Writing Guild
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Welcome to the Family's
writing circle! Hope you get a chance to read
and better still SEND IN your own work for posting! (Click on the pictures to go to the story / poem) |
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Contents |
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The Worse Day Ever Elle Griffiths |
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The Golf Outing Mike Elliott |
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The River Alex Griffiths |
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The
Girl at the Window A poem by Jessica Elliott (12) |
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My Holiday
Anna Griffiths (12) |
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The Vault A Short Story by Peter Elliott (700 word limit based on the word "box". First Prize for staff entries at the Beauchamp College) |
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There was a young man
called Mike... Mike Elliott (on the Griffith's move to NZ) |
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Missin School Anna Griffiths |
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Content |
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THE WORSE DAY EVER Elle Griffiths
the
school bell rings, I'm late again
I'm
glad they now don't do the cane
A teacher
sees me walking in
she gives me
that your in trouble grin
She shouts
to me "come here young man!"
I'm sweating
now.. I need a fan!
She talks to
me... goes on and on..
and by this
time I'm well gone!
The bell
rings again, I run outside
and skip to
find Lucy and Clyde.
The bell
rings again, its time to go in
I want to
hide in the rubbish bin.
The rest of
the day got worse and worse
it was like
someone had set a curse!
I got told
off by everyone,
even the
janitor Mr. Tofflegone
5...4...3..
The teachers drinking the last of her tea,
2...1...YAY
the last bell has gone!!
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THE GOLF OUTING Mike Elliott
Alan, we want you to be the man To book us an outing, the best you can It has to be the biggest yet No expense spared, no limit set
The name is Michael, I did reply But with your request I will comply I know a place you're guaranteed To hit the ball with maximum speed
It will take a while to travel there Best pack a lunch to be prepared Also the air is rather thin So only the fit and healthy are in
Mr Shephard, that is fine by us Now we'll away and book the bus How long a journey did you say? At 40,000 miles per day?
The name is Elliott, now let me see A week and we'll be on the tee The bunkers are huge with loads of sand And the widest fairways are on this land
So that'll be 40 million pounds a head Including travel, golf and bed How many of us will there be? Oh, all right then just the three
So off we went where the sky is black And you need to wear a special mac You can play all day without a queue But I won't explain about the loo!
So that was my outing in '71 The best of all, I mean bar none Even now I hear the same old tune, Remember when we played golf on the Moon? |
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The River Alex Griffiths
Crisp, icy waters shoot down the river, Raging rapids send an arctic shiver. Towering mountains splitting up the sky, Waterfalls trickle from way up high.
Dancing shadows from the tropical trees, Shade the grassy banks, sprinkled with leaves. Downwards, downwards the river rages Roaring and loud like animals in cages.
This way, that way, twisting and turning, Racing to the ocean to seek what it’s yearning. The sun beams down on the glittering waves, Shining at entrances to hidden caves.
Clear and fresh you can see underneath, Fluttering fish dart to find a reef. Singing of the birds gently flying past, Create a peaceful atmosphere that will always last. |
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The Girl at the Window Jessica Elliott (12)
The girl at the window is special as you say she lives in a world of terror and dismay
She wants to be happy she wants to be kind she wants to live her own life and rule her own mind
The person she longed for for years and a day cut himself free from the terror and dismay
His blood makes her curtains his life makes her walls his heart in her heart his soul in the floors
This war is wrong but it shall not end this war shall be fought to the very end
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My Holiday Anna Griffiths (12)
it was an early Monday morning as the taxi took us there,
the clouds
were thick, the sky was dull and smog was in the air.
as we arrived
my stomach turned, I said farewell to the rain,
we walked into
the airport, next was the aeroplane.
we walked onto
the plane, greeted with a smile,
fastened our
seatbelts this journey took a while.
the views were
amazing the oceans were unique, the mountains, land the forests i couldn't
help but take a peek!
we arrived in
Singapore, the weather was hot,
the people
were elegant it was a quiet spot.
the sky was
clear and the sea was blue,
the trees were
tropical, and the sun shone through.
next we
travelled to new Zealand, this country was the best,
when you
breathed in it was so fresh unlike all of the rest.
the
rivers, seas and oceans were all so clean and clear,
everyone was
so friendly there was no-one to fear.
now this is
the country I would love to live in to make a whole new start. with new
friends new house and garden, a new life would be the best part.
Anna Griffiths
age 12 - I wrote this after we came to new Zealand on holiday, march 2004.
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The Vault Peter Elliott
Jack strode down the long, clean, dimly lit corridor toward the unassuming door at the end. Pandi was ahead by two or three strides, looking fantastic, thought Jack. The lack of alternative exits along the hall, apart from the stairs they had entered down, made Jack feel a little uncomfortable. Pandi, on the other hand, seemed to relish the cool, clinical prism as she reached out her hand to tap in the six digit code into a partially hidden security key pad. Perfect fingers, thought jack, long, beautifully formed, with no deviation from their god given design. He felt the clammy, cool sweat on his own hands as he switched a small black leather satchel from his right hand to his left. It wasn’t just the lack of visible exits from this route to the vault that bothered Jack, as he stood waiting with Pandi for the door mechanism to respond to her accurate inputs, more the deliberate funnelling of the two colleagues from the relative normality of the back office to the super-controlled secure environment of the vault. His eyes distractedly traced the line of her neck from her low hair line to her white collar, soaking in the healthy definition of her feminine form. She shrugged, looking ahead, as if an unexpected breeze had caressed her shoulder, then walked directly into the vault, to unit 14916. Jack let his eyes wander over the hundreds of perfectly arranged safety deposit boxes on all sides of the vault as Pandi opened the box numbered 14916 and asked Jack for the contents of the small black satchel. There were clearly few options left but to comply, but Jack allowed a slither of time to pass before reaching into the satchel. As his hand enclosed the small ring inside, this chink of time took form, and a bright thin line of memories and life flooded into the vault, reflecting on the hundreds of steel faces of the deposit boxes. They stared at each other, not for any length of time one might acknowledge, but for enough time for both to relive the last six years at light-speed. They had met close by, upstairs, at opposite sides of a colleagues desk, both keen to borrow the phone for whatever reason. Pandi had struck Jack quite dumb with her slight, beautiful figure and Jack had clearly engaged Pandi’s imagination. Through a mixture of intrigue and naivety, and how else do these things work?, they moved through casual, pseudo-work related chats, regular phone calls, to visits together, to the cinema, then to the theatre, then to families. Pandi liked to work hard, pleasantly amused at jack’s uncomplicated approach to the dire consequences of their financial responsibilities within the bank. He loved surprising her; lunches, random gifts, visits to the city, steep climbs in terrible weather and the wonderful firework displays in summer! As if her eyes weren’t glorious enough without the cascading colourful lights of a thousand incendiaries dancing their reflections across her glassy pupils. And the unexpected closure, a brief fling, a misguided adventure into infidelity, suddenly shutting out the light and muffling the raucous noises of their relationship. A ring, not quite a band of gold, but indeed all that was left, now lay in jack’s hand, as he placed it himself inside the safety deposit box. Not a bad compromise, considered Jack, not an all out failure; one last chance perhaps. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if the door closed and the vault was complete, and they were stood alone for a while? Pandi locked the unit and gave jack the key. Can we lock this thing from the inside? He asked. She smiled. What is he like? She tried not to show her smile. She smiled until they resurfaced |
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There was a young man called Mike Mike Elliott
There was a young man called Mike, who needed to fish for a pike He thought where to go to enable him so New Zealand, Aye, that's about right!
He had to tell Mary his plans and also his other wee lambs you must be a nutter they started to mutter What is it he's drinking from cans?
Now Mike was a man of few words at one with the fish and the birds but when he made up his mind it was surprising to find he wouldn't be put on divert!
So after 2 years of debate they decided to pack up their crate to take what may come and lie in the sun have barbies and call everyone 'mate'
School was a roll in the hay swimming and outdoors all day no pressure to win enjoy to the brim then out for a few hours play!
Now bugs was a bit of a blow the size of a large so and so they lived in their house the size of a mouse until they were zapped. Cheerio!
Strange it may seem so to moot it's summer at Christmas that's cute it's winter in June the moon's a balloon and kiwis are people not fruit!
And that is the story so far for Mike, the girls and their ma it's good and it's bad it's not always sad and April is coming, Hurrah! |
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Missin
School Anna Griffiths The clouds are small and the sky is blue, i'm sitting on the sofa with nothing to do. mums in the garden talking to her friend, talking about shopping and the money she'd spend! i gaze out the window wondering what to do now, shall i ride a camel or milk a cow? i really can't think of a poem to write, do you want me to tell you what happened last night? i did nothing- is the answer to that rhetorical question, i did nothing at all it felt like detention! i can hear alexs music booming away, mums still nattering on, its been such a long boring day! elles at school doing her maths all day long, dads at work fixing things whistling a song. |
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