BALLYMENA FESTIVAL OF MUSIC, SPEECH AND DANCE SPEECH AND DRAMA SECTION SET POEMS 2019
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BALLYMENA FESTIVAL
OF MUSIC, SPEECH AND DANCE
SPEECH AND DRAMA SECTION
SET POEMS 2019
The poems have been chosen from the following books:-
BOOK A - ‘The Works 3’ chosen by Paul Cookson, published by MacMillan
BOOK B - ‘An Orange Poetry Paintbox’ chosen by John Foster, published by OUP
BOOK C - ‘All the best, the selected poems of Roger McGough’ published by PenguinSS 15 Girls P1 ‘Whoops!’ by Judith Nicholls Our supermarket keeps baked beans inside a plastic bin. They used to pile them on the floor till James picked up the BOTTOM tin! ‘An Orange Poetry Paintbox’ chosen by John Foster, page 53
SS 16 Girls P2 ‘The Leader’ by Roger McGough I wanna be the leader I wanna be the leader Can I be the leader? Can I? I can? Promise? Promise? Yippee, I’m the leader I’m the leader OK what shall we do? ‘All the best, selected poems of Roger McGough’, page 12
SS 17 Boys P1 ‘Hallowe’en’ by Roger Stevens Darren’s got a pumpkin Hollowed out a treat He put it in the window It scared half the street I wish I had a pumpkin But I’ve not and it’s a shame I’ve got a scary carrot But it’s not the same. ‘The Works 3’ chosen by Paul Cookson, page 401
SS 18 Boys P2 ‘The missing sock’ by Roger McGough I found my sock beneath the bed. ‘Where have you been all week?’ I said. ‘Hiding away,’ the sock replied. ‘Another day on your foot and I would have died!’ ‘All the best, selected poems of Roger McGough’ page 44
SS 19 Girls P3 ‘My new brother’ by Eric Finney and John Foster We used to be three - Mum, Dad and me. But now there’s another. My new baby brother. He cries in the night And sleeps in the day. He hasn’t any idea Of how to play. My baby brother’s name is Joe. I just can’t wait for him to grow. ‘An Orange Poetry Paintbox’ chosen by John Foster, page 60
SS 20 Boys P3 ‘I did not eat the goldfish’ by Roger Stevens I did not eat the goldfish It really was not me At the time of the crime I was sitting in a tree I did not eat the goldfish That’s no word of a lie I loved his silvery fins And his glassy eye I did not eat the goldfish I did not touch one golden scale And I’ve no idea why pondweed Is hanging from my tail ‘The Works 3’ chosen by Paul Cookson, page 399
SS 21 Girls P4 ‘Tears for the Tooth Fairy’ by Roger McGough The Tooth Fairy is crying, Not tears of pain, but of disappointment. Yesterday morning, Not looking where she was flying She flew straight into a toadstool And knocked out her front tooth. So, sleepy at bedtime She put it under her pillow Before turning off the light, Made a wish and fell asleep. And guess what? You’re right, This morning the tooth was still there! ‘All the best, selected poems of Roger McGough’ page 157
SS 22 Girls P5 ‘My sister thinks I’m hopeless’ by Valerie Bloom My sister thinks I’m hopeless, My sister thinks I’m dim, She’s given me many lessons, But still I cannot swim. I cannot do the backstroke, I cannot do the crawl, I cannot do the butterfly Or the breaststroke, not at all. My sister’s losing patience, She’s shown me how to move, To stretch my arms and kick my legs, And she says she doesn’t approve Of how easily I give up, She says I’m such a knuckle-head. But I think it’s really very hard To learn to swim in bed. ‘The Works 3, chosen by Paul Cookson’ page 301
SS 23 Boys P4 ‘Using your imagination’ by Gervase Phinn On Monday Miss More Said we could paint a picture And use all our imaginations. I drew a dragon, In a dark and dripping cave, With yellow scaly skin And slithery, snake-like tail, Blue fins and bone-white horns, Red-eyed and breathing purple flames. But Miss More, when she saw it, sighed and said: ‘Daniel dear, dragons are not yellow They are green!’ ‘The Works 3, chosen by Paul Cookson’ page 371
SS 24 Boys P5 ‘Staff meeting’ by Nick Toczek The teachers have gathered in private to talk About their collections of leftover chalk - Bits that are rare, bits they just like, And fragments they’ve saved just in case there’s a strike. One has a blue that you don’t often see, Another a remnant from nineteen-oh-three. They’ve thousands of pieces in boxes and tins, Each sorted and counted with tweezers and pins. And when all their best bits have been on display, They’ll take them home carefully, and lock them away. ‘The Works 3, chosen by Paul Cookson’ page 247
SS 25 Girls P6 ‘Snakes and Fairies’ by Pie Corbett There are snakes at the bottom of our garden - not fairies. I found them, coiled beneath some corrugated iron, basking in the heat - As soon as we lifted the tin they slipped quick slick as a card trick, into the grass by our feet - You should have seen us scarper to the safety of the patio. When I was little I would peer into the ears of flowers and search beneath leaves for the fairies that were supposed to live at the bottom of our garden. I think that the snakes Must have chased them away. ‘The Works 3, chosen by Paul Cookson’, page 428
SS 26 Girls P7 ‘At the end of a School Day’ by Wes Magee It is the end of a school day and down the long driveway come bag-swinging, shouting children. Deafened, the sky winces. The sun gapes in surprise. Suddenly, the runners skid to a stop, stand still and stare at a small hedgehog curled up on the tarmac like an old, frayed cricket ball. A girl dumps her bag, tiptoes forward and gingerly, so gingerly carries the creature to the safety of a shady hedge. Then steps back, watching. Girl, children, sky and sun hold their breath. There is a silence, a moment to remember on this warm afternoon in June. ‘The Works 3 chosen by Paul Cookson’ page 435
SS 27 Boys P6 ‘The Magic Pebble’ by Roger McGough My favourite thing is a pebble That I found on a beach in Wales It looks like any other But its magic never fails. It does my homework for me Makes difficult sums seem clear School dinners taste delicious It makes teachers disappear It turns water into lemonade A bully into a frog When I’m in need of company It becomes a friendly dog Close your eyes, make a wish And you’re in a foreign land Space travel is so easy Simply hold it in your hand My favourite thing is a pebble It means all the world to me I couldn’t bear to be without it (...But it’s yours for 20p) ‘All the best, selected poems of Roger McGough’ page 24
SS 28 Boys P7 ‘The boy who dropped litter’ by Lindsay MacRae ‘ANTHONY WRIGGLY SHAME ON YOU!’ screeched the teacher as she spotted him scrunching up his crisp packet and dropping it carefully on to the pavement outside school. ‘If everyone went around dropping crisp packets like you do where would we be?’ (Anthony didn’t know, so she told him) ‘We’d be walking waist-high in crisp packets, that’s where!’ Anthony was silent He hung his head. He looked to the teacher as if he was very sorry. When in fact he was trying to calculate just how many packets it would take to bring Ballymena to a complete standstill. ‘The Works 3, chosen by Paul Cookson’, page 403
SS 29 Junior Choral Speaking ‘The Land of the Bumbley Boo’ by Spike Milligan In the Land of the Bumbley Boo The people are red white and blue, They never blow noses, Or ever wear closes, What a sensible thing to do! In the Land of the Bumbley Boo You can buy Lemon pie at the Zoo; They give away Foxes In little Pink Boxes And Bottles of Dandylion Stew. In the Land of the Bumbley Boo You never see a Gnu, But thousands of cats Wearing trousers and hats Made of Pumpkins and Pelican Glue! Chorus Oh, the Bumbley Boo! The Bumbley Boo! That’s the place for me and you! So hurry! Let’s run! The train leaves at one! For the Land of the Bumbley Boo! The wonderful Bumbley Boo-Boo-Boo! The wonderful Bumbley BOO!!! ‘The Works 3, chosen by Paul Cookson’, page 56
SS 30 Senior Choral Speaking
‘Wouldn’t it be funny if you didn’t have a nose?’ by Roger McGough
You couldn’t smell your dinner
If you didn’t have a nose
You couldn’t tell a dirty nappy
From a summer rose
You couldn’t smell the ocean
Or the traffic, I suppose
Oh wouldn’t it be funny
If you didn’t have a nose?
You couldn’t smell your mummy
If you didn’t have a nose
You couldn’t tell an orange
From a row of smelly toes
You couldn’t smell the burning
(Think how quick a fire grows)
Wouldn’t it be funny
If you didn’t have a nose?
Where would we be without our hooters?
Nothing else would really suit us.
What would we sniff through?
How would we sneeze?
What would we wipe
Upon our sleeves?
You couldn’t smell a rat
If you didn’t have a nose
You couldn’t tell a duchess
From a herd of buffaloes
And …. mmmm that Gorgonzola
As it starts to decompose
Oh wouldn’t it be funny
If you didn’t have a nose?
Where would we be without our hooters?
Nothing else would really suit us.
And think of those who
Rub their noses
Life would be tough for
Eskimoses
(continued overleaf)You couldn’t wear your glasses
If you didn’t have a nose
And what would bullies aim for
When it comes to blows?
Where would nostrils be without them?
When it’s runny how it glows
Oh wouldn’t it be funny
If you didn’t have a …
have a …
have a …
a…
a ...choo!
‘All the best, the selected poems of Roger McGough’, pages 46-47SS 31 Dramatised verse for primary schools This is an own choice class but here are three suggested poems, only one to be used. ‘The Midnight Skaters’ by Roger McGough It is midnight in the ice rink And all is cool and still. Darkness seems to hold its breath Nothing moves, until Out of the kitchen, one by one, The cutlery comes creeping, Quiet as mice to the brink of the ice While all the world is sleeping. Then suddenly, a serving-spoon Switches on the light, And the silver swoops upon the ice Screaming with delight. The knives are high-speed skaters Round and round they race, Blades hissing, sissing, Whizzing at a dizzy pace. Forks twirl like dancers Pirouetting on the spot. Teaspoons (who take no chances) Hold hands and giggle a lot. All night long the fun goes on Until the sun, their friend, Gives the warning signal That all good things must end. So they slink back to the darkness Of the kitchen cutlery-drawer And steel themselves to wait Until it’s time to skate once more At eight the canteen ladies Breeze in as good as gold To lay the tables and wonder Why the cutlery is so cold.
‘The Owl and the Pussy-Cat’ by Edward Lear The Owl and the Pussy-Cat went to sea In a beautiful pea-green boat, They took some honey, and plenty of money, Wrapped up in a five-pound note. The Owl looked up to the stars above, And sang to a small guitar, ‘O lovely Pussy! O Pussy, my love, What a beautiful Pussy you are, You are You are! What a beautiful Pussy you are!’ Pussy said to the Owl, ‘You elegant fowl! How charmingly sweet you sing! O let us be married! Too long we have tarried: But what shall we do for a ring?’ They sailed away, for a year and a day, To the land where the Bong-tree grows And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood With a rose at the end of his nose, His nose, His nose, With a ring at the end of his nose. ‘Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling Your ring?’ Said the Piggy, ‘I will.’ So they took it away, and were married next day By the Turkey who lives on the hill. They dined on mince, and slices of quince, Which they ate with a runcible spoon; And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand, They danced by the light of the moon, The moon, The moon, They danced by the light of the moon.
‘The Ants and the Grasshoppers’ after Aesop’s Fable
Storyteller(s) 1 Here are the grasshopper gals who were in a party mood
They sang away the summer days and ate up all their food.
Grasshopper gals Yoho, ho, that’s us, it’s true, it’s true, we ate up all our food.
Clever kids Hey Grasshopper Gals, hate to burst your bubble
There’s a moral to the tale, you’re headed straight for trouble.
Storyteller(s) 2 When winter came they realised they’d made a big mistake
They hadn’t saved a thing to eat and now their tummies ached
Grasshopper gals We haven’t saved a thing to eat and now our tummies ache.
Clever kids Hey Grasshopper Gals, hate to burst your bubble
There’s a moral to this tale, you’re headed straight for trouble.
Storyteller(s) 1 The ants who lived next door to them had planned so well ahead
Had worked throughout the summer heat to store up all their bread.
Ants Did you ever, did you ever, meet a group of ants so clever!
Clever kids Hey Grasshopper Gals, hate to burst your bubble
There’s a moral to this tale, you’re headed straight for trouble.
Storyteller(s) 2 And when our dear little grasshopper gals
came begging for some bread
The ants just shook their heads and said
Ants You’re going to end up dead!
Clever kids Hey Grasshopper Gals, hate to burst your bubble
There’s a moral to this tale, you’re headed straight for trouble.
Grasshopper gals OK OK we’ve heard enough. So what’s the moral? Tell us please.
We bet the moral’s full of DON’TS! DON’T sing away the summers?
DON’T waste your days just having fun?
DON’T lounge around in bed?
Clever kids NO! The moral of this story is: IT’S SMART TO PLAN AHEAD!SV 31 Boys and girls under 6 ‘The roller coaster’ by Marian Swinger I rode the roller coaster. It gave me such a scare. I thought I’d left my tummy Floating in the air, ‘An Orange Poetry Paintbox, chosen by John Foster’, page 24
SV 32 Girls 6 and 7 years ‘Camping out’ by Clive Webster One night last holiday We camped on our lawn We planned to stay out there From darkness to dawn. But at half-past ten When the garden was black, We rushed into the house Shouting, ‘Mum, we’ve come back.’ ‘An Orange Poetry Paintbox chosen by John Foster’, page 6
SV 33 Boys 6 and 7 years ‘NIght fright’ by Marian Swinger My hair stood on end And I trembled with fright When I heard a strange noise On the stairs in the night. ‘CREAK’, it went. ‘EEK’, I went. What should I do? Then my brother leaped into my room And yelled, ‘BOO!’ ‘An Orange Poetry Paintbox chosen by John Foster’, page 54
SV 34 Girls and Boys under 8 ‘Wrong Trolley’ by Eric Finney Mum, there’s catfood in our trolley And we haven’t got a cat! There’s a big bag of potatoes And we didn’t load up that. Do you remember loading beans Or peas or cauliflowers? Mum, I know we’re pushing it But is this trolley ours? ‘An Orange Poetry Paintbox chosen by John Foster’, page 48
SV 35 Girls 8 years ‘Easy money’ by Roger McGough Guess how old I am? I bet you can’t. I bet you. Go on guess. Have a guess. Wrong! Have another. Wrong! Have another. Wrong again! Do you give in? Seven years four months two weeks Five days three hours fifteen Minutes forty-eight seconds! That’s 20p you owe me. ‘All the best, the selected poems of Roger McGough’, page 19
SV 36 Girls 9 years ‘Class warfare’ by Roger McGough I’m the most important Person in the class. Twenty-four carat diamond While all the rest are glass. Distinctions distinguish me While others strive to pass I’m en route for glory While others are en masse They’re backdrops, they’re bit parts They’re day-old candy floss They provide the undercoat For my enduring gloss When I go down in history I’ll go down a storm For I’m the most important Person in the form (If you don’t believe me Ask Daddy - he’s the headmaster.) ‘All the best, the selected poems of Roger McGough’, page 9
SV 37 Boys 8 and 9 years ‘Strangeways’ by Roger McGough Granny’s canary Escaped from its cage It’s up on the roof In a terrible rage Hurling abuse And making demands That granny fails To understand ‘Lack of privacy’ ‘Boring old food’ It holds up placards Painted and rude It’s not coming down The canary warns Till gran carries out Major reforms The message has spread And now for days Cage-birds have been acting In very strange ways ‘All the best, the selected poems of Roger McGough’, page 103
SV 38 Girls 10 and 11 years ‘What she did’ by Roger McGough What she did Was really awful It made me feel quite ill It was wrong and quite unlawful I feel queasy still. What she did Was quite uncalled for How could she be so cruel? My friends were all appalled, for She made me look a fool. What she did Was out of order It made me blush and wince From that moment I ignored her And haven’t spoken since. What she did Was really rotten. But what it was I’ve quite forgotten. ‘All the best, the selected poems of Roger McGough’, page 150
SV 39 Boys 10 and 11 years ‘Mafia cats’ by Roger McGough We’re the Mafia cats Bugsy, Franco and Toni We’re crazy for pizza With hot pepperoni We run all the rackets From gambling to vice On St Valentine’s day We massacre mice We always wear shades To show that we’re meanies Big hats and sharp suits And drive Lamborghinis We’re the Mafia cats Bugsy, Franco and Toni Love Sicilian wine And cheese macaroni But we have a secret (And if you dare tell You’ll end up with the kitten At the bottom of the well) Or covered in concrete And thrown into the deep For this is one secret You really must keep.) We’re the Cosa Nostra Run the scams and the fiddles But at home we are Mopsy, Ginger and Tiddles. ‘All the best, the selected poems of Roger McGough’, page 90
SV 40 Girls 12 and 13 years ‘Teacher’ by Carol Ann Duffy When you teach me, your hands bless the air where chalk dust sparkles. And when you talk, the six wives of Henry VIII stand in the room like bridesmaids, or the Nile drifts past the classroom window, the Pyramids baking like giant cakes on the playing fields. You teach with your voice, so a tiger prowls from a poem and pads between desks, black and gold in the shadow and sunlight, or the golden apples of the sun drop from a branch in my mind’s eye. I bow my head again to this tattered, doodled book and learn what love is. ‘The Works 3 chosen by Paul Cookson’, page 163
SV 41 Boys 12 and 13 years ‘Geography Lesson’ by Brian Patten Our teacher told us one day he would leave And sail across a warm blue sea To places he had only known from maps, And all his life had longed to be. The house he lived in was narrow and grey But in his mind’s eye he could see Sweet-scented jasmine clinging to the walls, And green leaves burning on an orange tree. He spoke of the lands he longed to visit, Where it was never drab or cold. I couldn’t understand why he never left, And shook off the school’s stranglehold. Then halfway through his final term He took ill and never returned, He never got to that place on the map Where the green leaves of the orange trees burned. The maps were redrawn on the classroom wall; His name forgotten, he faded away. But a lesson he never knew he taught Is with me to this day. I travel to where the green leaves burn, To where the ocean’s glass-clear and blue, To places our teacher taught me to love - And which he never knew. ‘The Works 3 chosen by Paul Cookson’, page 22
SV 42 Girls 14 and 15 years ‘Climbing the world’ by John Rice Heading home, the faces of the passengers opposite are reflected dark blue in the late-night train windows. I doze, my daughter yawns. The head of the sleeping man next to me lolls about like a puppet’s. His paperback slips from his lap and falls on to the orange peel he discarded before falling asleep. He wakes in time to get off at Sevenoaks. I pick up the book, brush the peel off the jacket. It’s ‘The diary of a Young Girl: Anne Frank, The ‘97 Penguin edition, due back at Paddington Library by 13 Dec. I start reading the foreword … Anne Frank kept a diary … Her father, Otto Frank, edited her diaries after she was dead. I see him crying at the typewriter. My daughter is twenty-seven We have great times together She is my friend and I love her. Even in a train’s harsh light she is very beautiful, She is climbing the world. Anne and Otto Frank Have taught me how to tell you this. I shall now return the sleeping man’s book to Paddington Library. (The Works 3 chosen by Paul Cookson, page 318)
SV 43 Boys 14 and 15 years ‘Daffodils’ by William Wordsworth I wander’d lonely as a cloud That floats on high o’er vale and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host of golden daffodils; Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the Milky Way, They stretch’d in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw I at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. The waves beside them danced, but they Out-did the sparkling waves in glee: A poet could not but be gay, In such a jocund company: I gazed - and gazed - but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought: For oft, when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils. ‘The Works 3 chosen by Paul Cookson’, page 305
SV 44 Girls 16 and 17 years ‘Remember’ by Christina Rosetti Remember me when I am gone away, Gone far away into the silent land; When you can no more hold me by the hand Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay. Remember me when no more day by day You tell me of our future that you planned: Only remember me; you understand It will be late to counsel then or pray. Yet if you should forget me for a while And afterwards remember, do not grieve: For if the darkness and corruption leave A vestige of the thoughts that once I had, Better by far you should forget and smile Than that you should remember and be sad. ‘The Works 3 chosen by Paul Cookson’, page 85
SV 45 Boys 16 and 17 years ‘Upon Westminster Bridge’ by William Wordsworth Earth has not anything to show more fair: Dull would he be of soul who could pass by A sight so touching in its majesty: This City now doth, like a garment, wear The beauty of the morning; silent, bare, Ships, towers,domes,theatres,and temples lie Open unto the fields, and to the sky; All bright and glittering in the smokeless air. Never did sun more beautifully steep In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill; Ne’er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep! The river glideth at his own sweet will: Dear God! the very houses seem asleep; And all the mighty heart is lying still! ‘The Works 3 chosen by Paul Cookson’, page 306
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