World Book Day: Creative Workshop

As part of our World Book Day celebrations, Year 8 were lucky enough to take part in an inspiring creative writing workshop delivered by Bryanston English teachers: Mr Davies and Ms Boothman. The workshops centred around some interesting and original poetry, enabling the children to experiment with finding their voice in their own poetry and to extend metaphors in new & interesting ways.

The Year 8s produced some stunning writing throughout the workshop and hands punched the air when asked to volunteer to share their work at the end – some standing on their chairs to read their poems to the class! Mr Davies enlightened the pupils with the idea that some of the best writing occurs when you surprise yourself with what you’ve created and this was certainly the case today.

Our enormous thanks to Mr Davies and Ms Boothman for their time and inspiration on this day of days in the Literary calendar!






You’re a solid and glossy antique desk

with every bit of stationery lined up perfectly.

You’re an avocado.

Fresh and zingy with chilli oil and salt crystals.

You’re a seaweed green range rover

cruising along the country roads of Wiltshire, bird spotting.

You’re a pair of rubbery clogs

just half a size too big with room for growth,

as clear as mud after a long and exhausting day in the weedless garden.

You’re a phoenix rising up from the ashes.

But for a chosen colour, green, like the pieces of clothing you wear

on a day out shooting with your terrorising dog.

You’re the perfect description of midday

because that is when you are you,

with a glass of wine

and a pair of binoculars in your hand.

You’re you.




Blue, like the depths of the sea.

Early, like the first morning sun.


A pounding dog that hasn’t seen their owner

As alert as a sparrow

Like the first taste of lemon

As quick to an answer as lightning


As ready as a motor bike, revving like a car engine   

The shorts on a great summer's day, always there when I need you, but never there when I want you.


Standing out like a skyscraper cutting through the clouds

Making yourself stand out from the crowd.

Pounding legs across the field, no sense of direction

The first thing into my head…..

The last and only one who gives me that sigh of relief.




You`re like a bright shouty pink that grabs your attention and shakes it by the scruff of the neck.

You like lunch. A lot. On guard under the table, lest a morsel of food should take an unfortunate plunge.

Like a mischievous Cocker Spaniel.

The resemblance is uncanny.

You shout for attention like a clingy parrot.

You look a small bit like a pear. Not fat, just chubby.

You’re like a bright sunshine, you make everyone happy.

You’re like a bouncy space hopper.

If you were an article of clothing you'd be a party hat.

If you were a landmark, you'd be a pheasant pen.




A Napoleonic Biting Monkey:

Attacking in the late morning;

Defending at early noon


You’re Raining sideways; Swooping across

like a hunting red kite;

Heating up to a tropical storm.


You’re howling: still a monkey

but now you’re plodding around

on your two orange feet.


You’re a purpley-orange. Although,

You’re wearing a grey tassel dress.

You’re not a superhero; you just walk.


You’re my Napoleonic Biting Monkey

You’re my tropical rainstorm

My grey, grass-fed plump young




Amber, like the break of day

An urgent alarm clock, trapped in the same word

As optimistic as a dog but as vindictive as a bear

A hawk with a beady eye, can’t wait for yourself or I

A good harvest, a ripe pomegranate

A radiant day, concealing me from the rain

A train, setting me towards my destination, never deviating

A pair of shorts, I’m the shirt, together we go, separated we don’t go

A painting of the world, my world

A super power, not for pain but for support

My home, My heart, that’s what you are.




An owl relaxing in Augustus’ blue sky,

A cat wired to a nonchalant alarm clock,

You’re Free at your own will,

Easy either way,

Enjoying your ride, unfocused on your destination


Halfway round the world,

In the Californian sun,

Further away from home than ever before.


You’re like an onion,

Many hidden layers,

Diverse and determined,

A millennial child, and now a man,

Leading, like a historical figure.




Midnight, still awake,

Waiting to pounce, watching.

Stubborn like a locked gate.

Pre-midnight blue hoodie,

Hung loosely on your body.

Rainy day, held in your bed,

Still unmade from the night before.

You are a leopard at home,

defensive and proud.


You’re a motorbike, on the road,

Headed nowhere in particular.

You have a brain full of facts,

A wardrobe full of hoodies

And a cup of tea in your hand.

I will always know where to find you,

Tucked up in bed.




You’re light blue like a sunny day without clouds.

You are like the sunrise, wanting to start the day.

You have super strength as strong as a gorilla, never, give up.

You are clever, he knows how to move like a hybrid car.

You are peaceful, like a grass field in the sunrise.




Parrot like, vibrant, loud and funny.

Full of energy still, on an early summer evening.

A grape, fun packed, into something small.

A suburban, creeping into city life.

Carefree, a baggy jumper a Mediterranean sea blue.

A plane ready for any adventure, flying into a clouded sun.




A dull grey like a plain sheet of metal.

A snake, seething and deceitful in your ways.

A defensive vulture,

the quiet part of the night you grow.

You are long trousers, always chafed at the heel.

Mostly sour, hardly ever sweet, like a lime not a strawberry.


Hardly ever sunny, mostly cloudy.

You never go quickly, you just take it slow.

You are a mystery, fields waiting to be uncovered.

You think you know it all, but really?

You may be stubborn, sometimes it helps.

But I will never learn understand you...




Black inky midnight,

Symbolic and proud,

Fierce like a lion.

Daring and ready, a motorbike on a radiant day,

Quite the opposite hypnotized by a screen when it’s bucketing down.

Different actions with your moods,

Reminds me of grey tracksuits.

When the days comes to an end, you roar, shake your mane,

Same routine.

Next day you awake, late murmuring. Not budging like a looked cage.

Never a pigeon but an eager vulture,

Swooping down to catch its pray.




Tall, almost crane-like , funny around a group.

Muscly, strong like a bull ,

quick and fearless.

Your power suits you like a sport,

Strength , super strength as strong as a herd of elephants.


Charging through a jungle then out,

A burst through into the semi-circular grassy surrounding,

Then the shot.




You’re a late, dark mysterious evening

a thieving mischievous magpie lurking in

the shadows, rushing like a train

like a proud landmark standing out

flashing, dashing as soft as

a new born baby as sly as a fox

but as equally as loyal.