Below are some poems written by Year 9 UK students for a pages of a calendar. In groups of four choose three months each and see if you can construct a calendar of your poems. You might like to add illustrations.


Anxiously sitting in the maths exam,

I feel hot and nervous ...

Numbers whirling around my brain,

My head aching. I can't relax.

The sun's fingers poking

Fun at my answers.

I struggle on desperately.

(Angela Botterill)


It's time for a rest from school.

The kids all need a holiday.

No more maths, French, or geography!

I walk along the stretched out bay

As the ocean waves lap and arch onto the shore.

The warm wind softly caresses my arms -

The cloudless blue sky shines,

Reflecting on the frothy waves.

The seagulls glide,

And their eager cries whirl in the wind.

(Lucy Botterill)


Sitting in the evening breeze,

Watching the silken clouds float by,

And listening to the cuckoo's call.

Laughter's in the golden air....

Promises of happy times,

Of evenings warm and light...

Of sun-soaked days

With shimmering haze

From a cornflower blue sky.

(Melanie Devenish)


Mustard yellow daffodils bend in the

stinging wind.

An old farmer with black boots and

an old brown cloak and holes

in his old trousers, comes

trudging by, over and down

onto the round bulbs of the


Only to find a new-born lamb with a

fine slender coat of wool,

snug next to its mother

to share her warmth.

With dew all around on the stems

of the grass and snowdrops,

Nature's next generation is coming.

(Lloyd Smallridge)


Bare twigs on skeletal trees,

Melancholy moaning wind,

Raw finger-nipping cold,

Drab and dreary landscape

Under the bleak sky.

Chill and cheerless damp

Lashing rain from leaden clouds,

Soggy swamps and clogging clay,

Dusk that swiftly follows noon

Blends dismal day with blackest night.

Trapped in a twilight of dank mist....

Wrapped in a downcast obscurity...

Dejection grips me as I wait

To see the tyrant Winter fall

Before the feeble gleams of Spring.

(Perona Watson)


My dog snuffles at the graves

As we roam through the crypt

Of wooden skeletons.

Bare wooden bones have

Shed their former glory

Way back in killing September.

Now, crumpled beneath me,

They cower in crunching cries

As my boots cruelly flatten them.

Time to clear away last year's

Leaves and memories

And burn them to ashes

And forget all wrongdoings

To start afresh

With everyone else.

My dog snuffles at the graves

And barks at the phantom of

The forest for one last time.

We leave.

(Paula Smith)


A great expanse of swaying gold,

Spattered with scarlet poppy heads

And ringed with greenest hedge.

Trees point up to the roof of blazing blue

Where busy grasshoppers and buzzing bees

Drone with the distant aeroplane.

The dusty heat of the burning summer days

Lull me to sleep.

(Perona Watson)


My eyes open and I see the ceiling,

Jump up with a thrill.

I pull up the flap of my Advent calendar

And receive the chocolate shaped snowman.

"One more day. YES!" I shout,

And jump downstairs,

Troboggan at my feet.

"Now it's time for a real treat!"

(Kevin Smallridge)

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