So my friend was wondering if I could write a part two of The Orange Ball that the Mermaids Took, as she wanted to share it with her KS1 class and wondered what would happen next in the poem, perhaps on the girl’s next visit the mermaids would give her something in return… The young girl sat by her bedroom window,
Eyes watching the sea through the glass-
Trying to see the mermaids play with her ball,
Wondering if they’d play above water at all. She couldn’t wait when that
The young girl looked out at the ocean,
Eyes desperately scanning the waves,
Looking out for the contrast of orange on blue,
“Papa, I can’t see my orange ball… can you?” The father looked into the girl’s large brown eyes,
Sad with the loss of her ball,
He squinted and pointed far out into the sea,
“Yes, look: the mermaids took it, can you see?” “The mermaids watched us play, today.
They saw us kick it, throw it, bounce it and then roll it.
And they liked how our ball
Its shadow slipped over the land, temporarily painting the fields in black.
An almighty silhouette silenced the world with frozen awe, blocking out the sun as they searched above
For the thing that’s smothered their world into darkness,
Too untimely to be the night chasing away the glow of the sun. What is this thing, this platform above?
How does it glide so much higher than even the bravest of raptors?
What seems to be made of hulking stone scuds past without the slightest
The wind howled like a starving creature, forcing its way through the packed trees and stripping the drying leaves from the emptying branches. The world was getting colder, darker, and soon the night would be arriving, even though it was only early afternoon. This night brings with it that which was also dark and dangerous, and hunts in the darkness like death itself. The extra darkness gave them more time to reign, more time to prowl amongst the floor of the woods. One such
I thought it was about time to put up a part of a story. Not long ago I was haunted by an idea of a detective from the Victorian era. Not a brilliant and excitable sleuth such as Sherlock Holmes, but one a little more down to earth and run down by the horrors he had seen. As I’ve had a couple of days off, I thought it was about time to get this idea started: *** The turn of the dawn hailed the lamplighters to snuff out the dimming lantern flames, revealing a slow crack of pal