children wake,
What kind of a day will it be,
They wonder?
Mark Fisher, P6B
JUNGLE BY NIGHT
The mysteries of night
Fill man's desire for exploration
Two headlights in the distance,
The shadow moves closer, closer,
The black shadow creeps through the tall golden grass,
The ray of the silver moon reaches out into thedarkness.
I glare at the black shadow,
Its slender body turns towards me.
Peter BIythe, P7A.
THE SEAL
Fat lazy sloucher!
Slithering slowly to the cool water,
An acute eye sights an innocent fish,
With a dolphin like dive it grasps the shiny,
scaly fish.
Down clamp its jaws,
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The first silver body,
Now pale red.
Swiftly swimming the seal weaves back,
Up clambers the huge mass upon the dull grey stone,
To sun-bathe like a rich man on a beach.
Bruce Wilson, P7A
MURDER
A frightening scream;
A strangling choking noise;
And then
A yell for help.
Dead, with a dagger in his back,
Too late, the police;
Too late the ambulance;
Only time for a funeral.
Richard Wilson, P6A
THE EYES OF LIFE
The silence of this desolate place,
Startles the ears of the city man,
Carrion crows and vultures screech above him,
Circling high above the bare baobab,
Waiting for someone or something to die,
The sun was yellow and the dust was red,
The blood of a zebra dried up and gone,
To blow all over Africa, lonely and forgotten.
White man stands quite still,
Looking for dangers in front,
The elephant stands behind a shrub,
Drinking and bathing alone,
Wondering why all is quiet and still.
A grey, black mass of fat and muscle,
Comes eye to eye with the hunter,
The elephant raises his trunk,
But; the breeze is in white man's favour.
The hunter takes a good long look,
At the creature he's going to butcher.
And looks so long, it turns,
To a grey mass of nothing,
He raises his gun in line,
But; the eye's almost plead—
These eyes are its soul's defence—
Eyes that have seen an eternity of time,
For the white hunter points into the air and fires,
He sees the elephant stampeding off,
Free: to live once again.
Paul Kent, P7A
NIGHT
The silvery moon creeps slowly over the mountains,
Stars like glittering diamonds scattered on a piece of black silk,
Unheard by man and other forms,
Daylight creatures burrow in the nests,
But in the wild unexplored,
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