Poetry

Black

Black is the colour of darkness
Evil powers and magic
Cats and black pointed hats
A witches cloak floating in the wind
A cauldren steaming over an open fire
On a windy moor
The black witch herself, stirring, and muttering
magic incantations
The black sky on a moonless night
Cat's eyes staring from a black velvet face,
sat on a window ledge
Ready to pounce on some unexpecting creature
Black are the rooks in the towering trees
The black mare on the moor galloping free
Black are the shadows of the waving trees
on a stormy night.

Beverley Anne Allsop aged 10 years.



Night.

I snuggled down into the soft blankets,
just as night was creeping into the house.
Downstairs I hear talking and the kettle boiling.
The street light shines softly through the faded pink curtains.
I look around the room, everything lies still and silent,
but the clock kept ticking and the hands moving.

The house trembles slightly,
it's only an earth tremor, I say to myself.
I hear Mum and Dad come upstairs and get into bed,
but the clock kept ticking and the hands moving.

I close my eyes and think about the past,
my mistakes, my wrongs.
I close my eyes and sleep.
I dream, and dream,
and the clock keeps ticking and the hands moving.

Beverley Anne Allsop (aged 11 years 6 months