Park Poetry

 

Birkenhead Park Poet Winners 2012

 

Acorn

Greenleas School 1st William

Scorpions
Scorpions, scorpions, they all have big claws,
And you won’t want to be in there jaws!

Scorpions, scorpions, they are very bad,
And sometimes they even go mad.

Scorpions, scorpions they are mostly poisonness,
And most of the time they are victorious.

Scorpions, scorpions they make things dead,
And you wouldn't like to find them in your bed!

 

Priory Parish School Y2 Stanley

Skiing spider
Black spider, black spider climbing up a wall,
Black spider, black spider scuttling over a ball,
Black spider, black spider spinning a web,
Black spider, black spider hiding in my bed.

Y3 Melek

What am I!
I have a rosy red back with beautiful black spots,
wiggly, fast, thin, bendy legs!
I’m very little don’t squish me!
I live on leaves and in big bushes.
I am very trendy but not bendy!
I eat yummy scummy flies but I’m not a spy!
What am I!

Junior Rangers: 1st Michael Davie Spell

One snake tooth
One snake tooth,
One elf dagger,
3 stirs to make it bigger,
Then add dinosaur scales,
And dragon hair,
And turn you from an ant to a bear

Overall Acorn winner: William Scorpions

Sapling

Rebecca Spell

Start with the shell…
Start with the shell for main protection,
Then add the spine for a predator’s injection,
Add the leaf for camouflage,
Drop in the daisy for a pretty charge,
Lastly glue the bones together to make a mini dinosaur,
To ride and ride your armour should protect you from a fiend so feathery.

 

Oak

1st Anthony Whitehead: Birkenhead Park Trilogy

Birkenhead Park Trilogy
Part 1
 He took me to the park every day
I climbed mountains, swam oceans
Scored for Everton in the final
Shot down a million aeroplanes
Dan Dared up to Jupiter
Saved Little John and Marian
From the old park bobby.
My Dad took me to the old conservatory
Told me about plants and cacti
We watched the rabbits on the island
Fed the ducks and the geese,
Watched Park play cricket
Eating our sarnies and cake
Everything was big and huge
Everything seemed important
The rocks seemed so craggy
A threatening danger
Full of peril, filled with adventure
And always, always sunny

Part 2
Yet when I went back years later
He had gone, vanished, just gone
The mountains were mere pimples
The oceans small puddles
The trees seemed meaningless
The glass house had disappeared
The exotic bridge, cut off, isolated
The Park no longer had a purpose
Not even any park bobbies to pester
Everything was small and tiny
The rocks a sodden mass of garbage
Rain fell in buckets
And the park was a grey memory
  
Part 3
 Some years later I walked
My grandchildren down to the park
The place was transformed
The hills were huge mountains
And rolling down them took forever
The trees and plants had come alive
The ducks and geese were back
The rocks became so perilous
As I watched my grandchildren
Climb and slither to the top.
The bridge had been restored
And was now a troll bridge
With wooden steps waking
Thrilling memories of my youth.
And I remember Him with love
Teaching me so gently
To love the things around us,
Especially my park

2nd Esther Lewis: Games-Ancient Grecian warriors…

Games-Ancient Grecian warriors…

GAMES
Ancient Grecian warriors
Competed in far off days,
They raced chariots and horses,
Thus inspired the Olympic Games.

In my day we didn’t race chariots,
And horses were out of our reach,
However, that didn’t detract from games played in the Park,
Although sometimes we went to the beach.

There was one game I remember so well,
Played when only a lass,
What fun it was to be in the park,
When they had cut the grass.

We would build houses with walls so tall,
Grass piled higher and higher,
Crawling inside we played around,
Then down it all would fall.

Later came rounders, and hopscotch,
We ran races round the paths and roads,
Tennis, cricket, football-wow what champs,
Sportsmen good to behold.

Girls aspired to play at Wimbledon,
Boys pined only for Lords,
Although none of us ever quite made it.
We didn’t know what it was to be bored.

So cast your mind back to ancient Greek warriors,
See them striding into the forum,
Picture the scene in 2012 when our sportsmen today,
Are crowned a Victor Ludorum.

Think of one game that all must play,
It’s called “The Game of Life”
And as in all games rules must always be observed,
To break these leads only to strife.

3rd Tom Norton Games in the Park

GAMES IN THE PARK

O how many games are played in our great Park!
From the closing of the gates to the rising of the lark
The sounds of bat on ball and happy children’s cries
Are heard as fond parents push them on swings and
Pensioners shouts of childish joy as their “woods”
Rest beside the “jack” on one of those bowling greens,
Whilst girls play “rounders” on wide acres of Upper Park
The clicks of jolly hockey sticks resound as elder sisters
Bully-off their schoolgirl matches back in the Lower Park.

But the boys play football on all parts of the ground
Wherever a patch of green grass can be found
Because the only soccer field is covered
With ash where, whenever the sun does shine,
Pieces of flesh-tearing glass could be seen.
Aptly named Balaclava, this battlefield
Adjoined the busy “Borough Hospital”.

But now, after fifty years, do I so well recall,
Games played with an oval ball; saw the
“All Blacks defeat a “ Combined Counties” side
And heard loud roars from the fields of Cricket
As Park’s bowlers had taken a winning wicket.
But best of all were those games with wenches
Whilst lolling on those lakeside benches.

Performance: 1st: Robert Batty The Game

The Game

Kickoff, is a first intake of breath
Expanding tiny lungs
Contentment, becomes an objective
Surviving infancy; a triumph
Childlike understanding brings practicality
Basic education is fundamental, essential
Early years, overflowing with hazards
Quickly wane as adolescence appears

Acne, commences the second quarter
Puberty; adds confusion
Rebellious ideas invade teenage awareness
Converting; adults into the enemy
Autonomy is sought, found and demanded
Hormones revolve; altering personalities
Sexual urges increase bewilderment
As growing bodies struggle, with uncertain minds

The third quarter initiates responsibility
Compassion, a necessary requirement
Hastening maturity reveals differing insights
As wary caution, aids acceptance
Lives modify, adjust, as families expand
Adulthood surfaces, preceding anxiety
A fear of duty, a fear of accountability
Transpire; with a reflection, your reflection

The final quarter earns, a slight peace of mind
Now a grandmother, maybe father
You’ve reached an age, an age of slowing down
Happily relaxing, filled with satisfaction
Strength of character has helped, carry you through
Symbolically, metaphorically, into injury time
You played well; actually, you’ve played a blinder
In this game, this ultimate game, this game we call, life

2nd Helen Brickwood Games of Life

Games of Life
Life is not a game but learning can be, especially games learnt at mother’s knee,
“Round and round the garden” many will hear for the first time in their first year,
Along with the spider who climbed up the spout, and the little teapot when the tea was poured out.
Before you knew it, you were toddling around like a great explorer seeking new ground,
Or copying mum by making the tea-that’s a game too, if done properly,
With a seat for each doll and each teddy-bear while saving yourself the comfiest chair.

Nursery’s next with new friends to make and new games to learn-which limb should I shake?
Left arm, right arm, is it in or out? Never mind, I’ll just shake myself about!
Then we’ll sing the story of the farmer in his den, or cluck a chorus like Mc Donald’s hen!
Then it’s off to school and playground games taught by teachers with still-remembered names,
Or learnt in PE lessons with bat and ball out on the sport’s field or in the big hall,
Then playing with your friends after school in the park, or after tea in the street, exciting in the dark.

At High School more stress, so much to learn-your brain is so full it all starts to churn.
Exams to study for, assignments to write, you’re sat with your books from morning to night.
That’s when games bring a welcome break smoothing the furrows of that learning headache.
It could be a kickabout with mates on the flied that you discover the power that games can wield
Spotted by a scout from a Premier side, your fortune is made, but to them you are tied.
Perhaps it is better to widen your aims and seek selection for the Olympic Games.

Beneath those five rings, interlocked, great performances, high scores and fast times are clocked.
To represent your country could make you so proud-imagine performing in front of the crowd
Of folk who’ve travelled across the world to see their flags over the rostrum unfurled.
“In it to win it” “It’s winning or nowt”-they’re the sort of comments the arrogant shout.
Most of us are happy just to take part, to play the game with our soul and heart,
If winning comes our way, we’ll be extremely pleased and opportunities presented will be eagerly seized!

Some games are more fun when no-one’s a winner-perhaps when it’s part of the players getting thinner,
Or making new friends and learning new skills, or experiencing some scary but exhilarating thrills.
Whatever the reason, the game is the thing, and the feelings of pleasure such taking part can bring.
From those first games and rhymes between feeds and sleep through to those where the participants have to dig deep,
Stamina and speed count as much as inborn skill, and determination strengthens a player’s will.
So whether you run, jump, throw, hit, kick or swim, or dive, punch, aim, whatever, do it with vim!!

 

National Poetry Day 2011 Birkenhead Park

and Eco-schools.

The theme for 2011 National Poetry Day on 6th October was Games! Schools from across Wirral came and played word games in Birkenhead Park. They discovered the biodiversity of its creepy crawlies and wrote poems about wiggly worms, busy beetles, spooky spiders and icky insects or horrid habitats!

Birkenhead Park rangers worked in conjunction with Wirral Library Service, Wirral Eco-schools and local poet, Roger Cliffe Thompson.

 

Each class went on an outdoor habitat tour; researched using library books, with the help of Wirral library staff and wrote poetry with local poet, Roger Cliffe-Thompson. The sessions were funded by Wirral Eco-schools.