Lucas Lycan

Lucas Lycan is A Werewolf who has the strength of 76 men. he has pitch black fur yellow teeth and dark blue eyes.He is Tall (7ft2 to be precise). he has claws measuring upto 6cm! he has 3cm ears so he can hear a threat from afar.He has sharp senses and cand get sense movement fear and heat from his targets but they're only things he uses when he wants to intimidate his enemy.He can see perfectly fine and can see for 2 miles!His teeth are as sharp as sharp knives once he bites you the pain is immense it would feel like 7 knives being plunged into your flesh,once he has you there's no escape.His claws are like acid once he scratches you it immediatley burns your skin.This is one person you do not want to mock...                                                                                       

A story

One day i was out with my friends, but then all of a sudden the skies turned dark and rain began pouring down. Then we decided the best thing to do would be to go into one of our houses 'till the rain stopped. Then when we came back out there was a really awesome rainbow outside and we carried on with our game of football.

Funny... But Not By Saha Julia

Funny... But Not

I didn't write this poem, but think its AWESOME! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !

Its funny how hello is always followed with goodbye,
Its funny how good memories can make you want to cry,
Its funny how forever never seems to last,
Its funny how much you'd loose if you forgot about your past,
Its funny how 'friends' can just leave you when you're down,
Its funny how when you need someone they're never around,
Its funny how people change and think they're so much better,
Its funny how many lies are packed into one 'love letter'
Its funny how people forgive, even though they can't forget,
Its funny how one night can contain so much regret,
Its funny how ironic life turns out to be,
But the funniest thig of all is...
...none of that's funny to me.

Sasha Julia

 

 

My Animal Poem... Again by...Marge Simpson

Animal Poem

That is me

I am a tiger running free
Orange, White and Black
I hunt for my praise
Waking up from a deep dark daze

My colours shine bright
My eyes glow at night
I stand at my hill proud
Roaring like a king ever so loud

I love to sleep
And roam in the deep
I sprint rather fast
You wouldn’t even know I had past.

Marge Simpson


I chose this poem because it show the poets point of view of a tiger

My poem before the 19th century by Alfred Edward Housman

Be Still, My Soul, Be Still

Be still, my soul, be still; the arms you bear are brittle,
Earth and high heaven are fixt of old and founded strong.
Think rather,-- call to thought, if now you grieve a little,
The days when we had rest, O soul, for they were long. 

Men loved unkindness then, but lightless in the quarry
I slept and saw not; tears fell down, I did not mourn;
Sweat ran and blood sprang out and I was never sorry:
Then it was well with me, in days ere I was born. 

Now, and I muse for why and never find the reason,
I pace the earth, and drink the air, and feel the sun. 
Be still, be still, my soul; it is but for a season:
Let us endure an hour and see injustice done.

Ay, look: high heaven and earth ail from the prime foundation;
All thoughts to rive the heart are here, and all are vain: 
Horror and scorn and hate and fear and indignation--
Oh why did I awake? when shall I sleep again? 

Alfred Edward Housman

I chose this poem because it sounds like the 1900's with the language the poet uses.

My Ballad Poem By Joe Fazio

I Hear Voices...

And from the graves, where names were carved in
stone, came a mournful Ballad, of life gone by.

A Ballad sang by mothers, whose children left behind,
and left to sing their ballads, of tears that did remain.

And what of Fathers Ballad, whose job was not complete,
who died and sang his song, of things that could not be.

In a smaller voices, still weeping and confused, the children
sang their Ballad, of parents never knew.

And in some far off place, a Ballad did come fourth, of all
the deaths that happened, that wasn't meant to be.

A soldiers painful Ballad, did seemed so unjust, of the
war that finally killed him, in a land he never knew.

The Ballad, of unknown, thou human, none the less,
were buried here alone, with not a one to care.

In the quiet of a cemetery morn, the Ballad of
the dead, echoes silently across green grass,
and through the granite stones.

It makes one wonder, about the Ballad of the dead,
and what will be our song...when we are finally gone

I chose this poem because the poet repeats the word ballad and the poem is easy to understand.

My Animal Poem By Richard Belis

hunter

the hunter,
has the gun in his cold hands,
The hunter waits for his prey,
The hunter wants to kill a harmless animal,
for what the fun? for the sport, 
I don't know,
But when the animal knows its being hunted,
it freezes on the spot,
it sweats and can't move its head,
so stiff and afraid,
and he knows one shot and his whole life is done,
so why, why kill a harmless animal,
It only loves and is beautiful,
just think if you were that animal,
how would it feel knowing,
you might just die tomorrow.... 

richard belis

I chose this poem because it shows how the poet feels about poaching hunting and animal cruelty.