The theme this year for National Poetry Day was "flood". Every tutor group was challenged to contribute a line towards a whole school poem.
Once the lines had been written Ms Jones collated them into the poem below. It has been a wonderful collaborative effort.
Some student enjoyed writing their lines so much they also wrote their own poems which were shared with the student community.
by Rutlish Students
Part 1: the Flood
My head floods with thoughts,
I’m drowning in a deluge of despair,
A whirlpool of wild, whisking water, eddies which trap and swirl me down, to drown.
If I am a city, this water, once a moat, protecting me,
Now crushes the cavernous walls
Surrounding, devouring everything in its way
To destroy the innocent and utopian day.
Flood barriers are down.
the once wispy waves embrace me like an old friend.
Uncontrolled memories flood my brain, fear floods my veins.
A flash flood flurries through my mind –
feelings crashing, tumbling -
my emotions swim to the surface of my brain.
In my head is a flood, yet I do not drown.
Open the floodgates, the water grows near!
Wind whipping up rushing waves, crashing against barriers, leaving carnage behind.
On the crest of the wave, fearful tranquillity.
The waves tower, the lights go out, the town turns dark,
Octopia rises from the sea.
Overturned houses collide with cracked trees,
Death is approaching, I guarantee.
This can take lives, and houses, and hope
It swallows, engulfs everything in its path.
Neither weak nor strong can endure it.
Hurt and blood, washed away – all we can do is grieve.
The rain floods down from the sky in crystal-like droplets,
The flood storms across the beach with merciless speed,
Rain, storm, flood all connected through Mother Nature.
Nowhere to go, nowhere to hide – already too late if the flood is in sight,
a wall of waters ruthlessly hunting us.
No one is safe - pick up the pace!
Goats in boats, whatever it takes, they’ve seen it before when those clouds start leaking,
filling the city with mud.
From calm to panic, the city is now the Titanic.
Once triggered, the water, strengthened by wind
Drives a tsunami of people, fleeing in waves like the sea.
Great towers easily destroyed by the gargantuan wave of immense sorrow.
As white waves bubble and froth,
Clear blue here over the kitchen floor,
Murky brown over the roof tiles,
The dark green shadow of the tree-tops.
The flood has taken our house and land.
Next time will it take yours?
Part 2: after the Flood
Not all floods are to be feared: my mind is flooded with creativity -
a nonstop flow, rushing, gushing, inundating.
Like rain, seeding life,
these flooding ideas produce fears, and tears – and leave no doubt,
that this is how we’ll survive the drought.
Can we control it, prepare and make plans?
When thoughts threaten to overwhelm us,
have we prepared dams?
Did we dig deeper channels, prepare the ground,
Protect ourselves from the fate of the drowned?
Though the flood plain looks endless and awash with empty thoughts, this is where the riches are deposited -
the fury of the floods swamping the land, feeding on the city, then feeding the city,
damp, damned and dancing chaos spreading across the land.
Alluvial mud depositing wealth for the future
Creating life to thrive through tough times
Reviving the land, raising up the collapsed houses.
When the fears engulf us and life is like mud,
When the trickle threatens to become a flood,
Hold out your hand and I’ll hold out mine
Reach out and befriend, stay safe, stay high
On this we depend: all floods have endings.