Sausages

At my school, I have been a tutor for a group of thirty pupils for the last five years. They are soon to leave school. Ruth is the Head of Year. She had the bright but not wholly original idea of producing a year book for this cohort. She asked me to write a poem for it so I wrote two. Here they are - whipped out on Monday night after the pub quiz. I wonder if Wordsworth did the same:-

Sausages

You arrive at the sausage factory
At the age of eleven
They put you in form groups
And call you year seven
It’s all just a long
Conveyor belt ride
So open your mind
Let the learning inside.

You leave the sausage factory
At the end of Year Eleven
When the last bell rings
You feel you’re in heaven.
It was all just a dream
You made in your head
Were you alive
Or just playing dead?

Mind Mapping

On the day I left school
I mapped my mind
All the main features
Were underlined
I thought of how
The years had passed by
Wishing I hadn’t
Been so shy.
The future in bubbles
Was shown on the right

My hopes and my dreams
In felt tip on white.
Connections were made
With arrows and lines
Crossing the paper
Several times.
And where would I go to
Now school was done?
To seek my fortune
And have some fun.
Find me a lover
And love me a friend
Make sure there are no
Regrets in the end.