Blind poetry

Sometimes the work our students produce really makes you stop and think. Grade 6 English students were recently asked to write a collaborative poem, but using an intriguing method – and with some very pleasing serendipitous outcomes.

In groups of 4, they used the image above as inspiration and, without collaborating each wrote two lines of the poem. After the first line was written by the first student, the paper was folded over and handed to the next student who then write their lines. Once each of the students had written two lines, we read the ‘poems’ out to the class.

These are the unedited results:

Group 1:

Fame can be advantageous.
Running with a fake smile upon my face. Clap clap!
Fans, fans all clapping their hands.
People screaming! Trying to block out the noise. 

But that is not all – fame can destroy lives.
I thought I was okay, but faking me made me vanish. 
Waiting in line to see your idol shine
People trying to grab me.

Group 2:

I was jealous because of the performer.
He was running with his hand stretched out. 
OUCH! Snap. Snap. Pic. Pic, they grabbed me. It hurt.
Fame. Fame. Fame.

The performer was trying to keep up with everyone’s autobiography papers.
He was so happy. A smile as wide as a whole.
It shines like a thousand spotlights but still burns. 
Fame. Fame. Fame. 

Group 3:

Clap, cheer, shout.
Famous, fashionable, fun. The life that all desire.
Fans cheering on, waiting for the fantastic, amazing super-star to get a high-five.
Clap, clap, clap, clap. 

I smile at them.
But the life of those beloved by the crowd is not glamorous. It is lonely.
High-five, high-five, high-five. Cheer, cheer, cheer.
Admiration. Fame. High-five.

Group 4:

As I see the crowd waiting, I walk out and a howl bursts out. Ah… Ah…. Ah
Hands sticking out like branches from a tree. 
Flashing lights and clicking from the cameras is all I can see.
Just as all of us, he is normal. But because he did something he gets more fame.
Walking past the empty sound. Shoes, Clicking.

I start my song and feel the glory.
Cheering and crying is all I can hear whilst I run with courage – nothing to fear.
They all just touch a normal person like us.
A trophy, a dollar, a like. At what cost?