(untitled)

There for me always,

Not uncritical but fair.

Without prejudice or slight,

Ever honest and just.

Happy to comfort, to kiss me, to hold me.

A jewel among the pebbles to treasure and hold tight.

Never careless.

My friend.

(A teacher... but who... I shall tell all on the Friday before Half-Term... It's a really beautiful poem though, whoever the poet is. It made me think about a friend I should call or even surprise with a letter. What about you?)

the city of fools

(From a brother of a teacher... so long as there is a Sibford connection we'll take yer... We've got some great poems coming in from the junior school... come on senior school, show us your poems!)

some hearts

(picture poems are accepted and appreciated too!)

I Grew A Beard

I grew a beard

To hide away

From the rest of the world

She smiled and kissed my cheek

And said she'd tried that too.


(A. Teacher. - Thank you... And thank you to everyone sending in their poems, there are some beautiful things to come).

Stood still on Oxford Street

Questions: How? What? When? Where?
How much? How many? Who?
My hand is naughty.
My eyes are stupid.
My tongue is... I don't know.
So many things in my head:
People, text messages, chocolate,
Tables, cars, cool cars, high heals,
Computer games, money, shopping,
Family, friends, love...

(An interesting poem from the Intensive English class - again, not even their first language - and they all have different alphabets and scripts too... Keep those poems coming in...)

Beijing

The car belches fumes.

Fills the air with dirt and grime.

Why not ride your bike?

(From the junior school... but who? I shall tell on Friday - along with a few from the previous week... Perhaps not the escape from the snow I had expected, but it simply transports you to a different place. Ace!)

snow

Snow
Gets boring
Very very quickly.


(Anon... Simple and captures what many are feeling. I suppose snow is still better than the lethal slushy icy unpleasantness that follows... I don't like that bit... Perhaps I shall try and find a poem about the sun or a tropical island that someone has sent in for tomorrow... Keep sending your poems in!)

friday's snow day

open,
closing, closed,
the school succumbed,
a 'snow day' was declared -
for some a time to put their feet up,
for some a chance to sledge and play,
for some no option but to brave the elements -
try to make the school safe for when the students return,
for me, i suppose, a chance to try and claim back time
(i always feel like i'm playing catch up)
the odd snow day feels beautifully indulgent.


(Anon - received some time on Friday. Apologies for the 'no-post' of yesterday I was unable to log in. Keep those poems coming, there's snow excuse).

The Huns and the Buns (and the cake)

There once was an army of Huns

Who continually ate hot cross buns

They said, “Don’t think it wrong

For this keeps us strong

It’s a tip that we got from some nuns.”

They went into battle one day

To a country not too far away

They had wagons and tents

And they thought it made sense

But they hadn’t intended to stay.

They travelled by day, slept by night

And were just getting ready to fight

When the chief heard some news

As he tied up his shoes

Which gave him a terrible fright.

The sergeant who looked after food

Said “Excuse me if I appear rude

But the blacksmith’s young sons

Just ate all the buns

And the horses still haven’t been shoed”

The Chief said, “Oh what’s to be done?

The battle has hardly begun

We can manage, of course,

With old shoes on each horse,

But each of our men needs a bun.”

He said “Quickly go find our best man

And send him as part of my plan

Into the next village

And tell him to pillage

As many new buns as he can.”

The soldier set off straight away

For he knew there could be no delay

With the baker he pleaded

That more buns would be needed

and baked by the end of the day.

The baker stopped working and said

Very slowly as he scratched his bald head

“You’re too late I fear

It’s the wrong time of year

This season I’m just baking bread.

Hot Cross Buns are for Easter you see

And I know they are nice as can be

But it’s nearly July

And as hard as I try

My customers like jam tarts for tea.”

The soldier went back with his cart

To where the Huns were all ready to start.

“No buns I’m afraid

I know you’re dismayed

But perhaps you would like a jam tart.”

Then a young man called Will raised his hand

Saying “here’s something else I have planned

My Gran’s a great cook

Without using a book

And she makes the best cakes in the land.”

So they went for Will’s Granny, they say

And she joined them to bake, the next day

And although it seems strange

The Huns made a change

And now eat chocolate cake every day

William Edmonds

(Wow... brilliant William, thank you!!! I was thinking about saving it for July (and maybe it will have to be put in July when we make the book) but it was such fun and showed that long poems are wanted/needed/appreciated too that I just had to post it... Also, William, that is a big hurrah for the students... come on, send us yer poems - you know you want to).

Busy Busy

I doubt that there could ever be

A girl as talented as me

I am a multitasking legend

Watching TOWIE,  texting friends

Lots to juggle, things to do

(Just let me get that text from Lou)

Facebook, makeup, parties, date

….,.OMG, my homework’s late!

Now you have my full attention

But not for long – I’m in detention

(Anon... I don't know if this is by a parent or a student (or sibling of a student)... I think it will be hard to work out the author as the subject matter could be about many people... I'm told that TOWIE is a tv show The Only Way Is Essex - I don't know if that helps... Fun poem nonetheless and one that with a few words creates and documents a world many will know and relate to... Thank you, whoever you are).

Given the choice

Given the choice

Where do you sit?

In meetings, on planes, at home

Or - in the waiting room

The floor is yours

To walk across

A field of glass 

A bed of moss

It’s hard this walk

Where to go?

To follow, lead or copy

Walk fast or slow?

I’ll sit at the back

Someone thinks out loud

I’ll sit at the front

Someone else thinks inside

I’ll sit with my friends

I’ll sit where I’m told

But in the end

We all sit down

The choosing done

I can’t recall

A choice of seats making much difference

(The poems from the teachers are coming in thick and fast. But who wrote this one?... And, of course, why do you sit where you sit?)

“Banbury” (or Sorry, ET)

Yes, I remember Banbury

The name, because one long forgotten date

Of rain, the overdue express drew up there

Unwontedly.  It was late. 

 

The coffee machine dribbled. Someone coughed and spat.

And no one left or came

On that bare platform.  What I saw

Was Banbury – only the sign

 

And puddles, leaking drains, and mud,

Graffitti’d walls, and smell of fry

No whit less wet and mis’rable

Than the drab cloudlets in the sky

 

And for eternity a reveller sang,

Nearby, and round him noisier yet,

Far off and fainter, all the drunks

Of noble Banburyshire.

(This is by the rather wonderful Cherwell Bard, but who is it?)

snow gives up secrets

the snow reveals
the animals' habits
the paw prints and
tracks that are normally secret,
the door to other worlds
has been left open
and i am thankful for it
and the insight that it offers up,
but it also got me thinking that
'pure as the driven snow'
might be misleading -
brilliantly white and well meaning
but unable to keep secrets
might be more apt.


(Another Anon poem... I'm getting quite a few of these. It seemed appropriate with our snowy sprinkling...

Many of you guessed correctly that Debby Evans was the poet behind Retail Therapy, if you didn't you'll have another chance to guess the poem's teacher-author later this week...

Feel free to send sad poems, picture poems, perhaps even a simple foreign language poem too).

On Magdalen Bridge

Driving past the spot where we had stood,
Craning and tiptoed to glimpse the flame,
I can still feel its warmth
On this grey day.

For a moment this place was suspended in time;
An illuminated point.
Part of a route
Linking streets to streets
To towns and cities
And people to people.
National connection:
sparks of hope spreading
Like wild fire.

Even now, in the January rain,
This place is still touched by the glow.
And I notice a boy, running very fast,
Into tomorrow.



(A. Parent - thank you so much for this. It's good to remember in the dark and cold of winter the warmth and memories that places can unlock - and a perfect poem for people to spend the weekend with... oh the olympics...).

An Ode to My Dear Mum

My dear mum
Caring, kind,
In France, at home,
My dear mum,
Cooking,
Perfectly,
In France, at home,
Caring, kind,
Helpful and gentle,
My dear mum.

(Simon Laederich... thanks Simon... a very sweet ode - simple and warm with space to breathe and imagine... and impressive too as English isn't Simon's first language)

The Highway Man Haiku

In the dark, dark night,

The stars were shining brightly.

He came riding here.

 

The beautiful path!

The Highway man came trotting

To visit his girl.

 

He has come to kill,

The Highway Man is in there,

He is in the inn.

 

What is he plotting?

BOOM the house is gone, it’s dead.

The BANG of his guns.

 

The bag on his back,

Full of gold and silver coins.

Running  from the inn.

 

 

Archie Goundrey-Smith

 

 

(Great work Archie - characters, scene-setting and storytelling... and all in a haiku! How many other figures from history could you write haiku about? Or what about a Sibford Haiku?... That could be interesting...)

RETAIL THERAPY

The fastest way to beat the blues
Is go online and buy some shoes
It doesn't matter
If I'm fatter
My feet will be
A perfect 3


(A quirky little poem from one of the teaching staff... but who? ... I might let you know at the end of the week).

A beginning then...

i
share this
space with about
7,000,000,000 others spread out
across the globe, of which
less than a handful i have
met or interacted with - certainly not enough
to make any sweeping statements or lose hope.

(by anon... yes it's ok to submit poems without giving your name... but it's great too if you can)

Watch this space...

Hello Fellow Sibforders/Sibfordian/Sibsorts,

I realise that this is an underwhelming first post, but hopefully what will follow shall compensate. Throughout each school day during 2013 a poem will appear here... perhaps by a student, perhaps by a member of staff, perhaps even by a visitor to the school...
I cannot promise you will make a connection with every poem... poetry can often be a hit or miss thing... but I am confident that many poems will make a connection and transport you away from the computer/mobile/tablet screen for a while... even if it is just a short while... and that is something to savour and feel grateful for...

In friendship (and also in love and wonder)

Laurence (Chief Poem Collector @ Sibford School)