Term Two: Anzac PoetryPoetic response to the Mentor text: The Red Puppy, by David Hill
Children were asked to write a free verse poem in response to the text focusing on applying metaphors, similes, alliteration, and precise vocabulary to up-level our work.
This is a sample of what we produced:
The battlefield is red, like blood splattered on the ground.
It’s as hot as the sun beaming down like magma and hitting your skin.
The battlefield is like the Sahara desert on a summer’s hot day; unbearable.
It’s boiling on the battlefield with no where to run.
The battlefield feels like you're wearing a thick jacket and jeans and scarves.
The battlefield is like an old wooden desk, ready to break at any minute.
The battlefield is like a war documentary in black and white, just plain and all the same.
The battlefield is like eating an Anzac biscuit, hard like all the soldiers in the war.By Bridie
THE GREAT ADVENTURE, NOT
One Minute to go before that ungodly whistle and we would be running into HELL!
“Tweet! Tweet! Tweet!
The whistle blows.
The first wave of men fall like dominoes
The stench of dead men hangs in the air.
Now it was my turn to go.
I saw my brother drop next to me.
He was dead.
They called an evacuation.
I was a dog run running free.We
were finally off that inferno beach.
The Blood Bomb
In Gallipoli where bodies fell
all around the blood of soldiers and bodies smell
“boom, blam, bang”
all around the enemy lurks
my helmet was a titanium shelter from the Turks.
In Flanders fields poppies grow
snipers knocked off people down below
trenches meters from the enemy
soldiers fighting for their country.
Sitting in the deep dirty trenches I hear silence.
Waiting for the whistle to blow.
My heart’s racing like a cheater.
I spy a poppy.
It’s the colour of blood.
Of death creeping around the corner.
I'm not afraid of death so much anymore.
I know it’s my fate.
Eyes shut, alone in the darkness.
All my mates have fallen.
I Used to have hope.
Now I am just a broken mind.
Trying to stand, but the pain is too much.
It’s not worth it anymore.
The whistle blows.
Pushing us towards the battlefield, only to die.
I hear a single gunshot as I stand.
I see white.
The mist of blood covers the battlefield
as the grim reaper emerges from dust
walls of bullets spring out of machine guns
like rain drops from clouds
Rain of dirt hard as hail
Swimming through a sea of blood
An army of grim reapers taking the life of the people
The bloody patches of poppies surrounded by shell holes
Soldiers fall like domino's as others sink in seas of blood
As villages fall and rivers of blood cover poppies
crawling through the barb wire
with barbs the size of a man's thumb
No Man's land I am horrified as I step onto the ladder, climbing up step by step, hearing the ear splitting whistle blow in the background. I hear a big boom like lightning bolts hitting the ground. I look across to my mates, they flop down dead like a leaf in Autumn. I'm taking my last breath, but you never know in war. I hear another boom. People fly over my head, and I... By Adam
As Eye’s Close Eyes Close, as men fall, the poppies stand tall. In the trenches bullets hail Bullets hammering into us like nails, Screams of pain as Tommys grow small. We knew we were going to die, just not this soon, piles of bodies like doubloons. the bullets like scorpions stingers, but worse, Wishing we never signed up for this curse. We never knew that war could be so cruel, some us only 16 or 17, never had time to bloom. Sounds of bombs and disgraceful soldiers boom. Glass shards soaring into us, as the enemy’s fume as eyes close with doom. By Anya