Writing Spot

A little cat...

2011-03-21T12:55:00.002+13:00

A little cat sat silently, watching the waves roll by.

She stretched her stiff limbs, and walked towards the glistening sea.

The water didn’t frighten her, as she was quite used to it.

The sand was heating up in the mid-July sun.

Her bright blue eyes blinked, as she watched seagulls squawking and fighting in the sky.

Feet pounding against the sand, she sped off, leaving a trail behind her.

She stopped running, and breathed deeply.

Ears twitching, she looked around.

Some kids were approaching her.

She fled over sand dunes, hot and glistening.

Through the long grass, that irritated her fur.

She ran along to the gravel path that connected to the car park; where cars were starting to pack into.

She jumped onto a stump of wood, and sat still.

She stayed there for a few hours before walking back to the beach.

The sun was setting, and the sun glowed pinkie-orange.

A little cat sat quietly, watching the waves roll by.

She stretched her stiff limbs, and walked towards the glistening sea.

The Country

2010-09-24T13:45:00.002+12:00

I love the smell of fresh country air
The paddocks the cows and the gumboots I wear
The stench the smell I don’t mind the sensational smell of the country wine
The sound of rivers and streams near by
The sound of oinks coming from the pig sty
Juice runs down my chin from my home grown fruit
As my uncle drives by in his old rugged Ute
I like the mud oozing through my toes
As I rest on the hill for my afternoon doze
So as I say I love the country so natural and beautiful, in every way

By Tayla Wells & Sarah Mason

The MIS library blog

2010-06-30T11:22:00.012+12:00

To all the literacy extention students interested in what the library is up to and new books/reviews:

The Morrinsville Intermediate library blog is now up and running, to visit this blog click on the screen picture. Please check out this site and stay tuned for more on the library blog and it's progress!

Rycher

2010-06-28T11:32:00.004+12:00

There’s something fluffy,
On the end of my bed.
Its small white feet,
Are freakishly weird.
It purrs and meows,
A very cute sound.
And when it hides,
It can’t be found.
What can it be?
No-one will say.
Then I found out,
The very next day.
It couldn’t,
It wouldn’t;
But yes it was true,
It was Rycher,
With eyes of the deepest green and blue.

POHUTAKAWA CAVE

2010-06-28T11:24:00.001+12:00

“Are we there yet? “ I ask mum in my most irritating voice.
She rolls her eyes and says, “Five minutes nearly.”
I sigh and go back to my book.
Hi, my name’s Debra but I definitely prefer to be called Debbie. I love animals and absolutely adore my awesome pet snake, Viper. I’m going on holiday to a place called Kawhia, which sounds pretty boring-snoring to me, the only exciting part is there’s heaps of pohutakawa, and everyone knows pohutakawa is great to climb, which I love.
As the car pulls up to an ancient blue Bach, I gaze out the window to the gorgeous green trees with bright red flowers sticking out of the massive, mossy thick branches. This is what I’ve been looking forward to for ages, POHUTAKAWA! I jump out the car and rush up to the dusty track, leading down to the black sand beaches of Kawhia. I creep down the path, as slowly as possible, making this mysterious journey last as long as I can. Questions whirr around inside my head, like angry bees in a cardboard box. “Where does this path lead to? What am I doing here? When will this freaky path end?” I wonder to myself.
I creep around the corner and my questions are solved. This freaky path leads to a brilliant black sand beach, and as I gaze around, my eyes set on an odd looking cave. It wasn’t huge but it looked unbelievably long. A pinprick of light glows at the end of the tunnel, making a weird tingle go up my spine. Suddenly a massive bird darts out of the entrance; it swoops so low over my head that I could feel the breeze blow my hair back. It darts up to a branch high in the tangle of pohutakawa. I sprint back up the path in shock, flying two steps at a time to the safety of the old blue Bach. Yikes!
The next day I wake up, jump out of bed, get changed and grab a torch faster than you can say “pohutakawa cubby”. I rush down the path fast as lightning and stop at the entrance of my new cave. I sneak in hoping with all my might that that pesky bird has gone; I creep into the darkness to have a look and flick on my torch. As I shine it around, my curiosity takes over me and I can’t help but carry on.
Each time I step, dust puffs up around me. I make my way to the speck of light in the corner, dreading what’s going to happen next. “Ouch! “I yell, and then clamp my hand to my mouth. Something sharp had poked me in my back; I turn around to see a thick pohutakawa root, hanging down from the dusty root infested ceiling, obviously the culprit of my attack. I can scent that earthy smell, mixing in with the salty fragrance of the sea outside. Noisy crickets play their early morning music, drowning out the sound of waves lapping the shore outside. As I grab a pohutakawa root to stable myself, I pull down on a huge clump of dirt which suddenly tumbles down from above making me squirm as it falls into my hair and clothes. I shake it out and keep on going. I’m almost there! I step out of the eerie darkness; bright sunlight slaps me in the face.
I peek back into the tangle of roots, leaves and branches. I stumble up the dusty track, still half in my dream. As I reach the Bach I gaze back up at the web of pohutakawa, it slowly waves back at me in the breeze, and in my mind I thank it for my adventure. I can’t wait to return to my incredible pohutakawa cave!
By Holly Williams

What is a poem?

2010-06-21T11:26:00.002+12:00

What is a poem?
I once asked.
Somebody told me that they start with a blast.
“Hmm...How weird, I cannot say,
For that to be the actual way.”
My best friend Paula says,
“Of course THAT isn’t the way!
A poem has to be very nice,
With flowers, and a little spice.
I believed her once,
I believed her twice.
But now I know that it wasn’t right.
Then finally, my dear teacher said...
“Books away, we’ll do reading instead!”

2010-06-16T11:54:00.006+12:00

Back arched; a flame against the night sky that flickers and dances but never goes out.

Eyes like emeralds that glint in the dark, leaving behind trails of light.

This is the norm in that shadowy world of gloomy alleyways, she rules it all with claws

unsheathed.

A flash of copper as it pounces; one quick swipe in the murky night sky and she has caught her next meal.

Beware of this nocturnal being, craftily disguised.

Purring, pleading for a pat, It might just be your favourite...

CAT!

A little Macabre Ditty

2010-06-16T11:29:00.003+12:00

“A sickly season,” the merchant said,
“The town I left was filled with dead,
And everywhere these queer red flies,
crawled upon the corpse eyes,
Eating them away.”

“Fair make you sick,” the merchant said,
“They crawled upon the wine and bread.
Pale priest with oil and books,
Bulging eyes and crazy looks,
Dropping like the flies.”

“I had to laugh,” the merchant said,
“The doctors purged and dosed and bled;
And proved through solemn disputation.
The case lay in some constellation.
Then, they began to die.”

“First they sneezed,” the merchant said,
“Then they turned the brightest red,
Begged for water, and then fell back.
With bulging eyes, and face turned black,
Then, they waited for the flies.”

“I came away,” the merchant said,
“You can’t do business with the dead.
So I came here to ply my trade,
You’ll find this to be fine brocade.”
...And then, he sneezed!

No ideas...

2010-06-09T11:50:00.010+12:00

I sit and stare,
I’m wondering what to write...
Afraid of all that homework, I have to do tonight.
When moaning to my teacher, she says to go away,
Nothing’s going to happen in my writing book today.
All those cool ideas I had, they seem to disappear,
and what about the teacher's mark?
I’ll have to interfere!

Puss ‘N’ Boots

2010-06-09T11:48:00.002+12:00

Everybody fears,
This orange fur ball.
He sits alone near the bedroom door.
His bright, green eyes,
Shine in the night.
And he rushes away when on turn the lights.
He scampers, and runs,
And thinks of life as fun.
Although it seems,
To be true...
Only in his dreams.
Now here he comes again!
This time with THAT look,
Eyes are wide,
He’s purring loud.
Like a steam-train,
Pumping out clouds.
He stares and looks,
As cute as can be.
The best thing is...
He’s looking at me.

Trot along pony

2010-06-02T11:49:00.003+12:00

Trot along pony late in the day,
Down by the meadow is the loveliest way.
The apples are rosy and ready to fall.
They hang on the tree by Grandfathers’ wall.
But the red sun is sinking,
Away out of sight;
The chickens are settling themselves for the night.
Your stable is waiting,
And supper will come.
So turn again pony,
Turn again home.

Flamingos

2010-06-02T11:24:00.008+12:00

Flamingos as tall as the Eiffel tower.
Flamingos so plump and pink.
Feathers all soft and silky.
So big, staunch and mighty fierce.
Their heads tucked up in a great big ball.
Flamingos are such amazing creatures, don’t you think?

By Tayla Wells

Late Night Scramble

2010-05-31T11:49:00.006+12:00

As you enter my room you notice one thing, it's pitch black but you kind of expect it when its this late at night. I try not to make any noise as I tiptoe across the cold hard floorboards, but I stand on a piece of unforgiving lego left for dead on the floor. It makes me let out a little yell that echoes off the ugly pale white walls. I make it to the soft silky bed barely harmed compared to some nights.

I lay my head down on the spongy green tri pillow and drift off into a light sleep, but that is soon interrupted by the loud vibrating of my phone on the bedside table. I dont want to, but I feel I have to reach over and check the stupid thing. As I do, the sharp light pierces the hanging darkness in my room. I cant see because of the sudden change of lighting, so I flick it off and stare into the thick darkness which leads into a deep sleep.

Simile Poem

2010-05-31T11:45:00.010+12:00

As poor as a pig.
As strong as a divorce.
As cute as a kitten.
As smart as a horse.

As thin as a line.
As white as a plane.
As fit as a tiger.
As dumb as a name.

As bald as an old man.
As neat as a switch.
As proud as a mum.
As ugly as a witch.

My Room

2010-05-31T11:43:00.001+12:00

The faded paint on my drawers shines in the sun.
Small particles of dust rest on the top.
Clothes lay everywhere, streaked across the floor.
What was once a smooth, brown chair in one corner of the room,
Is now half-submerged in clothes...piles of them.
So is the floor, and my bed.
My pink, flowery, crinkled duvet-cover sways in the summer wind.
The T.V looms over my drawers, like a shadow in a horror film.
The light-tan coloured floor-boards swim in sun-rays,
Gleaming and squeaky.
The wooden door creaks, and moves, like a dance in the night-sky.
The wind changes and the curtains turn tail, and sway in a different direction.
My stained-glass diamonds reflect the sun, and the room is filled with light-
the deepest pinks, and blues, with a few shades of green, yellow and silver.
Trees rustle somewhere outside, and leaves fall to the damp grass below.
The room seems friendly and welcoming to anyone who enters.
The only neat thing in the room is my pillows that lay motionless on my bed.
A sturdy electric-guitar hides down next to my drawers.
My little bookshelf limply sits next to my bed.
A blackish-grey laptop lies unopened on the top.
A few books and CD’s hide in one of the compartments.
My room seems lonely and wants company.
The door sighs, and slowly, it closes.
Because of that, my room remains a mystery.

By Bethany

wordle

2010-05-26T11:59:00.002+12:00

visit http://www.wordle.net/create to make your own "wordles" this is great if you are creating a poem or piece of descriptive writing.

2010-05-26T11:58:00.000+12:00

This is my quatrain poem on caged pig farming.

It’s terrible being farmed
Your always getting harmed,
The flickering old lamp
Illuminates the damp.

My feet are always filled of pain
Cause they feed us full of grain,
To make us big, fat and round
To a horrible death we are bound.

The shallow farmer doesn’t care
Because he doesn’t live in here,
We will soon be killed for bacon
For the money he’ll be maken.

For goodness sake I’m a pig
I’m made to roam and dig,
For its sun I want to see,
So someone please set me free.

Caterpillar

2010-05-26T11:43:00.000+12:00

Caterpillar, caterpillar,
Eat, eat, eat
Moving around on your tiny little feet.
Patiently wait and a change comes ‘round
Now you’re hanging upside down!
Spinning yourself a beautiful cocoon
You will be a butterfly soon...