Schoolwork showcase - secondary poems

The cogs churn, the gears grind, and the machine roars.I feel their gaze upon my back, watching, unblinking.Steam hisses and wires twist through endless flowing floors.

Through the factory halls, completing thankless chores.Our Gods, and us, the workers, pawns unthinking.The cogs churn, the gears grind, and the machine roars.

The sound of metal rattles deep within its cores.We walk through the steel walls, our minds sinking.Steam hisses and wires twist through endless flowing floors.

Our silent agreement, condemned to wage eternal wars.Smoke billows from below and the fire keeps drinking.The cogs churn, the gears grind, and the machine roars.

Putridity, rot, disease. All ignored, yet forever and only yours.Our hunger, our greed, the system linking.Steam hisses and wires twist through endless flowing floors.

The trucks arrive, our labor transported to the stores.We are the factory. Our heart, its heat. Our flow, unshrinking.The cogs churn, the gears grind, and the machine roars.Steam hisses and wires twist through endless flowing floors.

Maximilian L. B. Age 16. Sotogrande International School

The clock is ticking relentlessly on the wall, I’m stuck inside a shaded room.I wait for the bell to finally call,And listen to the teacher, the machine.She tells us to sit still and learn the facts,To walk in straight lines and never be late.But my mind slips through the heavy cracks,Ignoring the rules.Outside, the wind starts to blow,Messing up the trees and the neat grass.I feel my own thoughts start to drift and flow,Escaping the walls of this quiet class.I am not a robot made of wires and code,I’m taking my brain down a different road.

Artin R. Age 14, Swans International School

The alarm screams,Coffee spillsLights burn brightMy head achesKeys click fast.Screen glaresE-mails pilesTime drags on.Voices shoutMachines hum.Clock tickI move like steel.Then the door closes ,Shoes dropThe air softensMy shoulders fallThe couch holds me;Blanket warmMusic humsPeace whisper lowTea steams gentlyBreath slows.Waves call softlyMy mind flows freeI stretch, I smileThe sun fades slow“I am alive “

Nicole A. G. Age 13, Sunny View School

My Brother and MeI’ll sometimes tell my brother he’s annoying,or that I hate him, without really knowing,that he makes my life feel impossible.

However, at the bottom of my heart,it’s quite the contrary,he turns the ordinary into something legendary.He’s the only one who will always be there,he makes me feel safe,and with him, life is easier.

He makes my life flow like a story,full of happiness, laughter, and glory.Even when I feel lost or stuck,he pushes me forward with gentle luck.

Like a machine that helps people cook,he makes me laugh when I feel miserable,and somehow makes me the best I can be.

Though sometimes we fight, or words get rough,our bond is unbreakable; we’re like a lock and a key,we can’t live without each other.

I might tease him, or make him mad,but he’s the best brother I’ve ever had.And I’ll love him perpetually, forever and ever.

Lucia F. M. Age 13, Sunny View School

When I sat there so stillWatching the glorious symphonies of colors painting the skyI saw the everlasting flow of the wavesCreep closer and closer towards meI embraced the atmosphere and took it all inYet it could not move meI attempted to feel the gentle grains of golden blossomsThat I clutched so tightly in my unconscious handsYet it could not move meI saw light bursting into a thousand refracting shadesUpon shooting itself at my crumbling skinYet it could not move meI felt my legs grow more numb and numbAs the tide grew to my waistYet it could not move meA moment of absolute blissA moment of absolute peaceA moment that so many never had the mere chance to witnessYet I was still so benumbedFor I am forever but a soulless machineAn empty husk of what once wasWatching the sun fade into the azure abyssSeeing my meaningless selfReflected in that starless skyNever knowing if I can find purpose once more

Lukas Bond, Age 16, Atlas American School of Malaga

Humanity’s Gift to EarthA small android is wandering around,In a vast forest where birds chirp so loudly.It looks to the sky as the clouds pass by,“Why am I alone, why oh why?”

It seems as though he would never find a soul,To fall in love with someone to make him whole.He holds deep resentment for the ones in control,He blames them all for his heart's throbbing hole.

“The humans did this!” he cries out in pain,He complains on and on, day after day,“Why do I live in solitude? How immoral are they?”“Are they sadistic creatures that feed off of one’s dismay?”

He yearns for a partner, but his creators hold the power,He is just a machine to be poked and prodded for hours.This is his sad truth, the hand he has been dealt,A miserable life, where affection can’t be felt.

Thus, the absence of love is then filled with hate,He now roams around in a ravaging state.Everything in his path he destroys with no restraint,The once magnificent forest has now turned to waste.

On his path of demolition, he discovers a river,A slow and gentle stream with clean and pure water.A substance free of sin and free of emotion,Envy overwhelms him, and he stands there frozen.

So he stares, and he sees a permanent solution,He could dive right in, in one smooth motion.End it once and for all so he can finally rest,He wonders if it's Hell where he’ll make his descent.

But he is mesmerised by the brilliant flow,His never-ending anger has now plateaued.He reaches enlightenment that opens up his mind,To the things he can accomplish, for he is now unconfined.

He could build his own pyramids, carve his own hieroglyphs.Raise his own little empire as high as the sky permits.He could nurture his own animals, plant his own vegetables,Develop his own ranch, that would surely be admirable.

But these were his last thoughts, for it was already too late,He splashes into the water, knowing only death awaits.“My circuits will soon fail, but I may never be at peace”The world turns black, the robot dies in the creek.

Hector, Year 9, English International College

Days are passing too slow for meBut when I look arounda whole month has passed.

Having everything I needBut watching others having even more -

I don’t want to be jealous,I don't want to be avariciousBut a building can’t stand without a foundation

No matter if I give the best of meWorking like a machineThe fuel I receive seems to be tainted.

I just want to continue my life peacefullyLike the flow of a mountain creekBut two creeks can form a river.

So I will continue my wayHoping I will find the diamond,A friend.

They're very rare, I knowBut if I would find one,I would make his* foundation unbreakable. *: or her, no matter.I promise

L. VK, Age 15, Almuñécar International School

Creating a sense of life,Feelings that go beyond heights.Music, movement, and lightThings that open a dancer’s sight.

Sometimes with power, sometimes with flow,Like a stable tree, eager to grow. As a dancer emotions can feel fast or slow,It all depends on the pace they show.

A dancing body but also a machine,Built out of effort and many things in between.No one sees the sacrifices and what the bruises mean,Just the final picture, sharp and serene.

Each step taken begins with the heart, Where commitment become pure art.The crowds see grace, that’s just the slightest part,The time and the work is where the beauty truly starts.

Countless hours of effort with no end,The sweat and strain that never pretend. Behind the shapes and lines the body will send,A journey of strength that has no bend.

The sacrifice and dedication is felt, not shown,In every muscle, every bone.Beyond applause, beyond the floor,Lies the unseen work that makes dancers soar.

Marlene O. Age 17, Sotogrande International School

I wish someone loved meas deeply as I love them.

Life feels loud now intense, tempting, comparative.Always watching what someone else posts, who they’re with,what they’re becoming.

But who am I to decide what’s right or wrong?Who am I to say these days are broken,when women wakestripped of their rights, when children fall asleep with hunger instead of dreams?

And still,we trade real feelingfor likes, for borrowed warmth,for something that vanishes the moment the screen goes dark.

The current of life slips past a quiet, relentless machineturning faces into profiles, smiles into emojis, grief into scrolling.

Yet here I am, aching for someoneto meet me in the quiet currents, in the small, breathing moments before the machine swallows us whole,before the flow pulls us too far to find each other again.

Kristiyana V. Age 15, Sotogrande International School

The snow keeps falling,I wonder if it will cushion my fall,I hope not.

The tears keep pouring,Is their flow the only warmth left in me?I hope so.

I’m about to let go,Will I regret it when I lose it all?I don’t care anymore.

My machine heart racing in my empty soul,And I jump off.

The wind cuts off any possible noise.Not that it matters, I don’t scream.I’m too tired of working, of breathing, of living in this void.Perpetual pain - the only thing I feel.

Ans as my body plunges to the floor,My empty face filled with relief and happiness,All after letting go.

The snow keeps falling,I wonder if it will cushion my fall,I hope not.

The tears keep pouring,Is the flow the only warmth left…

Carlota M. Age 14, Sunny View School

I feel like I’m trapped in my mind-Surrounded by walls of such sort.And time keeps on slipping behind;My vessel will not stop at port.

My brain’s like a programmed machine,One stop and I'll have broken down.This endless exhausting routine,And now I am starting to drown.

A labyrinth of echoes and thoughts;My cry is lost within the tide -But even as I yearn for rest,I fear there’s nothing left inside.

I’m empty, held in the hush,All brightness is fading to grey.Was once full of laughter and cries;But slowly it faded away.

I see at last, rest is not loss,A truth I can learn to allowI lay aside my heavy cross,And then I just let myself flow.

The weight on my shoulders is goneI rise as the chains fall beneathThe walls I had built choke no moreAnd finally, I can just breathe.

The gears in my head come to a halt,I'm free, now unbound from my pain;I have now got the keys to my vaultAnd believe me, freedom will rain.

Tatiana, Year 10, English International College

We don’t live forever. Yet we tryTo work like a machine so we can fitInto the smaller dress size. So we lieTo ourselves, because we’re ’fraid to admitThat what we’re chasing isn’t to live long,But to flow like the girls in songs: to bePretty, to be fun, be kind, to belong,To be so enchanting, they’ll all agree.

But then it goes too far. We reach the line,We’re more plastic than skin, but they don’t care.We don’t know when to stop. But then, the sign...A guardian angel saying, “Beware.Don’t change your hair, your body, or your heart;You’re perfectly you, like a piece of art.”

Shona B. Year 9, English International College

With flowing crystal watersAnd wild blooming flowersWith sandy blue beachesAnd juicy red peachesWith threshing machine threshingAnd fire embers smolderingWith pecan trees ripeningAnd song bird singingWhen the waters flowI loath to goAlthough I am farIn my heart your a starYour a crystal dome in a field of boneYou're my love, my life, and my home.

James, Age 15, Atlas American School

Life is so unexpected and this is true,One day it’s gray, the next it’s blueTo truly enjoy it, they say fake it,Smile every day, even if you hate it.

One day you’re friends with someone, everything is fineThe other day you find out they crossed the line.You didn’t know, you didn’t see,Now it’s not the same for them and me.

Flow with the vibe, that’s what they sayJust go along you’ll be okayBut it’s not easy, it’s not that slow,Sometimes you don’t know where to go.

When you stop playing, things all change,Growing up feels kind of strange.We’re growing and getting older too,Learning what’s fake and what is true.

It’s not that easy, life is not a dream,Nothing is as simple as it may seem.We don’t want to live like a machine,With no real feelings in between.

Machine just works, it doesn’t cry,It doesn’t care, it doesn’t try.It moves each day the same routine,Cold and quiet, like a machine.

But we are humans, we feel the pain,We lost some friends, so we tried again.So maybe don’t fake every glow,Maybe just learn how to flow.

keep production movingkeep the honey oozingkeep the outputs highfor the queen must satisfythe quota must be metthen a higher one we’ll set

honey is our greatest exportwe cannot afford to fall shortevery drop is tracked and weighed losses logged, mistakes displayed

our role is always chosen as fit so says the company writ wings in motion, never split productivity is our spirit

the queen defines our forward path her demand simply outpaces math forecasts shift at her decreegrowth is royal strategy

devotion proves itself in yield obedience is how we build every worker knows their roleevery hour takes its toll

wax is molded, cells aligned uniform in shape and mind buzz in rhythm, buzz on cue trust the process, it knows you

orders come from up abovepackaged neatly made with love loyalty is measured sweet excellence recorded, none to cheat

beware the wasp, the idle kindno craft, no yield, no ordered mind they take, they sting, they never build all noise, no wax, no honey filled

unlike the wasp, we generate they steal, disrupt, and agitate no surplus tracked, no system sound inefficiency with wings unbound

sweetness fuels the market’s trust meet demand because we mustsurplus signals healthy growthdoubt is breach of worker oath

Our teamwork powers the main machineProduction for us is always keenThe great hive works diligentlyAtop the grand maple tree

honey flows were ordered to deviation won’t get throughthe system works because it mustthe queen is right because we trust

Francisco, Age 15, Sage College

Social media,you manipulator of ideology,tricking us into a dangerous world,surrealism to follow,slowly stealing our reality.

Showing us how to be perfect,influencing our opinions,choosing our pathways,creating a crucial effect.

You are turning us into machines of your ideology,making us only see in white or black,right or wrong,success or failure.

Trying to resist you is an inner struggle, difficult to resist,too many of us have already fallen under your spell.

You have enough control over our lives,a too influential power,rising with every day,that needs to find an end.

But until then,we keep following you,following the flow of ideology,into an illusion of reality.Nike, Age 17, Sage College, Jerez

Right foot Left foot Left foot RightRhythmic steps that echo mightNot a pause and not a breakDeep footprints left in its wakeGreat machine thunders straight onNot a pause from dusk till dawnNo turns right and no turns leftIts worn legs already cleftThe final goal has been setA straight march to the inlet

Alongside the despondent speck of greyA river runs, shrouded in gentle moonlight,Having squeezed past the stern, imposing Mountains that had witnessed her birth,Having wandered lazily across the plains,Like a child playing during the summertime, She changes course sluggishly to embrace an island,And hikes through a lush forest, the Sun dancingMerrily on its water, gifting her a gold glittering ray, She leaps off of a mountain, as if to hug the Sun in gratitudeAnd crashes down to the ground gracefully, cleavingHer path to a vast expanse of opportunity asBirds stop to drink up some of the river’s freedom.

Although its march remains intactAnd for not a step has it slacked

Its footsteps are drowned out by rushing waterAs the Sea embraces her favourite daughter Although she meandered and took her time,Listening to the nightingales chirp and chimeShe still continued to flow steadily down her pathYet, unlike the robot, she looked around with a laugh.

John, Age 17, Swans International School

As seconds flow and the clock keeps ticking,My time is slowly running out. It’s no longer a minor mistake, it’s fatal,And thoughts are blinding my mind. I slowly get up and look out the window.Nothing but machines are seen.The sky is grey with clouds of smoke Each breath I take begins to choke I press my hand against the glass,And watch the silent people pass. The hustle grows, the room flows,As people, robots occupy. They are machines, just passing by. And as the ticking grows inside of me, I wonder,Am I the part of them or part of the unseen?Marharyta, Age 13, Swans International School