It's been a while since I have written. As usual life gets busy and time flies by. May already, very soon to be June!
Today I have been talking performance poems with a colleague of mine. She is doing poetry with her year 3/4 class and was looking for some poems with rhyme and rhythm for her class to perform.
Here's some we found in The Works by Paul Cookson and fell in love with, I could resist sharing.
We Want to Wear Our Wellies
We want to wear our wellies
When it's windy.
We want to wear our wellies
When it's wet.
We want to wear our wellies
When the weather on the telly
Says it's going to be
The warmest day yet.
We want to wear our wellies
Even though our feet get smelly.
We want to wear our wellies
Because they're red.
We want to wear our wellies
When it's wet or warm or windy -
But we never wear our wellies in bed!
Dave Ward
My Hands
Think of all my hands can do,
pick up a pin and do up a shoe,
they can help, they can hurt too,
or paint a summer sky bright blue.
They can throw and they can catch.
They can clap the team that wins the match.
If I'm rough my hands can scratch.
If I'm rude my hands can snatch.
Gently, gently they can stroke,
carefully carry a glass of Coke,
tickle my best friend for a joke,
but I won't let them nip and poke.
My hands give and my hands take.
With Gran they bake a yummy cake.
They can mend but they can break.
Think of music hands can make.
Jo Peters
A Poem to Be Spoken Silently . . .
It was so silent that I heard
my thoughts rustle
like leaves in a paper bag . . .
It was so peaceful that I heard
the trees ease off
their coats of bark . . .
It was so still that I heard
the paving stones groan
as they muscled for more space . . .
It was so silent that I heard
a page of this book
whisper to it's neighbour,
'Look he's peering at us again . . .'
It was so still that I felt
a raindrop grin
as it tickled the window's pane . . .
It was so calm that I sensed
a smile crack on the face
of a stranger . . .
It was so quiet that I heard
the morning earth roll over
in its sleep and doze
for five minutes more . . .
Pie Corbett
Write-A-Rap Rap
Hey, everybody, let's write a rap.
First there's a rhythm you'll need to clap.
Keep that rhythm and stay in time,
'cause a rap needs rhythm and a good strong rhyme.
The rhyme keeps coming in the very same place
so don't fall behind and try not to race.
The rhythm keeps the tap on a regular beat
and the rhyme helps to wrap your rap up neat.
'But what'll we write?' I hear you shout.
There ain't no rules for what a rap's about.
You can rap about a robber, you can rap about a king,
you can rap about a chewed up piece of string . . .
(well, you can rap about almost . . . anything!)
You can rap about the ceiling, you can rap about the floor,
you can rap about the window, write a rap on the door.
You can rap about things that are mean or pleasant,
you can rap about wrapping up a Christmas present.
You can rap about a mystery hidden in a box,
you can rap about a pair of smelly old socks.
You can rap about something that's over and gone,
you can rap about something going on and on and on and on . . .
But when you think there just ain't nothing left to say . . .
you can wrap it all up and put it away.
It's a rap. It's a rap. It's a rap rap rap rap RAP!
Tony Mitton
Today I have been talking performance poems with a colleague of mine. She is doing poetry with her year 3/4 class and was looking for some poems with rhyme and rhythm for her class to perform.
Here's some we found in The Works by Paul Cookson and fell in love with, I could resist sharing.
We Want to Wear Our Wellies
We want to wear our wellies
When it's windy.
We want to wear our wellies
When it's wet.
We want to wear our wellies
When the weather on the telly
Says it's going to be
The warmest day yet.
We want to wear our wellies
Even though our feet get smelly.
We want to wear our wellies
Because they're red.
We want to wear our wellies
When it's wet or warm or windy -
But we never wear our wellies in bed!
Dave Ward
My Hands
Think of all my hands can do,
pick up a pin and do up a shoe,
they can help, they can hurt too,
or paint a summer sky bright blue.
They can throw and they can catch.
They can clap the team that wins the match.
If I'm rough my hands can scratch.
If I'm rude my hands can snatch.
Gently, gently they can stroke,
carefully carry a glass of Coke,
tickle my best friend for a joke,
but I won't let them nip and poke.
My hands give and my hands take.
With Gran they bake a yummy cake.
They can mend but they can break.
Think of music hands can make.
Jo Peters
A Poem to Be Spoken Silently . . .
It was so silent that I heard
my thoughts rustle
like leaves in a paper bag . . .
It was so peaceful that I heard
the trees ease off
their coats of bark . . .
It was so still that I heard
the paving stones groan
as they muscled for more space . . .
It was so silent that I heard
a page of this book
whisper to it's neighbour,
'Look he's peering at us again . . .'
It was so still that I felt
a raindrop grin
as it tickled the window's pane . . .
It was so calm that I sensed
a smile crack on the face
of a stranger . . .
It was so quiet that I heard
the morning earth roll over
in its sleep and doze
for five minutes more . . .
Pie Corbett
Write-A-Rap Rap
Hey, everybody, let's write a rap.
First there's a rhythm you'll need to clap.
Keep that rhythm and stay in time,
'cause a rap needs rhythm and a good strong rhyme.
The rhyme keeps coming in the very same place
so don't fall behind and try not to race.
The rhythm keeps the tap on a regular beat
and the rhyme helps to wrap your rap up neat.
'But what'll we write?' I hear you shout.
There ain't no rules for what a rap's about.
You can rap about a robber, you can rap about a king,
you can rap about a chewed up piece of string . . .
(well, you can rap about almost . . . anything!)
You can rap about the ceiling, you can rap about the floor,
you can rap about the window, write a rap on the door.
You can rap about things that are mean or pleasant,
you can rap about wrapping up a Christmas present.
You can rap about a mystery hidden in a box,
you can rap about a pair of smelly old socks.
You can rap about something that's over and gone,
you can rap about something going on and on and on and on . . .
But when you think there just ain't nothing left to say . . .
you can wrap it all up and put it away.
It's a rap. It's a rap. It's a rap rap rap rap RAP!
Tony Mitton
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