Wolverhampton Girls High School

Poets' corner

In April 2006, one of our students, Rosie James, having fought with amazing determination, lost her battle against cancer.

Rosie loved this school and she entered fully into school life, making the most of her opportunities. She not only achieved considerable academic success, but also particpated with enthusiasm in many extra-curricular activities.

Art was a particular passion but her creativity was also expressed through music and writing. The following poem demonstrates Rosie' warmth and sense of humour.

Gravity the Cosmic Cat

Gravity, my tabby cat,
Was slightly strange and odd.
He'd toddle off for days on end,
The wayward little mog!

Then one day I had no school,
I followed him outside.
Round a bush, under a fence,
And over that hillside.

I popped my head around a wall,
And Gravity was there.
He looked up high above the trees,
With a fascinated stare.

Suddenly he sprang around,
And took off without grace.
He flew up high into the sky,
And entered outer space!

His tail was like a windmill,
Round and round and round.
It gave him his propulsion,
So he could leave the ground.

His paws were used for steering,
Which was not all that great.
As he went up into the sky,
He hit the neighbour's gate.

I wondered where he travelled,
To the moon, or maybe Mars.
Was it soot he'd brought in yesterday?
Or moon dust from the stars?

I didn't have to worry,
That he would not get home,
`Cos gravity would bring him down,
Like a feather or a stone.

From that day forth I knew my cat,
Was not a wayward mog.
But Gravity, the cosmic cat,
(VERY strange and odd).

Rosie James 11K

MIDDAY - DEVON

At midday the sun was beaming a sizzling grin.

The seaweed dusted lightly with sand.

The wing softly touching obstacles in its path, pushing them away;

With a single pearl smudged into the qua sky.

The seaweed crackles as the water touches its toes.

Then the waves snatch the beauty of the shore,

Disappearing into the glowing emerald sea....

BY Olivia Hodgkiss 8P.

EVENING: PONT ROYAL, PROVENCE

The sky is black; the low murmur of french chatter

Mingles with the chinks and clatters

of plates and forks from the restaurant below

And a delicate breeze brings its beautiful cargo-

The smell of sweet sorbets and the fragrance of batter

And soon the glaring light diminishes to a soft dimming glow

As the restaurant slumbers only the delicious aroma is left to dwell

So it lingers in the air like a lost gazelle.

By Philippa Williamson 8P

MORNING:ESSINGTON, WEST MIDLANDS

The sun's whispering, wavering beams,

Shimmer down on the hazy path.

The light and airy essence of strawberries

Waft through the air, and from above,

Dainty robins can be heard.............

By Leona Grant 8P