If our class was a vehicle, what vehicle would we be?
- Room 8 is a tow truck, helping everyone along.
- Room 8 is a rocket ship, blasting every challenge.
- Room 8 is a bus speeding out of control, kids screaming in the back!
- Room 8 is a drift car, drifting around every obstacle it sees.
- Room 8 is a convertible - you have to take the roof off to see what is inside.
- Room 8 is a plane soaring through the sky, doing barrel rolls and loop 'd loops.
- Room 8 is a row boat, all helping paddle to our destination.
- Room 8 is a fast car, running to their lunch boxes.
- Room 8 is a plane waiting to hit the ground.
If our class was a sandwich, what kind of sandwich would we be?
- Room 8 is a sandwich crumbling and overflowing with all sorts of goodies.
- Room 8 is sandwich with many different layers, small and big.
- Room 8 is a chicken sandwich, slowly getting things added and becoming more delicious.
- Room 8 is a sandwich with lots of different fillings; some are sour, some are bitter, some are cheesy and some are sweet!
The students chose metaphors to put on their SchoolKit card and decorated them.
Next was our "Found Poem". We got some old books from the Student Centre and rescued them from being thrown out. After gluing pages together in clumps of 5-6, students read through a page and circled words and phrases that interested them. This was to make a "Found Poem". The words were then circles in black and background pictures to go with the theme were added. Some of the poems were pretty amazing!!
Here are some poems written today:
the track had been mended
travelling carriage roofs, so crowded
room to stretch
truck, stove, fire, warm
underneath the weathered old cottage
the fields that were alive
the bright sun came up out of the sea
have a good drink of water
The first light of the morning sun
through leafy treetops
She wasn't far enough
Fort Duquesne, Marsh Creek
the forts were built for military defense
cut off all the hair
sharp flint stone
flames, spraying in fragments,
in thousands of pieces
in a storm of fire,
the sky aflame,
smother him in clouds of fire,
sixty miles an hour; swirling fire and smoke
heat, fearful heat
air he breathed.
Instantly he lost the line,
I look forward to seeing more of these free-verse poems written!