Sydney’s Poems

A lovely room

The opposite of the night,

Drapes a shimmery white,

A plant of bright dark green,

Nothing you’ve ever seen.

White doors opening wide 

To a sandy beach.

You’ll love the room so much, 

You won’t be able to speak.

What teachers seem to be!

My teacher’s name is Ms. Plumpagee and she is very plump.  

She acts like she’s stuck in the 1900s and her hair is rather a stump.

She never washes her hands, after a lesson of history.

I’ll ask my father to sue her, yes he is really quite rich, you see. 

Then next year I had a teacher, she was horrid and a snitch.

Then I really wished Ms. Plumpagee, was mine and was here stick.

I was really rather quite generous,

After I sent her away. Wow, a year ago I was rather quite mean to Ms. Plumpagee.


All skinned in black,

Can’t say no to drab,

Mysterious creatures.

Hidden in the cape of black are feelings,

Not well known,

Be them from the dead or be them from the alive.

Who knows the beauty, the flaws, the ugliness, of these power stricken people?

And I am one of these people,

Safe from being underestimated.

My piece of hope

My lips are blue

My hair turned blue

My skin turned blue

Everything blue

A cry of sadness 

And despair

A grave of white

Surrounding by few

A willow hanging

On top of a pond

With grass surrounding

Like your front lawn

A swan of white

With an orange beak

You’ll love her too

So to speak

Lily pads 

On the water blue 

A girl praying 

Crying too

A rising sun 

A golden hope

Falling hills

A golden rope

Climbing up

And climbing down

But you can’t ever

turn around

The journey hard

The path so clear

Don’t turn around

You’re nearly there

Don’t let the blues

Get in your way

For your mountain

Is here today

Climb it first

Climb it next

And you’ll find

Your golden rope

A piece of sun

And some hope.

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