Museum Poetry Session

The museum hosted a successful poetry session for Second Form (Year 7) English recently.

Their task was to write a narrative poem (as part of their narrative poetry unit last term) either about or inspired by a previous CH student’s story they had seen in the museum, or about their own experience as a CH student and their place within its history.

The class had a tour around the museum displays learning about the school’s historic collection, hearing stories and facts about various Old Blues’ lives from our 500 year history. They handled artefacts from the past and explored subjects that interested them or caught their imagination.

Below are two of the most evocative poems created:

Christ’s Hospital – The place to be

By Kome (Second Form/Year 7)

In the halls of Christ’s Hospital, he once roamed,
A former pupil, now a memory, he has become.
His footsteps etched upon those ancient floors,
A testament to the dreams he once wore.

With ink-stained fingers and a restless mind,
He sought solace in verses, words intertwined.
His poetry, a dance on a paper stage,
A window to his soul, his fears assuaged.

But time has spun its web, as it often does,
And the years have carried him far away, just because.
Yet, the echoes of his presence still resonate,
In the hearts of those who shared his fate.

His voice, a whisper in the wind’s embrace,
Recalling tales of triumph and of grace.
A former Christ’s Hospital pupil, he will forever be,
A symbol of resilience and creativity.

So let his memory live on, in every line,
A testament to the power of the divine.
For even though he is gone, his spirit remains,
A poem about a pupil, forever ingrained.

Those who died at war

by Daniel (Second Form/Year 7)

The shadow teaches,

That is what Middleton said,

For all the pupils who went to war,

The young men and women who landed on beaches.

For thy to Rember,

What all those people said,

Is for thou to acquire all experiences said,

The stone-cold war was meant to end in December.

As you stand facing dining hall,

Remembering those who fell

But nobody can remember whose lives were lost

We stand there and recall.

We look towards the end,

That is what Thornton said

But for the end is beyond their lives

For nobody can mend

But what is left of the ember,

The poppies like signposts of the lives lost,

But in the end

Nobody can remember the 11^th of November.