English Summer

 On the soft grass my bare feet place,
Every step I take I move with grace,
There is a point to this you soon will see,
As this grass belongs to my country.

The daffodils sway in the breeze,
They stand there tall only to please,
They sit smiling at you as you walk past,
The children run by fast, fast, fast!

This day is St George himself,
Little children have silhouettes of him upon the shelf,
He slayed the dragon and saved the day!
`The glorious red and white cross!' We all shall say!

The Dartmoor ponies in the field,
The English corn tall and strong like a shield,
Mischievous kids up the blossom tree,
We can do all this because we are FREE!!!

Amber Pickup

Me and the Softskins

My great mouth is ever yawning
Dew drips down at a new day's dawning
My skin is cracked, breached and old
Only a few dare to conquer my threshold.

Down my throat they boldly walk
Echoes vibrate as the softskins talk
Tickling my gullet, touching my skin
Will they get out now they've gone in?

Past waterfalls and streams
the blood that flows in me
On the softskins go, deeper and deeper
Down the pathways, steeper and steeper.

Finally they meet my heart
The beat reverberates in the dark
My heart it sparkles with crystals of glass
And boulders below in an unmoving mass.

Sarah Atkinson 

Silver orbs of glowing white,
Creating shadows that maime my sight,
Staring deep into that swirling pool,
And all of my body starts to cool.

I feel like I'm falling into a dream,
Everything is unclear, almost unseen,
I'm creeping through the forgetton mists,
Watching blood trickle down my wrist.

As it trickles down and down,
I feel my eyelids slowly close,
I try to resist, but in vain,
As life has stopped, it has chose.

Emma Woodcock

The Battle

St George rides into battle
On his pure white steed
The words of warning come thick and fast
Alas, he does not heed.

He faces the mighty dragon
With teeth as red as blood
Its vermillion scales shine like gems
Soldier's helms are in the mud.
      
He is is covered in shining armour,
A proud red cross he spurs,
His sword is shining in the light

His route is undeterred.
The scarlet dragon faces George,
With the authority of a king,
It slams its paw down on the ground,
Ignoring a painful sting.
 
George had thrust his sword up,
Into the monsters hide,
    The beast it screams with anger,
Not ready to reside.

Saint George, he thinks he's worthy,
To slay the mighty beast,
As he throws his final blow,
He is confident of his feat.

The dragon knows he's beaten,
And does not care to die,
He sees the holy red cross,
The last image in his mighty eye.

Saint George he cries triumphant,
As silver blood races down his arm,
He holds his sword up in the air,
And grips a scale, tight in his palm.

Emma Woodcock

ENGLAND

Hear the English crowd roar,
hear the boot of Beckham score,
Gerrard shoots and it's over the bar,       
you really can't blame him it was from afar.

Buy a drink after the match
if you're thirsty - straight down the hatch
go to the shop and get a shirt
If England lose it will hurt.

Next match is Greece,
will Beckham get a curler,
he did last time,
it was a right shocking pearler.

Now we have Rooney,
what a talented player,
soon to be the best,
football's mayor.

John Terry as captain,
he is great defender,
got a good tackle,
a real ball bender.

Ryan O'Hagan

WINTER WIND

I wrap myself around a house,
And creep under the doors,
I chill a person to the bone,
I am winter wind.

I make leaves flutter down the road,
They dance and prance in merriment,
I whirl and swirl in silent laughter,
Then carry on my way.

An open window of a house,
I slowly creep inside,
Creating havoc with the curtains,
Swooping down the stairs.

A person walking down the road,
Umbrella in their hand,
I blow and turn it inside out,
Then fly back to the clouds.

Being Wind is so much fun,
Blowing people's hats off,
But in a while when it's time,
I leave my blustery ways, fade away and die.

Isobel Marshall

St. George

A claret cross on silky cloth
High upon a wooden pole
Waving gently in the breeze
The symbol of a patriot's soul.

English tea, Yorkshire tea
In handmade cups of china
Add milk or sugar as you please
The taste could not be finer.

Yorkshire puds and roasted beef
Spuds and carrots galore
Hot on a patterned plate
Dig in with knives and forks.

Roses crimson standing tall
Daises, buttercups yellow
Surrounded by lush, green grass
Scattered daffodils mellow.

The greatest hero of these lands
A myth, a tale, a folk lore
A story that defines England
The great legend of St. George. 

Anon

The Dragon

The Dragon with its mouth so wide,
Shiny rough scales and scarlet hide.

Then came George a famous knight,
Dressed in armour and ready to fight.

The dragon spat an amber flame,
 Little did he know he would be slain.

Georges sword glistened in the light,
As he plunged it in the dragon with all his might.
 
Jasmine Kendall

Yorkshire Puddings

A good old Yorkshire Pud',
Cooked just how it should,
Is the tastiest meal,
Since meals on wheels,
It will tingle your taste buds!

Add some mashed up spuds,
With apple pie for pud,
Its the tastiest deal,
You'll ever seal,
It'll complete any Sunday lunch!

Anon