These poems were written using a ‘list poem’ model. See the category ‘teachers’ for how it works.

A poor child in 1840, by Aaron

My head is big and round.

My eyes are blue and cold.

My mouth is big and fat.

My voice is loud and funny.

My hands are big and long.

My body is a garbage bag.

My hair is ticklish and funny.

My feet are black and blue.

But when I speak I say “help me and my friends.” 

A poor child in 1840, by Alice

My head is a cracking shell My eyes are red, redder than lavaMy mouth is swollen skin

My tongue is a crocodile’s tail

My voice is a croaky frog

My hands are only bones, so thin they’re like sticks

My body is as dark as the night sky

My hair is a rusty bush scrunched in a bun

My feet are cold and blue

But when I speak I say “please help me, give me a home, don’t let me die on the streets, if you don’t help me then a few weeks later you come and you’ll see a dead body, please help me!!” 

A poor child in 1840, by Masum

My head is a star in a winter night. My eyes are balls.My mouth is a cat’s mouth.

My tongue is a snake’s tongue.

My voice is quick and fast.

My hands are skinny.

My body is skinny.

My hair is dusty and black.

My feet are dusty and navy blue.

But when I speak I say “Can you find my pennies?”

A Poor child in 1840, by Mona

My head is a brick abandoned. I have no eyes; all I have is isolated tears.My mouth is ordinary but dribbling with hunger.

My voice is loud and screechy because I sell matches.

When I light up a match at night, that’s the sound of my voice.

My hands are cold, dirty like the garbage.

My hair is straight with bits of matches and things on the streets.

My feet are match boxes, sad, lonely and lost.

When I speak I say “Mum and Dad are not dead” when they are. 

A Poor child in 1840, by Nazma

My head is a round head and with holes in it and blood dripping down.     My eyes are round and holes in it and blood dripping down. My mouth is made of holes and blood.

My tongue is made of holes and foam, hot pepper and blood.   

My voice is like ashes.

My hands are made of holes and blood.

My body is made of holes and blood.

My feet have holes and blood.

My hair is made of seaweed.

But When I speak I say “Please” and “Thank you.”   

A Poor child in 1840, by Ruhanara

My head is pear shaped. My eyes are grey as the floor.My mouth is wide as 6cm.

My tongue is spotty over the tongue.

My voice is smooth and gruff.

My hands are spotty and bones are coming out.

My body is skinny and lonely and rattling.

My hair is curly.

My feet are weak like a turtle.

But when I speak say “Please help me, I’m poor.”

A Poor child in 1840, by Salam

My head is surrounded with scorpions My eyes are ice and my eyes are like circular cabbage.My mouth is very big like the moon

My mouth is hot like lava.

My voice is really poor and creaky

My voice is like I am crying.

My hands are really wrinkly like the stars

My hands are really old like an old man.

My feet are really old like an old man

My feet are so weak like an old man.

But when I speak I say “aaa…..”

But when I speak I say “I’m hungry.” 

A Poor child in 1840, by Shobna

My head is round like an old peach. My eyes are moony, creamy white.My mouth is a size of a small little ant.

My voice is as soft and croaky as a witch.

My hands are wrinkly, you can see my veins.

My hair is all grey like an old man.

My foot is spotty.

But when I speak I say “can I have some spare change?” 

A poor child in 1840, by Siobhan

My head is small, round and tatty. My eyes are black holes.My mouth is   small and floppy.

My voice is quiet and croaky.

My hands are small, wrinkly, dry and sore.

My hair is short, rough and knotty.

My feet are heavy like weights and they are wrinkly.

But when I speak I say “I’m poor. I’m lonely, I need a family.” 

A poor child in 1840, by Syeda

My eyes are two paper balls stuck on. My head is a garbage bag.My body is some bricks stuck together so the brick gets long with cement.

My hands are some sticks covered in some old clothes.

My feet are clothes all rolled up and stuck on.

My mouth is a garbage bag cut up and stuck on my face.

My hair is strips of garbage bags.

My shoes are made out of garbage pieces.

My voice is cold and screechy.

When I speak I say “hello I am a child from faraway, can you help me?” 

A poor child in 1840, by Tasnim 

My head is a red, half bitten apple. My eyes are fire balls.My mouth is made out of holes and blood dripping down.

My voice is croaky like a bird.

My hand is tied and can’t move at all.

My hair is black.

My feet are old and hot.

 But when I speak I say “Can I live with you?” 

A poor child in 1840, by Zuned

My head is round with a ragged face. My eyes are as dark as the night sky.My mouth is as small as a bottle lid.

My voice is as croaky as a rat.

My hands are as wrinkly as an old man’s face.

My hair is bald.

My feet are as spotty as a dalmation.

But when I speak I say “man” after every sentence. 

A poor child in 1840, by Anika

My head is a dustbin and it is old and empty. My eyes  are a basket, small and has a pillow on top of it.My mouth is like an apple that is green and is half bitten.

My voice is like a broken chair made out of wood.

My hands are sharp knives.

My hair is curly and has worms all over it.

My feet are as cold as it were in a cottage.

When I speak I say “please help me?” 

A poor child in 1840, by Fahmida

My head is like a cat’s claw. My eyes are buttons, sewed imperfectly.My mouth is always zipped because I hardly brush my teeth.

My mouth also drools with saliva and it’s the only water I have.

My voice sounds like a croaky witch’s voice, that’s why I’m quiet. 

My hands are so wrinkly and frozen that I can’t open them up.

My hair is bushy and kind of like straws.

My feet are all bare and blue around my feet,

But when I speak I say “oh god please help me” 

A poor child in 1840, by Jessie

My head is a little bit small but very round. My eyes are very small and black.My mouth is very dry and white

My tongue is red and small and very spotty

My voice is very mopey, weepy and very quiet

My hands are soft and wrinkly

My body is skinny and smooth

My hair is short and black

My feet are small and smooth

But when I speak I say “someone help me please, I’m very poor.” 

A poor child in 1840, by Meju

My head is as round as a ball with spots. My eyes are small with dark water.My mouth is as huge as a giant cake.

My voice is grey.

My hands have some reddish, brownish spots on them.

My hair is curled with bits coloured red and green.

My feet are so slimy that I can’t look at them.

But when I speak I say “I never want to go home because I love it here”. 

A poor child in 1840, by Muneb

My head is a sponge with liquid over it. My eyes are chicken legs that are rotten.My mouth is like sheep’s wool.

My tongue is made out of one piece of paper.

My voice is as deep as the ocean.

My hands are wooden sticks.

My hair is made out of seaweed.

My body is made out of bricks.

My feet are seashells with blood dripping down.

But when I speak I say “please” and “thank you.” 

A poor child in 1840, by Ray

My head is like the moon. My eyes are lumps of black coal dead.My mouth is has the taste of yellow rotten eggs.

My tongue is dry like a river bed in summer.

My voice is low and dark like a cave.

My hands are rough and dry from the hot sun.

My body is cold and wants to lie down and sleep.

My hair is string like hay in a field.

My feet are heavy like waves pulling me down

But when I speak I say “somebody please care for me.” 

A poor child in 1840, by Rummena

My head is round as a ball, and it is hard. My eyes are small and dark like I didn’t have sleep.My eyes are thin as dry spaghetti.

My mouth is clean, but it is dry, unless I drink water, it becomes shiny as a star.

My voice is as squeaky as an old gate opening.

My hands are cold, I hardly move them.

I just use them to eat and hold my walking stick.

After I take my hands off my walking stick, it’s red as fire.

My hair is cut up, it’s nearly bald.

One of my feet is chopped off and one of them is ok.I do mind that my foot is chopped off,

But sometimes I don’t because I’m used to it.

But it’s hard walking with a walking stick.

When I speak I say “I want my mum and dad back.” 

A poor child in 1840, by Sinead

My head is a dry, brown cardboard box. My eyes are old, black buttons.My mouth is a white, pointy scratch.

My tongue is a long, dirty sock.

My voice is old and scratchy.

My hands are made out of old, hard wood.

My body is skinny and small.

My hair is long and it smells.

My feet are dirty and dusty.

When I speak I say “help me.” 

A poor child in 1840, by Stephen

My head is an elephant’s foot. My eyes are twinkling stars that say “please adopt me, please.”My mouth is a banana skin facing downwards.

My voice is the chirping of a robin.

My hands are sausages with a piece of eggshell as nails.

My hairs are strings of spaghetti.

My feet are the bodies of two blackbirds.

When I speak I say “take me as your beloved child, I’m begging you.” 

A poor child in 1840, by Zasia

My head is round and ripped. My eyes are like cold ice,My mouth is as creeping as a mouse.

My voice sounds like a creaking chair.

My hands are big as the sun.

My hair is tall as old brick buildings.

But my feet are cold as orange juice in the fridge.

This part of the blog contains summaries of the writing exercises and games we used in the four, two-hour sessions with class 14.

Warm-up
Listening game – ‘Sound Maps’

Everyone lies down in a circle with their heads facing in and their eyes closed. They are encouraged to replicate the sounds they hear simultaneously: echoing the noises around you. Pupils can be asked to replicate the sounds all together or to call out what they can hear one at a time, going round the circle, still with their eyes closed.

Once their focus is honed, group is asked to name what they hear rather than replicate it: and in as descriptive a way as possible. E.g. instead of ‘car’ or ‘lorry’, ‘big, smelly, fume-expelling lorry’. If you like, write these down on a poetry wall or on the board and they can form the basis of a class poem about the surrounding sounds.

(If you want to make this an extended exercise as a basis for writing a poem: Teacher writes down the sounds on the board (or walls); a sound map of the surroundings is built up in this way. Collected sounds, names, and onomatopoeias can be worked on to give added effect. These can then be used to write group or individual poems).
Poem One: working on the five senses
These exercises free up the imagination and get children describing things in new and unusual ways.

Listen to the door…
Ask them to ‘listen’ to the inanimate objects in the classroom and get them talking:
What does an open door say?
e.g. ‘Come in!’ ‘Welcome’ ‘Look inside!’ ‘Pleased to meet you.’
What does a closed door say?
e.g. ‘Go away!’ ‘Danger!’ ‘I don’t want to see you.’ ‘I’ve got a secret.’ ‘Wait outside!’

5 senses game
This is to get children to describe things using all their senses. Ask the class for example what:

thinking sounds like? (the click clicking of keys on a bright blue keyboard at 3 in the morning in a quiet room at the top of a tall house)

sadness tastes like? (the bitter bite of an unripe sloe in a hedgerow in a dark lane with rubbish dumped in the ditches and smog spoiling the leaves.)

anger smells like? (burnt out cars by the roadside still smouldering from tyres and seats and peeling red paint even in the rain)

old age feels like? (the saltiest salty crisps drying up your tongue and making your eyes water when you eat them in the back of a crowded bus)

time looks like? (an enormous oak tree wisened and grey with age stooped on the brow of a dark hill in a forgotten country)

Then: take an abstract concept – loneliness, love, war, poverty – and get them to describe it with all the sensations in turn – in a longer session this can be their individual poem after the group poems above:

Love smells like… love feels like… love looks like… love sounds like… love tastes like…

To expand this exercise, get them revising their poems: ask them to add colour, action, size, location, fine detail – and even connectives – to their descriptions (e.g. ‘burnt out cars’ becomes ‘burnt out cars by the roadside still smouldering from tyres and seats and peeling red paint even in the rain.’

Poem two: list poem inspired by a photograph

Using a photograph as inspiration for a poem
Pass around selected photographs (or paintings) and ask children a series of questions about the images. They should write their answers down rather than give a verbal answer. Think of as many questions as possible – the more unusual the better. After 5 minutes stop them (although as with all writing exercises a 5 minute exercise can easily run for 15, so long as the participants don’t know).
Their answers to questions then become a bank of words and ideas that can form the basis of a poem or story.

At this point, if you’re going to go and use their notes as the basis for more extended writing, you can feedback to board and expand on key vocabulary (finding alternatives, giving definitions and introducing more ambitious words, for example: neglected, starving, malnourished, frightened, exhausted, worried, nervous, ragged, filthy, unhygienic etc). The board record can then act as a second source of words when the children write their poems.

List poem
To talk about the life and experiences of a person or group of people, this is an ‘anatomy’ list poem. Draw on notes taken from photographs (or on other research if you use this exercise in other contexts). Concrete things from the person’s environment or experience are used in imaginative ways to describe body parts, with the form:

my/his/her tongue is a…
his/her mouth is a…
his/her hair is a … etc and ending
…
but when (s)he smiles/laughs/speaks etc (s)he…

You can bring in other list items to give context (the year / season etc)
E.g.

Child Poverty, 1840

I am a poor child
My face is a starving ragged moon
My eyes are two pools of worried broken glass
My home is a malnourished nightmare
My tongue is a dried out rag
My hands are neglected straw scattered on the street
My mind is a nervous city at night in the freezing dark
My feet are exhausted travellers with no home to go to
My season is winter in 1840 and cold rain is falling
But when I speak I say please give me a home.

Another example – refugee poem:

Refugee

His tongue is a wheat ration
His mouth is a red cross well
His hair dried river courses
His skin filthy, bumpy roads
His laugh rainless thunder
His eyes empty pools
His feet countries with unpronounceable names
His hands rebel forces
His ears abandoned shelter
But when he smiles he’s trying to freeload off the state.

‘Story Mountain’ stories about Victorian children at work
Theme of the session: re-telling stories in my own words; creating an extended story using a model structure

Warm-up
Circle-time storytelling – ‘pass the story’. Participants stand in a circle and each person contributes one word of a story, going round the circle – making it up as they go along. This can also be a lead-in to paired writing exercises where pupils take turns to write a sentence or line of a poem or story.

Researching a story – taking notes
Notes are taken from reading a text stuck on the wall of the classroom. To adapt this exercise you could take notes by describing a place, or a part of the room, or by listening to a recording or watching a film.

This note taking exercise is done in groups.
Each group is given a text to find and asked to take a few one-word notes to remind themselves later. They can take notes onto the back of the index cards they will use for their stories. They are not given the source texts on their tables – this means that they have to rely on their notes when they devise their stories.

Devising a story – mime
Following the story mountain model, each group is first asked to devise a mime depicting an incident in the life of the child they are researching. For example, a chimney sweep. They use their notes as reminders for content and details, and use their imaginations to create a full story. The mimes are narrated by one child while the others act out the story. These can be performed to the whole class when they’re ready.

The reason for this exercise before writing the stories is to get children used to expanding their notes into a full narrative before being confronted with an unwritten story.

The story mountain
Story ‘a day in my life’ by a working child

First, draw a mountain with one main peak and several smaller ones on the board.
The story mountain builds up to its peak with a series of sentences describing context and events. The first and last phrases are given to ‘top and tail’ the story. Connectives are used to expand details. Model first draft (phrases underlined are given as frame):

1. This morning, I got up very early and went to the factory.

2. When I arrived it was very noisy and dirty because of all the machines.

3. I began to tie threads together where they had broken.

4. I tied threads together all day until my eyes hurt and my fingers were bleeding.

5. And that’s why I’m so exhausted.

Extension: second draft
The first draft can be extended by working with a thesaurus and/or dictionary and by adding extra detail. You can also take out the numbers and make it one continuous piece of prose:

Draft 2:
1. This morning, I got up very early and went to a big factory called a cotton mill.

2. When I arrived it was very noisy and polluted because of all the machines.

3. I began to tie threads together where they had broken, reaching in between the machines as they clattered up and down.

4. I tied threads together all day until my eyes hurt and my fingers were bleeding from the rough cotton and the fast-moving machines.

5. And that’s why I’m so exhausted.

Final story:
This morning, I got up very early and went to the big factory called a cotton mill. When I arrived it was very noisy and polluted because of all the machines. I began to tie threads together where they had broken, reaching in between the machines as they clattered up and down. I tied threads together all day until my eyes hurt and my fingers were bleeding from the rough cotton and the fast-moving machines. And that’s why I’m so exhausted.

Self-Portrait as Object

This session is about using an object to imagine what it was like to go to school in Victorian times. Because it’s a self-portrait we’re writing it will be very personal and draw on our own experience of being a child and going to school.

We’ll begin by looking at some photos and a timetable of a school day to get an idea of what it was like going to school in Victorian times. Short class discussion.

Then, each child chooses / is given an object from the Victorian box. Circle time discussion to make sure we know what the objects are, initial detective work about their function etc.

Each child then mind maps ideas about their object, with questions to prompt them:

Points to mindmap or generate ideas:

Words to describe Object?
Colour? Material? Size?
Where it comes from?
Why it’s special?

Check back that everyone has a mind map of ideas and description.

Write a description of the object, where it came from etc.

Now: imagine that you are at school in the time the object was being used.

Underline the words in your description that you think could also describe you.

Write about yourself using these words. For example:

Self-Portrait As Slate and pencil

( * UNDERLINE = the words that I think could also describe me)

Where it comes from: a Victorian school room

Description: dark, grey, cold, heavy, hard, brittle.

Why special: It was used by children learning to write. They weren’t allowed paper so this was all they had to write on. You can write anything you think of with the pencil and rub it out afterwards with a damp cloth.

Self-portrait as slate and pencil
I was born in London, UK in 1830 and I was given my slate and pencil in 1837 — when I was 7 years old.

The slate was made of heavy, flat stone that is dark grey. It is brittle: it would break if you dropped it. I am delicate too because I am young and because my clothes are very thin. My family is quite poor and I don’t have a coat to protect me in winter.

The slate is clever because it can say anything at all – whatever you write on it. I am clever too: I have learnt to write and I love to write stories and poems on my slate. It is dark and cold, and I hate the dark, cold winter nights when there is only candlelight and gas lamps to light the houses and the streets. The slate is hard and I am hard too: I am tough to survive all the diseases, the hunger and cold that people live with in my family. Like my slate, sometimes I am filled with beautiful words and ideas, and sometimes I am sad and empty and I can’t learn anything because I’m so hungry. When I am naughty and the schoolmaster beats me, then I feel as dark and cold as the slate. When I am happy and daydreaming then I am as full of ideas as my slate pencil.

First session: summing up the project and preparing for assembly

The warm-up will include games to warm up the voice and think about being a performer – and being a good audience. Then:

1. Introduce the book and blog.

2. Children make name labels on luggage tags for the book – in which they have ‘travelled through time’.

3. Children decide on poems, stories and self-portraits to be read aloud in assembly. And on a mime to be performed: they can vote for these using the voting buttons if appropriate.

4. Practise in groups: each group makes a short presentation of one of the following:

a.an overall intro to the project, and introducing the book and the blog.
b. an intro to what it was like to be a poor child in 1840, a poverty poem and a ‘poor child’ poem
c. a bit of information about children at work and a mime
d. a bit of information about children at work and a story mountain story
e. a bit of information about Victorian schools and a self-portrait

5. Practise performances to the class. The class gives feedback on performances and readings – could be in the form of voting and/or suggestions for improvement.

6. If time left before assembly: work on decorating their name labels and front cover / title page / section headings of book.

**Assembly**

Second session (after assembly): class poem
My idea is that this session can include any of the exercises we have used before that you would like to, and that we put the results together into a class poem. A rough idea could be (the two parts could be in either order – whatever you prefer):

1. (30 minutes) Each child shows an object that they have brought in from home (or chosen from around the classroom) that they feel says something about them (or their school). They then follow the self-portrait model:
1. mind-map of description of the object
2. underline words that could also describe you
3. self-portrait using those words, and beginning with ‘My name is….’
These are ‘miniature’ self-portraits. Each child is given a line-limit of say four lines so that all their self-portraits can fit together into a long poem. We could do this by asking them to write on small slips of paper or cards.

2. (10 – 15 minutes) Whole class poem. based on the ‘what do the objects say’ model. Class mindmaps ideas for what different parts of the classroom say, e.g.

Our classroom door says ‘please come in, I’m lonely’, or ‘go away, we’re busy’, or ‘amazing things happen on the other side of me’. Class then votes on their favourite line and goes on to the next:
The floor of our classroom says …
The windows say …
The whiteboard says… / The desks / The chairs / The ceiling
?The teaching assistants! / ? The teacher!

ending ‘And class 14 says… ‘

3. The whole class poem can then be put together with all the individual self-portrait poems to make a detailed and personal self-portrait of the class and all its pupils.

4. I’d like to end with a discussion of the project, what everyone thought of it: what was hardest, what they are most proud of or enjoyed most etc. and ideas for what to do next.

 These are our poems about poverty. We used all five of our senses to describe what poverty feels, smells, sounds, looks and tastes like.

Poverty, by Mona

Poverty sounds like beggars, screeching, crying and sewer rats.
Poverty feels like rattling bones, skinny arms snapping in my fingers.
Poverty looks like screaming, see-through ghosts.
Poverty smells like old rotten garbage.

Poverty, by Ray

Poverty sounds like stinking juice.
Poverty feels like tears rolling down.
Poverty looks like black and grey dirt.

Poverty, by Ruhanara

Poverty sounds like an automatic door slamming.
Poverty feels like an ant crawling all
Over your back.
Poverty looks like smelly ,dirty and old
Victorian houses in 1840.
Poverty smells like rot.

Poverty, by Shah

Poverty sounds like a rodent just died.

Poverty feels like a spike-ball rolling towards you.

Poverty looks like a dirty slime ball.

Poverty smells like a passed out pizza.

Poverty tastes like a wet dog in a sauna.

Poverty, by Shobna

Poverty sounds like a big, hairy, scruffy dog
In the lonely, spooky, streets doing nothing.

Poverty feels like a cold, wrinkly, weak, dusty,
Sad lion in the rusty jungle.

Poverty looks like splashing, lonely, dull waves on the ocean where it is cold.

Poverty smells like old, smelly gas spreading in a park as you are walking along.

Poverty tastes like dry, sticky, gooey boogies in your dirty nose.

Poverty, by Alice

Poverty sounds like a gigantic dinosaur, limping and crying tears over the sand.

Poverty feels like a dead leaf with rotten holes all over it, the poor leaf all rusty, slimy, dried out, and passed the date leaf.

Poverty looks like a nearly dead person without any blood or meat, all sucked up by a vampire.

Poverty smells like a dirty, smelly breath, the body smells of dirty socks that hasn’t been washed.

Poverty tastes like coconut hair with some shrivelled up, cut up dry skin.

Poverty, by Zuned

Poverty sounds like a fox crying in a big forest.
Poverty feels like a cold, wrinkly old man’s face
With lots of spots on it.

Poverty looks like a sad tiger fighting a lion.
Poverty smells like the most smelliest socks in the
World.

Poverty, by Salam

Poverty sounds like a poor dragon in a desert roaring,
Scorpions living there.

Poverty feels like sand covering him all around
And getting in his nose so he can’t breath.

Poverty looks like a poor dragon looking very hungry and very sad.
And he looks like a dead cat.

Poverty smells like a dead dragon, he smells like hotness all around him.

He smells like a scorpion and he smells like hot sand.

Poverty, by Tasnim

Poverty sounds like a donkey so lonely
With no friends.
Poverty feels like tears crashing from your eye
And dropping on the hard floor.
Poverty looks like a dark, dark cave.
Poverty smells like rubbish in the bin
that was never thrown away.
Poverty tastes like five banana skins in a bin that stinks.

Poverty, by Fahmida

Poverty sounds like a rusty garbage rolling over.

Poverty feels like a rattling bone a soft, rusty,mouldy and wrinkly.

Poverty looks like a sad potato crying with invisible tears.

Poverty smells of cold wind.
Frosty a hungry tummy,
Filled with rotten pickles, gas in your tummy.

Poverty taste likes nothing except of blood,
No meat no muscle, just a juicy bone.

Poverty, by Sinead

Poverty sounds like a dead cat
Lying in the middle of the road,
With blood dripping from its small black ears.

Poverty feels like a
Lonely, sad cloud
Floating in the sky.

Poverty looks like a black and white tree
With no leaves on it.

Poverty smells like
A rotten, stinky bin
With a dead rat in it.

Poverty tastes like
Rotten, mouldy, green
Cheese that is 5 years old.

Poverty, by Tahir

Poverty sounds like a lonely person,
Crying with no friends.

Poverty feels like a lonely cat lying on a rock.

Poverty looks like a tree in the desert with no leaves.

Poverty smells like a rotten egg.

Poverty, by Zasia

Poverty sounds like a cute, lonely and little
Bug that is trying to find some friends.
Poverty feels like a small upset puppy.
Poverty looks like a dark big animal.

Poverty smells like a smelly dustbin with slippy
Bananas in it.

Poverty, by Masum

Poverty sounds like a dead mouse
Lying in the middle of the road
With blood dripping from its little
Black ears.

Poverty feels like a unicorn
With a dead rat.

Poverty looks like a chicken
With no head.

Poverty smells like lava
With blood.

Poverty tastes like a
Unicorn lava rat.

Poverty, by Meju

Poverty sounds like a crying cat that is lost in a forest and has no other cats or friends to play with.

Poverty feels like fat bones, skinny toe, slimy body and goofy teeth.

Poverty looks like a dark forest, slimy wood and a slippy ground.

Poverty smells like rotten eggs and it has some cheese inside it.

Poverty tastes like garbage with some slippy and slimy eggs inside it.

Poverty, by Anika

Poverty sounds like an old, dusty car.

Poverty feels like old cheese, out of date, green and goey.
Poverty looks like an old, skinny cat which has a flea.
Poverty smells like a rotten egg with runny mud over it.
Poverty tastes like a snail on your teeth and slime on the
Teeth with goey stuff around it.

Poverty, by Rummena

Poverty sounds like a squeeky rat,
Getting rolled down a hill,
Inside a dustbin truck.

Poverty feels like rattling bones falling off a skeleton,
It feels hard and dusty.
Also rotten and crocked.

Poverty, by Syeda
POVERTY SOUNDS LIKE A
BOY CRYING FROM FARAWAY,
A MOUSE SQUEAKING AROUND
LIKE A BUG AND A CHICKEN
THAT SOUNDS LIKE A CAT.

Poverty, by Aaron

Poverty sounds like a boy crying and singing at the same time.

Poverty looks like dusty, black cave with a boy stuck in it.

Poverty tastes like a slimy bogies and a dirty apple.

Poverty smells like an ugly, dirty snake in dirt with a pig.

Poverty feels like a dead rat crying for help.

Poverty, by Siobhan

Poverty sounds like deafening silence.
Poverty feels like lots of wrinkles everywhere
And tears dropping down your eyes into a puddle.
Poverty looks like a grey and black sky.

Poverty smells like rubbish that has been in the bin for ages and has not been chucked out.
Poverty tastes like mouldy cheese that has in the bin for ages.

Poverty, by Stephen

Poverty sounds like screams of dying children and crying.
Poverty feels like no hope of surviving and bittersweet
Sadness.

Poverty looks like a black hole in open space.
Poverty smells like sour milk with out of date cereal.
Poverty tastes like mouldy bread with rotten cheese.

Poverty, by Hamida

Poverty sounds like a mouse dying in the forest.

Poverty feels like slimy worms on your face.

Poverty looks like a big, live monkey.

Poverty smells like a slimy dog and spits all over the dog’s face.

Poverty tastes like dog’s pooh on your cake.

This category contains plans and examples of the exercises we used to write the work on this site.

This is work done by class 14 with Amy about housing in Victorian Britain.