Where stories come to life: A found poem

🌟I had a go at creating a pantoum (a Malayan poem, made up of four-line stanzas, where the 2nd and 4th lines become the 1st and 3rd lines) using my favourite lines from books I’ve read recently. This might be a nice way to explore reader identity, track what’s being read and enjoyed and celebrate poetry with your children!🌟

 

Where stories come to life: A found poem

It sounded beautiful and sorrowful and I believe I cried in my sleep.

“You’ll need a hat here when the weather turns cold,” he explained.

Black shadows jumped into the air, swooping all around, screeching.

This moment that was top-of-a-rollercoaster terrifying and brilliant all at once.

 

“You’ll need a hat here when the weather turns cold,” he explained.

Children are capable, of course, of literary belief, when the story-maker’s art is good enough to produce it.

This moment that was top-of-a-rollercoaster terrifying and brilliant all at once.

I completed my first novel when I was about eight years old, as a birthday present for my father.

 

Children are capable, of course, of literary belief, when the story-maker’s art is good enough to produce it.

I know his letter off by heart, read each word as if he were right here with me.

I completed my first novel when I was about eight years old, as a birthday present for my father.

Sometimes you can scream your love at someone with all your strength but their expression won’t change.

 

I know his letter off by heart, read each word as if he were right here with me.

Ribbons of green energy curled out of the air around the table.

Sometimes you can scream your love at someone with all your strength but their expression won’t change.

The trouble with grown-ups is that they always think they’re right.

 

Ribbons of green energy curled out of the air around the table.

I come from my own pen but I see people torn apart like paper.

The trouble with grown-ups is that they always think they’re right.

The possibilities are as endless as the stars.

 

I come from my own pen but I see people torn apart like paper.

Black shadows jumped into the air, swooping all around, screeching.

The possibilities are as endless as the stars.

It sounded beautiful and sorrowful and I believe I cried in my sleep.

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