Child’s War

Where have you put it

My joy and my fun?

Where have you put it?

What have you done?


How about peace?

Have you ever tried that?

Why don’t you do it

Instead of attack?


My brothers and sisters

All are now dead

While you and your enemy

Were both firing lead.


You and your enemy

You and your trouble

Turned my life to a nightmare

And my house to rubble.


I’m awake in this nightmare

Of blood and of terror,

And I will not forget it

Not now and not ever.



Cardboard House

I dream of a place,

Where I can travel the world,

Sit in all four corners of the globe,

And whizz over all seven continents.


I get up from a cardboard bed,

In a cardboard room,

In a cardboard house,

I walk over to a cardboard cupboard,

And stare hopefully at its forever emptiness,

The hope died years ago.


I walk into a patchwork field,

And sigh at the unreality,

No green just red,

The reality died years ago.


I trek over plastic bottles,

Plastic bags,

And plastic sheets,

None of it means anything anymore,

The meaning died years ago.


My foot scuffs,

On a copper coin,

I stare at it,

I can’t get excited,

My excitement died years ago.


I snaffle half a hamburger,

From a newly dumped load,

The words on the box blur,

I don’t care anymore,

The care died years ago.


In amongst the mush,

Rusty metal cuts against my foot,

Be infected by morning,

I pocket it thoughtlessly,

The thought died years ago.


I sold my pocketful of treasures,

Clamping the money in my fist,

I didn’t argue at the unfair price,

That would mean spirit,

The spirit died years ago.


I went back to my cardboard house,

In my cardboard room,

In my cardboard bed,

And take in the unhomeliness,

My real home died years ago.


I dream of a place,

Where I can travel the world,

Sit in all four corners of the globe,

And whizz over all seven continents.


By Lyra


“You look weird”

He said

“You sound weird

You act weird

You eat weird”


“Your hair’s weird”

She said

“Your eyes are weird

Your mouth is weird

Your clothes are weird”

She said


“You smell different”

I said

“You walk different

You speak different”

I said

“And I like it”


“We’re all different”

I said

“our appearances

Our preferences

Are all different,

But its unique

Not weird”

By Tess


The sun beats on this

piece of ferocious wasteland.

melting, abandoned

plastic bags, discarded

by Donald Trump,

casting shadows over

disposable pret


mocking the brand,

newly wrapped meat

rotting into the


the scaring smell

of toxic fumes

burn your nostrils,

the unused,

unforgivably unused

plastic bags

killing the ocean,

the deafening screech

Of tin scars your



I can feel the rotten

peelings of orange,

sinking my

feet deeper like

quick sand,

the putrifying stench


dump gases slowly


plastic is

scarring are


we can help,

help it,

not one not two but all of us!

By Martha