Category: Hanga | Create

Here is another collaborative poem written by Room 8 following the events of Arlo and the Orca, this poem expresses our feelings about sadness, walking in the shoes of Arlo and his mother, from the book Arlo and the Orca written by Monique Walker.

 

Crying 

Cold tear dripping on your face 

Water and cold air 

Crying 

Tears running down your face

Like a cooled gust of wind

You are no one.

Tears dropping out of your eyes

Into the ocean

Salty tears

HuHuHu

You’ve had enough  

Crying salty tears and sweat

Bitter feeling of guilt, depression and regret

Sadness is blue, raining day, sadness is nothing but pain

Today we researched about groups that work for peace and justice. My group researched about Caritas.

A collaorative poem written by all of Room 8. This poem expresses our feelings about anger looking thorugh the eyes of Arlo and the ORca by Moniaque walker.

Anger feels like letting your rage out

A clenched fist 

Blood, salty sweat

Growling and yelling 

Rough and hot

Like a red face

Anger smells like danger

Like air

Shouting and screaming 

Painful and hurtful

Madness and crazing actions of destruction 

Like smoke

Burning cold

A fire raging and growing limitlessly

Anger is a emotion we want to show or not It starts when we get upset about something 

This week Monique and Stacey came to class and presented moniques book. We learnt that its ok to cry and that life can be moody, stormy with waves of emotion BUT to remember that the sun will always comeback and shine. Thank you for Monique for writing the book for us and Stacey for presenting Moniques book and did activites with us and last but not least the show case dance Jesse and Katheryn did for our Class.

 

Life is tapu (Sacred) we must look after it, in among us all we’re temples. This is a poster for a caring community to share the rights of a Child.

Created by Lupe, Ellma and Nikita.

 

 

 

   I will miss the classroom,

My Chaotic classmates,

My werid and unpredictable friends,

My kind and welcoming teachers,

The people who strive to do their best,

They’re definitley somthing,

I will miss the classroom and the people in this class, I will miss everything.

We make decisions according to our conscience. I have created an ordered process to help work through my decisions accordingi to my Christian values.

 

part 2.

 

We drove for a long time and then stopped at a beach. “Ahh” the smell of fresh air as the wind rushed through me. I thought we were going to fish or hangout when I saw a boat. It wasn’t what it seemed. Dad and mum were discussing something and had second thoughts of getting on or not because… 400 PEOPLE FROM OTHER BUSES WERE GOING TO GET ON A SMALL WOODEN BOAT! I didn’t really know what was going on, I was speechless and mind blown. How could 400 people think of getting onto the small Palapa, when the maximum is only 40. At the last minute we decided to go on, dad was worried if things would go sideways.The boat was going fine and then disaster happened. People praying and praying, panicking and crying hoping that we wouldn’t be stranded in the middle of nowhere. A few people created an S0S message on top of the boat in case helicopters passing notice the Palapa. The boat started breaking, there were too many people. I felt strangled in a crowd without air sweating like a monkey. It took a lot of waiting before Tampa, loaded  with containers saw our message, and made its way over to us. I thought I wasn’t gonna make it. I was scared to the point I felt I was going to vomit. The ship was tipping and cracking. We had no time to get our belongings and one by one got out of the small boat onto a ladder and into the container ship. I thought what a miracle! I’ve never seen my parents so worried. Had they made the wrong decision. We all made it out safe and then the boat broke into pieces and sank to the bottom of the Indian Ocean. I was sad as I saw my belongings sink, I quickly got down on my knees and bowed to pray with the rest of the people on the boat, grateful and thankful for our rescue.

Abbas was a young boy who was seven years old when he left Afghanishtan due to the tailan attacks and violence, this is his whole journy of esacaping. This is Part one.

Dear, Dairy 

I had woken up to noises of clothes rustling and footsteps, my mother slightly pushed me to be fully awake. “Up and pack your bag,” she says. I stood up tipping sideways as my energy levels switched on, I packed my clothes and a stuffed animal. Half awake I barely had my eyes open, I’m sleepwalking. An engine vrum vrum of a broken and simply old bus pulls up at my driveway peeking through the translucent window. Midnight when it’s chilly and humid both Dad and Mum throw on their jackets and head out the door with my siblings. I follow right behind, I throw on my bag and shut the door behind me. Who are these people I thought lining up by the bus, maybe it’s mum or dad’s relatives. I slept while on the bus dreaming of food, I was so hungry. The bus felt suffocated with so many people but I didn’t mind because I had my own little corner. 

We created roll of write poems as a class. Here is the poem my group created.

 

For R.E we looked at the role of a Parish Priest . To help our junior school understand the Priest role. My friends and I created some slides!!.