National Poetry Day 2020: Thursday 1 October Theme: Vision - See It Like a Poet - Saints Peter ...
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National Poetry Day 2020: Thursday 1 October
Theme: Vision – See It Like a Poet
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zjCAD1w4TW8
Watch Karl Nova, National Poetry Day Ambassador, read ‘See Through My Eyes’ a poem he has
written specially for National Poetry Day and the 2020 theme of Vision.
National Poetry Day is an annual celebration that encourages all to enjoy, discover and share
poetry. The Day generates an explosion of activity both online and offline – all celebrating
poetry’s power to bring people together.
National Poetry Day starts conversations, encourages a love of language and showcases the
ways in which poetry adds value to society.
National Poetry Day 2020 took place on Thursday 1 October and students and staff were
invited to get involved by sharing their favourite poem on Twitter as part of the online
National Poetry Day celebrations.
Our Tweets even caught the eye of former Children’s Poet Laureate, Michael Rosen, who
retweeted James Bussey and Joe Heaney’s favourites!
You can find our 2020 favourite poems in the pages below.
1Contents Page
3 Checking Out Me History John Agard
5 Baggage Jackie Kay
5 This Poem is not About Parakeets Victoria Adukwei Bulley
6 Macavity The Mystery Cat T.S. Eliot
8 Who Was Elvis Presley? Alan Bell
8 Lunchtime Michael Rosen
9 On the Ning Nang Nong Spike Milligan
9 In a Station of the Metro Ezra Pound
10 Chocolate Cake Michael Rosen
13 He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven W.B. Yeats
13 Escalation Roger Stevens
15 The Orange Wendy Cope
16 Invisible Kisses Lemn Sissay
2October is Black History Month
National Poetry Day 2020 coincided with the beginning of Black History Month.
Black History Month promotes and celebrates Black contributions to society
and aims to nurture an understanding of Black history and culture.
Please see below for links, resources and poems.
https://www.blackhistorymonth.org.uk/section/poets-corner/
https://www.theguardian.com/books/2020/jun/28/black-british-poets-black-lives-matter-linton-
kwesi-johnson-grace-nichols-raymond-antrobus-kayo-chingonyi-malika-booker-vanessa-kisuule
Checking Out Me History
John Agard
Dem tell me
Dem tell me
Wha dem want to tell me
Bandage up me eye with me own history
Blind me to my own identity
Dem tell me bout 1066 and all dat
dem tell me bout Dick Whittington and he cat
But Touissant L’Ouverture
no dem never tell me bout dat
Toussaint
a slave
with vision
lick back
Napoleon
battalion
and first Black
Republic born
Toussaint de thorn
to de French
Toussaint de beacon
of de Haitian Revolution
3Dem tell me bout de man who discover de balloon
and de cow who jump over de moon
Dem tell me bout de dish run away with de spoon
but dem never tell me bout Nanny de maroon
Nanny
see-far woman
of mountain dream
fire-woman struggle
hopeful stream
to freedom river
Dem tell me bout Lord Nelson and Waterloo
but dem never tell me bout Shaka de great Zulu
Dem tell me bout Columbus and 1492
but what happen to de Caribs and de Arawaks too
Dem tell me bout Florence Nightingale and she lamp
and how Robin Hood used to camp
Dem tell me bout ole King Cole was a merry ole soul
but dem never tell me bout Mary Seacole
From Jamaica
she travel far
to the Crimean War
she volunteer to go
and even when de British said no
she still brave the Russian snow
a healing star
among the wounded
a yellow sunrise
to the dying
Dem tell me
Dem tell me wha dem want to tell me
But now I checking out me own history
I carving out me identity
Poem © John Agard 1996 reproduced by kind permission of John Agard c/o Caroline Sheldon Literary Agency
Ltd
4Baggage
Jackie Kay
Dark, the days when the ships came slowly in,
Carrying the baggage from the old past,
Old love letters, promises long since past.
Icy cold it was that winter morning,
Thick fog blurred the ship mast
The ship humped in like a hurt already cast.
You had to go and pick it up. You pushed in,
Signed the slip for your wicker chest,
And trudged the roads and miles back west,
Carrying your past on your back, late morning,
Like an animal carries what it needs to its den.
The old loch at your side, lapping: Ye ken
This – it is not as heavy it might be.
You step to your small house in the new light.
from Life Mask (Tarset: Bloodaxe, 2005)
Reproduced by permission of the publisher.
This Poem is Not About Parakeets
Victoria Adukwei Bulley
On the bus back, two men make noise and all else
falls silent, or leans away. One woman gets off
altogether. I pull my headphones out. The air
thickens. The men are angry. Words leave their
mouths and hit the windows like flies. They’re
everywhere, everywhere you look. I’ve got seven
stops left. What we want is our country back.
My armpits tingle with sweat. I want to throw
something and then leave. Is that so much to ask?
I’m nowhere near home, so instead I think about the
parakeets that live on my road. They take up all the
housing. I want to tell the men how the parakeets
5got here. All they do is take our jobs. How they
were brought here in the ’60s for a film, and then
escaped. They’re scroungers. I want to tell them
how despite the bad weather they never lost their
songs. Why are they so noisy? How none of April’s
showers ever washed their colours off. They don’t
even try to blend in. Or how these birds are so smart
they can talk human. They don’t even speak proper
English. The men keep moaning. It’s my freedom of
speech. I want to ask if they’ve seen these creatures
fly, these emerald green parakeets that live near my
home, I want to tell them about the brightest, most
beautiful birds I’ve ever known.
© Victoria Adukwei Bulley Taken from: Rising Stars: New Young Voices in Poetry. Poems by Ruth Awolola,
Victoria Adukwei Bulley, Abigail Cook, Jay Hulme and Amina Jama. Illustrations by Riya Chowdhury, Elanor
Chuah and Joe Manners. October 2017 Published by Otter-Barry Books in association with Pop-Up Projects and
Arts Council England.
Macavity: The Mystery Cat Chosen by Mrs Ashes
T.S. Eliot
Macavity’s a Mystery Cat: he’s called the Hidden Paw—
For he’s the master criminal who can defy the Law.
He’s the bafflement of Scotland Yard, the Flying Squad’s despair:
For when they reach the scene of crime—Macavity’s not there!
Macavity, Macavity, there’s no one like Macavity,
He’s broken every human law, he breaks the law of gravity.
His powers of levitation would make a fakir stare,
And when you reach the scene of crime—Macavity’s not there!
You may seek him in the basement, you may look up in the air—
But I tell you once and once again, Macavity’s not there!
Macavity’s a ginger cat, he’s very tall and thin;
You would know him if you saw him, for his eyes are sunken in.
His brow is deeply lined with thought, his head is highly domed;
His coat is dusty from neglect, his whiskers are uncombed.
He sways his head from side to side, with movements like a snake;
And when you think he’s half asleep, he’s always wide awake.
6Macavity, Macavity, there’s no one like Macavity,
For he’s a fiend in feline shape, a monster of depravity.
You may meet him in a by-street, you may see him in the square—
But when a crime’s discovered, then Macavity’s not there!
He’s outwardly respectable. (They say he cheats at cards.)
And his footprints are not found in any file of Scotland Yard’s.
And when the larder’s looted, or the jewel-case is rifled,
Or when the milk is missing, or another Peke’s been stifled,
Or the greenhouse glass is broken, and the trellis past repair—
Ay, there’s the wonder of the thing! Macavity’s not there!
And when the Foreign Office find a Treaty’s gone astray,
Or the Admiralty lose some plans and drawings by the way,
There may be a scrap of paper in the hall or on the stair—
But it’s useless to investigate—Macavity’s not there!
And when the loss has been disclosed, the Secret Service say:
‘It must have been Macavity!’—but he’s a mile away.
You’ll be sure to find him resting, or a-licking of his thumbs;
Or engaged in doing complicated long division sums.
Macavity, Macavity, there’s no one like Macavity,
There never was a Cat of such deceitfulness and suavity.
He always has an alibi, and one or two to spare:
At whatever time the deed took place—MACAVITY WASN’T THERE!
And they say that all the Cats whose wicked deeds are widely known
(I might mention Mungojerrie, I might mention Griddlebone)
Are nothing more than agents for the Cat who all the time
Just controls their operations: the Napoleon of Crime!
From Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats. Copyright © 1939 by T. S. Eliot, renewed © 1967 by Esme Valerie
Eliot. Used with the permission of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt
7Who was Elvis Presley? Written by our own Mr Bell
Alan Bell
Dad!
Who was Elvis Presley?
Some people in my school
Say that he was king;
But I’ve looked through my history books,
And I can’t find a thing
About a king called Elvis,
Or the period of his rule.
Dad!
Who was Elvis Presley?
Please tell me,
‘Don’t be cruel’.
Lunchtime Chosen by James Bussey, 7 WELCH
Michael Rosen
Time for lunch
Munch, munch
Time for a munch
Crunch, crunch
Munch, munch
Crunch, crunch
Munchy, munchy, crunchy, crunchy.
From A Great Big Cuddle, Poems for the Very Young, Walker Books
8On the Ning Nang Nong Chosen by Miss George
Spike Milligan
On the Ning Nang Nong
Where the Cows go Bong!
and the monkeys all say BOO!
There's a Nong Nang Ning
Where the trees go Ping!
And the tea pots jibber jabber joo.
On the Nong Ning Nang
All the mice go Clang
And you just can't catch 'em when they do!
So its Ning Nang Nong
Cows go Bong!
Nong Nang Ning
Trees go ping
Nong Ning Nang
The mice go Clang
What a noisy place to belong
is the Ning Nang Ning Nang Nong!!
Copyright: from Complete Poems (Penguin, 1997), by permission of Spike Milligan Productions. Recording used
by permission of the BBC
In a Station of the Metro Chosen by Mr Goetzee
Ezra Pound
The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough.
From Personae by Ezra Pound, copyright c.1926 by Ezra Pound. Reprinted by permission of New Directions
Publishing Corporation. All rights reserved.
9Chocolate Cake Chosen by Joe Heaney, 7WELCH
Michael Rosen
I love chocolate cake.
And when I was a boy
I loved it even more.
Sometimes we used to have it for tea
and Mum used to say,
‘If there’s any left over
you can have it to take to school
tomorrow to have at playtime.’
And the next day I would take it to school
wrapped up in tin foil
open it up at playtime
and sit in the corner of the playground
eating it,
you know how the icing on top
is all shiny and it cracks as you
bite into it,
and there’s that other kind of icing in
the middle
and it sticks to your hands and you
can lick your fingers
and lick your lips
oh it’s lovely.
yeah.
Anyway,
once we had this chocolate cake for tea
and later I went to bed
but while I was in bed
I found myself waking up
licking my lips
and smiling.
I woke up proper.
‘The chocolate cake.’
It was the first thing
I thought of.
10I could almost see it
so I thought
what if I go downstairs
and have a little nibble, yeah?
and into the mouth
oooooommm mmmm
nice.
Look at the cake again.
That looks a bit funny now,
one side doesn’t match the other
I’ll just even it up a bit, eh?
Take the knife
and slice.
This time the knife makes a little cracky noise
as it goes through that hard icing on top.
A whole slice this time,
into the mouth.
Oh the icing on top
and the icing in the middle
ohhhhhh ooo mmmmmm.
But now
I can’t stop myself
Knife –
I just take any old slice at it
and I’ve got this great big chunk
and I’m cramming it in
what a greedy pig
but it’s so nice,and there’s another
and another and I’m squealing and I’m smacking my lips
and I’m stuffing myself with it
and
11before I know
I’ve eaten the lot.
The whole lot.
I look at the plate.
It’s all gone.
‘There,’ she says, pointing at my chin.
‘I don’t know,’ I say.
‘It looks like chocolate,’ she says.
‘It’s not chocolate is it?’
No answer.
‘Is it?’
‘I don’t know.’
She goes to the cupboard
looks in, up, top, middle, bottom,
turns back to me.
‘It’s gone.
It’s gone.
You haven’t eaten it, have you?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You don’t know. You don’t know if you’ve eaten a whole
chocolate cake or not?
When? When did you eat it?’
So I told her,
and she said
well what could she say?
‘That’s the last time I give you any cake to take
to school.
Now go. Get out
no wait
not before you’ve washed your dirty sticky face.’
I went upstairs
looked in the mirror
and there it was,
just below my mouth,
a chocolate smudge.
The give-away.
Maybe she’ll forget about it by next week. Published by Puffin 2017
12He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven Chosen by Mrs Hines
W.B. Yeats
Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
This poem is in the public domain.
Escalation Chosen by Mr Jordan
Roger Stevens
Billy took my apple
So I kicked Billy in the shins.
Billy’s mate pushed me over
On the playground
And I dropped my lunch box
So my mate Dave
Punched Billy’s mate
On the nose
Then all Billy’s friends joined in
And so did mine
And everyone was fighting
And Jess was shouting
And screaming for me
And Tess told her to ‘Shut up!’
13And soon the girls were all at it too
And the dinner ladies came to sort it out
But Mrs Pickings said it was my fault
And Miss Brodie told her that she saw it all
And it wasn’t and they started arguing
And Mrs Pickings hit her with her handbag
And the teachers had to come and sort it out
And it took a while
Because they were all arguing too
Luckily Mr Walton heard the rumpus
Came out of his office
And blew his whistle
And it all got sorted in the end
And me and Billy shook hands and said sorry
And he whispered to me
After school…
You’re dead!
Published in What Are We Fighting For? New Poems About War, Macmillan , 2014
14The Orange Chosen by Miss Leedam
Wendy Cope
At lunchtime I bought a huge orange
The size of it made us all laugh.
I peeled it and shared it with Robert and Dave—
They got quarters and I had a half.
And that orange it made me so happy,
As ordinary things often do
Just lately. The shopping. A walk in the park
This is peace and contentment. It’s new.
The rest of the day was quite easy.
I did all my jobs on my list
And enjoyed them and had some time over.
I love you. I’m glad I exist.
Published in Serious Concerns, Faber & Faber, 1993
Invisible Kisses Chosen by Mrs Quick
Lemn Sissay
If there was ever one
Whom when you were sleeping
Would wipe your tears
When in dreams you were weeping;
Who would offer you time
When others demand;
Whose love lay more infinite
Than grains of sand.
If there was ever one
To whom you could cry;
Who would gather each tear
And blow it dry;
Who would offer help
On the mountains of time;
Who would stop to let each sunset
Soothe the jaded mind.
15If there was ever one
To whom when you run
Will push back the clouds
So you are bathed in sun;
Who would open arms
If you would fall;
Who would show you everything
If you lost it all.
If there was ever one
Who when you achieve
Was there before the dream
And even then believed;
Who would clear the air
When it’s full of loss;
Who would count love
Before the cost.
If there was ever one
Who when you are cold
Will summon warm air
For your hands to hold;
Who would make peace
In pouring pain,
Make laughter fall
In falling rain.
If there was ever one
Who can offer you this and more;
Who in keyless rooms
Can open doors;
Who in open doors
Can see open fields
And in open fields
See harvests yield.
Then see only my face
In reflection of these tides
Through the clear water
Beyond the river side.
16All I can send is love
In all that this is
A poem and a necklace
Of invisible kisses.
http://blog.lemnsissay.com/2013/02/12/invisible-kisses/#sthash.Ryr7p6em.dpbs
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