Our wonderful Artist in Residence, Martin McParland is currently showing his work in The Higher Bridges Gallery, The Clinton Centre, Enniskillen. Marty works with our A level students, extending the scope of their work and challenging the range of their techniques. Lets hope his work is shown more locally soon. His exhibition is entitled:
ANALOGUE
WAKE WALK MEET GREET LEAVE
ARRIVE AVOID DISRUPT DISAGREE
FREQUENT LEAVE FIRST-TIME NEVER AGAIN
CLIMB SIT GUEST VISDTA PANORAMIC
MAJESTIC MANIA QUELL
TOUCH BEGIN BEATH RESPECT HATE
RESOLVE AVAIL WHY ASPIRE IN
GO LATE BLUE GREEN END LOVE
FEAR
SLEEP
Sunday, 22 April 2007
Saturday, 7 April 2007
More Poems
These poems come from a collection of poems written by our student to send to students at our new partner school in Kenya.
Happiness
I'm like a gleeful elephant
flopping along in a lake.
I'm like a cup of hot chocolate
spilling over the brim.
I'm like a newborn baby
ready to explore life.
I'm like a million years
of a lifetime.
by Nina
Rugby
Don't run backwards,
don't pass forwards,
do the donkey work,
score a try,
pass the ball,
kick the ball for posts,
forwards ruck.
Backs run,
run to the corner flag,
win the league,
win the cup.
Another in the bag.
by John
Learning to Fly
Stand
and reach your arms out wide.
Just close your eyes
and let go.
by Alexandra
Amaryllis: Freaky Moment
Elegant ballet dancer
floating on air,
long thin stems,
legs dancing,
head-petals
moving gently
with the soft sound of flutes.
by Perrine
Sectarianism
People fighting,
people killed -
no-one is safe.
Hatred over religion...
are these people even religious?
What can be done
when the people with power
are too overwhelmed?
Money can only do so much.
The don't know what's happening
until it's written on paper.
But I know,
I've seen it,
it's all around.
No-one understands anyone else
because they don't even try.
What is unknown doesn't have to be wrong...
but they don't have time to find out.
Belief is just another reason to hate.
Children raised as bigots
grow up to murder those who aren't like them.
by Aisling
Rain in the Mourne Mountains
Black clouds shadowing the tall mountains
hiding the cairn
to which many climbers have added stones.
Mist slowing creeping in
to block out any hope of sunshine.
Cold winds whistling
through the empty playground.
Watching from the window
as our field drowns
in an everlasting shower of tears.
Bashing the puddles in the air
the downpour hits it, full speed.
Running outside as the rain
bounces off the ground beneath us,
dashing through the puddles,
rain pouring down our faces.
Black sky above
and below -
sticky clothes glued to our moist skin.
At home, a bubbly bath just waiting.
by Emily and Joanne.
The Cow
The cow's as big as a dinosaur.
It's just grass and hay.
Black and white spots like a chessboard,
head the weight of a hippo's.
by Sean.
Unpredictable Irish Weather
On the way to school it drizzles.
Everything's so damp.
Walking home it's sunlit,
dispersing all the rain.
In the evening
dark clouds roll in,
followed by lightning
illuminating the sky.
Wake up in the morning
to sunbeams shining in the window
glowing up the room.
what will this new day convey?
by Fionnuala
A Divided Ireland
Broken from our mainland.
cut in two,
north and south
under different rule.
I feel so confused.
Who am I?
where am I from?
Ireland? Britain?
How's this country run?
by Fionnuala
Acting the Other Sort in a Divided Ireland
When going into the "wrong area"
you keep your head down,
and don't say a word.
If someone stops to ask questions
you mask your identity
to stay out of harm's way.
If eyebrows are raised and eyes glare,
and if the mystery unfolds,
you lie through your teeth
and act like "the other sort"
for the day.
by Alexandra
Typical and Unpredictable
Stratus clouds overcast the sky,
above the mountains and sea,
building up quite a storm.
Sun trying to break through,
billowing waves crash against rocks,
lightening collecting in the sky,
followed by subdued thunder,
drizzle pattering down like water
from a loose tap.
Obscure cloud taking over.
Drizzle altering to dense rain.
by Natalie
My Secret Garden
It's my place to escape -
escape from my thundering troubles.
The breeze calms my nreves,
is pleasing to my eyes.
The grass has never been cut.
butterflies fly high over my face.
The bird's next has never been invaded.
Baby buttercups sway with grace
Ladybirds creep over my skin,
while I lie there dreaming.
I don't want to go now.
My dream hasn't ended.
I'll stay for another few hours
letting my hair wisp in the air,
skimming stones through the pond,
watching the ripples in the water.
by Suzannah
The Weather
Here in Northern Ireland,
the wind blows cold,
the rain falls heavy,
every day the temperature falls a degree.
In your country
you have scorching sun
and the wind blows hot,
but you also have massive droughts.
Whilst we pray for heat
you beg for rain.
We want the sun
but you want the cloud.
We want your weather.
You need ours.
by Ben
Muddy
It covers our trousers,
and sticks to your shoes.
Clothes in the wash,
trainers thrown in the corner.
Mud caked on in the morning,
impossible to remove.
Dirt sodden from the boggy ground,
rain and soil.
What an awful mess.
You walk through the house
leaving a train of grubby tracks.
by Stephanie
Happiness
I'm like a gleeful elephant
flopping along in a lake.
I'm like a cup of hot chocolate
spilling over the brim.
I'm like a newborn baby
ready to explore life.
I'm like a million years
of a lifetime.
by Nina
Rugby
Don't run backwards,
don't pass forwards,
do the donkey work,
score a try,
pass the ball,
kick the ball for posts,
forwards ruck.
Backs run,
run to the corner flag,
win the league,
win the cup.
Another in the bag.
by John
Learning to Fly
Stand
and reach your arms out wide.
Just close your eyes
and let go.
by Alexandra
Amaryllis: Freaky Moment
Elegant ballet dancer
floating on air,
long thin stems,
legs dancing,
head-petals
moving gently
with the soft sound of flutes.
by Perrine
Sectarianism
People fighting,
people killed -
no-one is safe.
Hatred over religion...
are these people even religious?
What can be done
when the people with power
are too overwhelmed?
Money can only do so much.
The don't know what's happening
until it's written on paper.
But I know,
I've seen it,
it's all around.
No-one understands anyone else
because they don't even try.
What is unknown doesn't have to be wrong...
but they don't have time to find out.
Belief is just another reason to hate.
Children raised as bigots
grow up to murder those who aren't like them.
by Aisling
Rain in the Mourne Mountains
Black clouds shadowing the tall mountains
hiding the cairn
to which many climbers have added stones.
Mist slowing creeping in
to block out any hope of sunshine.
Cold winds whistling
through the empty playground.
Watching from the window
as our field drowns
in an everlasting shower of tears.
Bashing the puddles in the air
the downpour hits it, full speed.
Running outside as the rain
bounces off the ground beneath us,
dashing through the puddles,
rain pouring down our faces.
Black sky above
and below -
sticky clothes glued to our moist skin.
At home, a bubbly bath just waiting.
by Emily and Joanne.
The Cow
The cow's as big as a dinosaur.
It's just grass and hay.
Black and white spots like a chessboard,
head the weight of a hippo's.
by Sean.
Unpredictable Irish Weather
On the way to school it drizzles.
Everything's so damp.
Walking home it's sunlit,
dispersing all the rain.
In the evening
dark clouds roll in,
followed by lightning
illuminating the sky.
Wake up in the morning
to sunbeams shining in the window
glowing up the room.
what will this new day convey?
by Fionnuala
A Divided Ireland
Broken from our mainland.
cut in two,
north and south
under different rule.
I feel so confused.
Who am I?
where am I from?
Ireland? Britain?
How's this country run?
by Fionnuala
Acting the Other Sort in a Divided Ireland
When going into the "wrong area"
you keep your head down,
and don't say a word.
If someone stops to ask questions
you mask your identity
to stay out of harm's way.
If eyebrows are raised and eyes glare,
and if the mystery unfolds,
you lie through your teeth
and act like "the other sort"
for the day.
by Alexandra
Typical and Unpredictable
Stratus clouds overcast the sky,
above the mountains and sea,
building up quite a storm.
Sun trying to break through,
billowing waves crash against rocks,
lightening collecting in the sky,
followed by subdued thunder,
drizzle pattering down like water
from a loose tap.
Obscure cloud taking over.
Drizzle altering to dense rain.
by Natalie
My Secret Garden
It's my place to escape -
escape from my thundering troubles.
The breeze calms my nreves,
is pleasing to my eyes.
The grass has never been cut.
butterflies fly high over my face.
The bird's next has never been invaded.
Baby buttercups sway with grace
Ladybirds creep over my skin,
while I lie there dreaming.
I don't want to go now.
My dream hasn't ended.
I'll stay for another few hours
letting my hair wisp in the air,
skimming stones through the pond,
watching the ripples in the water.
by Suzannah
The Weather
Here in Northern Ireland,
the wind blows cold,
the rain falls heavy,
every day the temperature falls a degree.
In your country
you have scorching sun
and the wind blows hot,
but you also have massive droughts.
Whilst we pray for heat
you beg for rain.
We want the sun
but you want the cloud.
We want your weather.
You need ours.
by Ben
Muddy
It covers our trousers,
and sticks to your shoes.
Clothes in the wash,
trainers thrown in the corner.
Mud caked on in the morning,
impossible to remove.
Dirt sodden from the boggy ground,
rain and soil.
What an awful mess.
You walk through the house
leaving a train of grubby tracks.
by Stephanie
Prize-winning Poem
For our opening post, we have chosen the poem by our Head of English, Grainne Tobin. We were delighted when Grainne won the Mourne Observer Poetry Prize in January 2007.
Migrant
Tell me a really story. Tell me what it was like
when you were small, which way you walked to school,
the garden where you tried to dig to the other side of the world,
your uncle's rows of leafy plants to eat,
the orchard tree you climbed to hide,
the old lady waving from the window, the bags of coloured sweets
and the house you were told you'd inherit.
Apricots and lemons.
If you go there, pick some for me.
Tirhogar, spelga, Qatamon.
The names are spells.
Whe you shovelled soil aside with your scaled-down spade,
did you know you'd come out where you are now?
That your children would save cereal boxes
to reconstruct your home in sticky-tape and cardboard?
Tell me what happened. Exactly.
Migrant
Tell me a really story. Tell me what it was like
when you were small, which way you walked to school,
the garden where you tried to dig to the other side of the world,
your uncle's rows of leafy plants to eat,
the orchard tree you climbed to hide,
the old lady waving from the window, the bags of coloured sweets
and the house you were told you'd inherit.
Apricots and lemons.
If you go there, pick some for me.
Tirhogar, spelga, Qatamon.
The names are spells.
Whe you shovelled soil aside with your scaled-down spade,
did you know you'd come out where you are now?
That your children would save cereal boxes
to reconstruct your home in sticky-tape and cardboard?
Tell me what happened. Exactly.
Friday, 6 April 2007
Create
This new blog will provide a showcase for creativity: poems; songs; stories; dances; drawings; lists, which are the only things I'm likely to create.
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