This short story about a marriage made me chuckle...

By LYN

Metaphor poems

Here is a selection from our LS1 students, aged just 10 to 12.  I’m astounded by the maturity of their writing, with phrases such as “My life is a tunnel, where there are dark moments”, or "My family are oceans, they swallow attackers up for me." Wow!

My Life

My life is a journey,

every day is a new place.

My life is a lesson,

where I learn as I grow.

My life is a party,

having fun and being happy.

My life is a tunnel,

where there are dark moments.

My life is an ocean,

with hard tasks.

My life is a jungle,

where there are dangers to face.

My life is a road,

with an end.

(Ng KT)

Family

My family are blankets,

they keep me warm when I’m cold.

My family are warriors,

they keep me safe all the time.

My family are mice,

they keep quiet when I’m ugly in my heart.

My family are homes,

they always welcome me back to their hugs.

My family are lights,

they guide me through the darkness.

My family are forests,

they’re camouflaged so that enemies won’t see me.

My family are oceans,

they swallow attackers up for me.

(Soh SS)

My Computer Poem

My computer is a computer,

but it is so much more.

My computer is an arcade,

where I can play games.

My computer is a dictionary,

where I can find information.

My computer is a cinema,

where I can watch a movie.

My computer is a map,

shows me how the earth looks.

My computer is a newspaper,

shows me what happened these days.

My computer is a friend,

it gives me a lot of benefits.

(Lim JX)

Unseen was the cottage........

Our senior writers were asked to set the scene for a horror story......

Unseen was the cottage shrouded by the intertwining branches of the twisted trees that surrounded it. The only colour that could be seen was a sickly green from the ivy that infested the walls. The windows seemed to silently observe those who dare come close, with the door semi-open, as if ever waiting for victims. An unsettingly pleasant smell emanated from it, like some form of perverse oxymoron. Darkness engulfed the inside. Silence prevailed through its long, rambling corridors. Brand new floorboards covered the bricks, as if hastily put to conceal something. Sometimes, one felt the eyes of another silently observing.   (AL)

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The cottage hid itself in the gloom as the trees shrouded it from view. Ivy creeped over and through the cracks in the wall, disguising its appearance. The pale windows followed from a distance, like piercing eyes, watching and waiting. A strange scent of woodsmoke lingered in the air.   (JL)

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Dark, leafy trees obscured the cottage, making it impossible to notice from the path. Strands of ivy choked crumbling stone walls with vigour, rendering its original colour unidentifiable. The house almost seemed sentient as the windows gazed at you with open hostility, while the doors were always opened in a leering smile.

The smell of woodsmoke and apples contradicted the cramped and claustrophobic conditions within the cottage, tiny squares of light the only source of illumination during the day.  With the exception of the crisp crackle of logs on the fire, or dying gasp of breeze in the chimney, it was deafeningly silent, deathly, even.

In a couple of rooms, new wooden floorboards had been laid for warmth, which had shrunk as they dried; and occasionally, your spine would tingle – it felt as if another presence had stepped where you were, bending it oh-ever-so slightly.   (YRW)

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The dark-lit cottage stood hidden from the rocky road, with leafless trees covering it. Ivy grasped the edge of the bone walls tightly, avoiding the walls of thorns. The gloomy windows shut tightly, while the door of fear was slowly opened.

Inside, the little dark house was covered with photos that were framed and hung. It smelt of woodsmoke and old dusty books and, when you crept in, little squares of moonlight fell through its dusty windows. It offered the old tick-tock sound, or sigh of wind in the gloomy chimney.   (JC)

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The cottage squatted behind the thick vegetation, hidden from the empty road. Vines consumed the cold stone wall, blinding it. The haunted windows stared blankly at any naïve enough to approach, while the door was curved in a sickening smile.

The once cozy house smelt of ash and the strange scent of fruit. Dim rays of light stumbled from the windows to the newly laid ground. All was silent aside from the menacing crackle of logs in the engulfing fire and the hollow moan of the wind in the chimney.

The floorboards creaked as they dried. You’d sometimes feel the presence of another standing on the same board you’re on, bending it ever so slightly.   (LZR)

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The cottage stood away from the road, hidden secretively by the surrounding trees. Ivy climbed the walls, making the colour of the original stonework look sickly black and green.  The windows glared coldly out to those who approached, while fear crept into the heart as the door opened with a lonely, creaking sound.

The abandoned house was cold and silent...When you walked in, only the clacking echo of your shoes came back to you. Sunlight came only from the corner of the dusty, tiny windows.  It offered no feeling until the fire crackled and the wheezy gust of wind dropped down the chimney with a low thump.     (EL - aged only 11!)

Welcome! and check out our old posts...

After a bit of an interlude, we're restarting our English Matters' blog - simply because our students are writing such good stuff that we just HAVE to post it!

For old posts, from October 2014 and earlier - check out the link here: http://englishmattersstudents.blogspot.my/

But for now, here's a new and fresh start!