Poet Cheryl Moskowitz led a poetry workshop at Grafton primary school, Islington in early November. Here are some of the poems written by children in year six.
 

The Journey Song of the Tree

I remember Slanting mountains with dusted white peaks
I remember the deep emerald green,
a camouflage dotted with ivory snowflakes.
Hundreds of trees all in front of me and behind me,
my branches heavy with snow.
Snow flakes falling on to my trunk,
the birds resting on my branches. When they walk
it’s like a tickle going up my spine.
The soft footfall of a passing fox,
the rustling of leaves and the call of the ravenous eagle.
Squirrels running around me,
the sweet smell of crackling fire
that wafts through the rafters of the huts surrounding me.
I remember the owner of the forest touching my bark
examining me for strength and boldness.
Am I the chosen one?
Have I the decency and the greatness to be chosen?
My journey awaits me.

Home is a soft cosy dream catcher
Home is a shower of rhythms
Home is the gift of remembering

Splash!
The freezing cold water,
Black sky, the velvety mist, fog in the distance,
My lonely soul out all alone.
The boat rocking me to sleep.
I hear the sounds of stones being poured on top of each other,
sprinkles of water brushing my branches,
birds squabbling.
Something blue and cold is coming over the ship,
a lightning bolt just misses our boat
wet ropes cover my bark.
Strong rays of sun splash onto the thick black deck.
My soul ripped out of my homeland,
but my heart still lives in Norway.
I’m alone on a wide, wide sea.

Strangeness is a 3-eyed Cyclops with a twisted smile
Strangeness is a forest of hair worn like a crown
Strangeness is the face of hurt and the story of torture that it tells.

Finally upright again
Itchy rope still wrapped around me.
Strange moving objects on wheels,
millions of metal monsters roaring past me,
polluted air poisoning my lungs.
The wind brushes past my leaves.
I’m anxious.
Two legged creatures, like the ones that cut me down, gaze and stare at me.
I stand tall.
I can hear the sound of motorbikes racing past.
I view the whole of London and its great sites.
Big colourful round things light up everywhere.
The star upon my head glistens in the twilight.
I can feel the dust of the forest in my eyes as I make my way to Trafalgar Square.

  Remember me, I am the table you eat on.
  Remember me, I am the wooden rocking horse in your room.
  Remember me, I am the paper you write on.
  Remember me, I am the pencil you write stories with.
  Remember me, I am the pages of the book that you read.
Remember me, I am the bed that you sleep on.
Remember me, I am the door that you walk through.

Remember me.

by Cheryl Moskowitz and schoolchildren


Cinquains:

Snowing
it’s white magic
Grasps world in ivory grip
Icy frosting, the world a cake
Graceful     (Eugene)

Queen tree
cutting her down
starting to move away
sadess as the tree leaves home
Christmas.     (Tommy)

Norway
Beauty compressed
Pine forests, proud
Dazzling, mind stunning
Beauty      (Herbie)

The queen
Leader of all
Lives in the Norway woods
Her life ends there, a new one begins
London     (Lola)

Queen tree
A tall wonder
Swaying in the light breeze
Bringing pleasure to everyone
Marvel      (Katy)