journey poems ks1

Writing Root Back to List

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Pippa mcgeoch.

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A writing root for journey.

KS: Lower KS2, R & KS1, Upper KS2

Year Group: Reception, Year 1, Year 2, Year 3, Year 4, Year 5, Year 6

Literary Theme: Coming together & community

Author(s): Aaron Becker

"The most fantastic way to launch the year: our whole primary school is excited to write."

Anna Chidzey, whole school, British International School Riyadh

• Description

Main Outcome(s):

Predictions, retellings in role, maps, posters, a travel diary, instructions and a story sequel.

10+ sessions, 2+ weeks

Overview and Outcomes:

This is a two-week Whole School Writing Root for Journey by Aaron Becker. The resource has been designed to be used by an entire school to foster a shared learning experience around one text and to engender written outcomes – some with the same audiences and purposes, some not – that are ‘at pitch’ for each phase/stage but that will also aid revision, catch-up and extension where (and in whichever form) needed. We have planned for activities at 3 stages: Reception with Year 1; Year 2 with Year 3 and then Year 4 to Year 6. The resource is intended to form the basis upon which schools and teachers can create and shape a sequence of learning that will work within their context.  The sessions could be added to with art activities and through further learning in PSHE, Science, Geography and History.

Synopsis of Text:

The winner of the prestigious Caldecott Honor, and described by the New York Times as 'a masterwork', Aaron Becker's stunning, wordless picture book debut about self-determination and unexpected friendship follows a little girl who draws a magic door on her bedroom wall. Through it she escapes into a world where wonder, adventure and danger abound. Red marker pen in hand, she creates a boat, a balloon and a flying carpet which carry her on a spectacular journey ... who knows where? When she is captured by a sinister emperor, only an act of tremendous courage and kindness can set her free. Can it also guide her home and to happiness? In this exquisitely illustrated book, an ordinary child is launched on an extraordinary, magical journey towards her greatest and most rewarding adventure of all...

Wordless, fantasy worlds, loneliness, companionship

A Writing Root for Pig the Pug

KS: R & KS1

Year Group: Year 1

A Writing Root for The Magic Bed

A Literary Leaf for Lost Species

KS: Lower KS2, R & KS1

Year Group: Year 2, Year 3

by Valerie Bloom

The River’s a wanderer, A nomad, a tramp, He doesn’t choose one place To set up his camp.

The River’s a winder, Through valley and hill He twists and he turns, He just cannot be still.

The River’s a hoarder, And he buries down deep Those little treasures That he wants to keep.

The River’s a baby, He gurgles and hums, And sounds like he’s happily Sucking his thumbs.

The River’s a singer, As he dances along, The countryside echoes The notes of his song.

The river’s a monster Hungry and vexed, He’s gobbled up trees And he’ll swallow you next.

Copyright: from Let Me Touch the Sky (Macmillan Children's Books, 2000), copyright © Valerie Bloom 2000, used by permission of the author

Valerie Bloom

Valerie Bloom was born in Jamaica, the oldest of nine children, and grew up in a small town surrounded by mountains.  She began writing ...

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An interview with valerie bloom.

For Valerie Bloom her conservatory is her study where she likes to grow poems. Join her ...

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KS1 Poetry: a selection of poetry for KS1 topics [Art, Buildings, etc.] Over 100 poems! ppt.

Subject: English

Age range: 5-7

Resource type: Other

Last updated

22 February 2018

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Spideronthefence

What a fantastic range of poems!! Thank you very much for sharing.

Thank you! You might also like this collection <br /> https://www.tes.com/teaching-resource/100-just-for-fun-ks1-poems-rhymes-and-limericks-12068648 <br />

Empty reply does not make any sense for the end user

A wonderful resource, thank you

Thank you for your kind review! If you like using poetry, I have another set called Just For Fun! Great in class!

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Alastair Humphreys

Living adventurously, ten great poems of journeys.

I usually take a book of poetry on my travels. You can re-read them, and they also make you think. Here are 10 of my favourite poems of journeys. I’mll put one up in full on the site each Sunday for the next 10 weeks.

– Ulysses: Alfred, Lord Tennyson – Sea-Fever: John Masefield – Poetry of Departures: Philip Larkin – The Bright Field: RS Thomas – To an English Friend in Africa: Ben Okri – High Flight: John Gillespie Magee – The Call of the Wild: Robert Service – Home from Abroad: Laurie Lee – Journey of the Magi: TS Eliot (I also love the Waste Land but do not profess to understand it at all!) – The Explorer: Rudyard Kipling

Have I missed your favourite poem? Have your say in the comments…

You might also like

Invictus by William Henley-carry it with me everywhere.

Alistair, surely you’ve forgotten the absolute classics: Aeneid and Iliad. They’re not in English and probably classed as epics, but great poetry nevertheless!

On a more serious note, I recently received a collection of Blake poems. Haven’t picked out a clear favourite, although ‘Memory’ stands out, but perhaps soon. In any case, it’s great descriptive and emotive poetry.

Ithaca by Constantine Cavafy

Two of my favorites: Wild Geese and The Journey, both from Mary Oliver.

I think W H Auden’s “O Where Are You Going” is an excellent fit to your Micro-Adventures book – don’t listen (too much) to the dark imagining of what might happen…

“O where are you going?” said reader to rider, “That valley is fatal when furnaces burn, Yonder’s the midden whose odors will madden, That gap is the grave where the tall return.”

“O do you imagine,” said fearer to farer, “That dusk will delay on your path to the pass, Your diligent looking discover the lacking Your footsteps feel from granite to grass?”

“O what was that bird,” said horror to hearer, “Did you see that shape in the twisted trees? Behind you swiftly the figure comes softly, The spot on your skin is a shocking disease?”

“Out of this house” ‚ said rider to reader, “Yours never will” ‚ said farer to fearer, “They’re looking for you” ‚ said hearer to horror, As he left them there, as he left them there. WH Auden

okay… one more : )

Sleeping in the Forest

I thought the earth remembered me, she took me back so tenderly, arranging her dark skirts, her pockets full of lichens and seeds. I slept as never before, a stone on the river bed, nothing between me and the white fire of the stars but my thoughts, and they floated light as moths among the branches of the perfect trees. All night I heard the small kingdoms breathing around me, the insects, and the birds who do their work in the darkness. All night I rose and fell, as if in water, grappling with a luminous doom. By morning I had vanished at least a dozen times into something better.

from Sleeping In The Forest by Mary Oliver © Mary Oliver

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7 classic poems to read with primary-school children

Reception: ‘Hurt No Living Thing’ by Christina Rossetti

A short, clear poem with a positive message about not harming anything, even creepy-crawlies! You could use the poem’s simple refrain (‘Nor…’) as a way of talking to your child about repetition.

Hurt No Living Thing

Hurt no living thing: Ladybird, nor butterfly, Nor moth with dusty wing, Nor cricket chirping cheerily, Nor grasshopper so light of leap, Nor dancing gnat, nor beetle fat, Nor harmless worms that creep.  

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Year 1: ‘Poor Old Lady’ by Anonymous

This is a poem that your child might recognise from the traditional children's song. As well as having a fun story, it offers a good way into discussing how poems are like songs and how they are different – how do the sounds in this poem create their own music?

Poor Old Lady

Poor old lady, she swallowed a fly. I don't know why she swallowed a fly. Poor old lady, I think she'll die.

Poor old lady, she swallowed a spider. It squirmed and wriggled and turned inside her. She swallowed the spider to catch the fly. I don't know why she swallowed a fly. Poor old lady, I think she'll die.

Poor old lady, she swallowed a bird. How absurd!   She swallowed a bird. She swallowed the bird to catch the spider, She swallowed the spider to catch the fly, I don't know why she swallowed a fly. Poor old lady, I think she'll die.

Poor old lady, she swallowed a cat. Thank of that!   She swallowed a cat. She swallowed the cat to catch the bird. She swallowed the bird to catch the spider. She swallowed the spider to catch the fly, I don't know why she swallowed a fly. Poor old lady, I think she'll die.

Poor old lady, she swallowed a dog. She went the whole hog when she swallowed the dog. She swallowed the dog to catch the cat, She swallowed the cat to catch the bird, She swallowed the bird to catch the spider. She swallowed the spider to catch the fly, I don't know why she swallowed a fly. Poor old lady, I think she'll die.

Poor old lady, she swallowed a cow. I don't know how she swallowed a cow. She swallowed the cow to catch the dog, She swallowed the dog to catch the cat, She swallowed the cat to catch the bird, She swallowed the bird to catch the spider, She swallowed the spider to catch the fly, I don't know why she swallowed a fly. Poor old lady, I think she'll die.

Poor old lady, she swallowed a horse. She died, of course.  

Year 2: ‘Pleasant Sounds’ by John Clare

A rich and vivid poem which you can use to get your child to think about different descriptions – how does John Clare bring all the various sounds he describes to life? You could also ask them to describe as many sounds from their daily lives as they can.

Pleasant Sounds

The rustling of leaves under the feet in woods and under hedges; The crumpling of cat-ice and snow down wood-rides, narrow lanes, and every street causeway; Rustling through a wood or rather rushing, while the wind halloos in the oak-toop like thunder; The rustle of birds’ wings startled from their nests or flying unseen into the bushes; The whizzing of larger birds overhead in a wood, such as crows, puddocks, buzzards; The trample of robins and woodlarks on the brown leaves, and the patter of squirrels on the green moss; The fall of an acorn on the ground, the pattering of nuts on the hazel branches as they fall from ripeness; The flirt of the groundlark’s wing from the stubbles- how sweet such pictures on dewy mornings, when the dew flashes from its brown feathers!  

Year 3: ‘The Pied Piper of Hamelin’ by Robert Browning

Again, your child might be familiar with this story, but it’s a good poem to read together and try to work out what is happening. You can talk about how Browning brings the narrative to life by appealing to all the senses, from sound (‘you should have heard the Hamelin people…’) to sight (‘the Mayor looked blue’) and by using rhyme (‘bustling / hustling / clattering / chattering’).

The Pied Piper of Hamelin (an extract)

You should have heard the Hamelin people  Ringing the bells till they rocked the steeple.  Go," cried the Mayor, “and get long poles!  Poke out the nests and block up the holes!  Consult with carpenters and builders  And leave in our town not even a trace  Of the rats!”-- when suddenly, up the face  Of the Piper perked in the market-place, With a, “First, if you please, my thousand guilders!”

A thousand guilders! The Mayor looked blue;  So did the Corporation too.  For council dinners made rare havoc  With Claret, Moselle, Vin-de-Grave, Hock;  And half the money would replenish  Their cellar’s biggest butt with Rhenish.  To pay this sum to a wandering fellow  With a gypsy coat of red and yellow!  “Beside," quoth the Mayor with a knowing wink,  “Our business was done at the river’s brink;  We saw with our eyes the vermin sink,  And what’s dead can’t come to life, I think.  So, friend, we’re not the folks to shrink  From the duty of giving you something for drink,  And a matter of money to put in your poke;  But as for the guilders, what we spoke  Of them, as you very well know, was in joke.  Beside, our losses have made us thrifty.  A thousand guilders! Come, take fifty!

The Piper’s face fell, and he cried, “No trifling! I can’t wait! Beside, I’ve promised to visit by dinnertime  Bagdad, and accept the prime  Of the Head-Cook’s pottage, all he’s rich in,  For having left, in the Caliph’s kitchen,  Of a nest of scorpions no survivor - With him I proved no bargain-driver,  With you, don’t think I’ll bate a stiver!  And folks who put me in a passion  May find me pipe to another fashion.”

“How?” cried the Mayor, “d’ye think I brook  Being worse treated than a Cook?  Insulted by a lazy ribald  With idle pipe and vesture piebald?  You threaten us, fellow? Do your worst,  Blow your pipe there till you burst!”

Once more he stept into the street 

And ere he blew three notes (such sweet  Soft notes as yet musician’s cunning 

Year 4: ‘What Are Heavy?’ By Christina Rossetti

This poem is a bit like a riddle, but it's straightforward enough to discuss together and work out why Christina Rossetti has paired things you can see with your own eyes (like ‘sea-sand’ and ‘the ocean’) with emotions (like ‘sorrow’ and ‘truth’). Primary-school children often write their own question-and-answer poems in class, so your child might look at a poem like this at school.

What Are Heavy?

What are heavy? Sea-sand and sorrow: What are brief? Today and tomorrow: What are frail? Spring blossoms and youth: What are deep? The ocean and truth.

Year 5: ‘The Tyger’ by William Blake

Blake’s poem is great to read aloud as a family (different people can read different verses) and gives plenty of scope for discussion. The descriptions are full of words that make you think of heat (‘burning’, ‘fire’, ‘furnace’). Do they remind your child of how a tiger’s markings look a bit like flames? 

Tyger Tyger, burning bright, In the forests of the night; What immortal hand or eye, Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies. Burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand, dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder, and what art, Could twist the sinews of thy heart? And when thy heart began to beat, What dread hand? and what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain, In what furnace was thy brain? What the anvil? what dread grasp, Dare its deadly terrors clasp!

When the stars threw down their spears And water'd heaven with their tears: Did he smile his work to see? Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tyger, Tyger burning bright, In the forests of the night: What immortal hand or eye, Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?  

Year 6: ‘The Fish’ by Elizabeth Bishop

This sensuous, descriptive poem should provide a bit more of a challenge for older children. You could focus on the similies and metaphors that Bishop uses (‘his brown skin hung in strips / like ancient wallpaper’, ‘flesh / packed in like feathers’….) and the effect they have as well as discussing the significance of the ending of the poem, the way the narrator lets the fish go again after catching it. 

I caught a tremendous fish and held him beside the boat half out of water, with my hook fast in a corner of his mouth. He didn’t fight. He hadn’t fought at all. He hung a grunting weight, battered and venerable and homely. Here and there his brown skin hung in strips like ancient wallpaper, and its pattern of darker brown was like wallpaper: shapes like full-blown roses stained and lost through age. He was speckled with barnacles, fine rosettes of lime, and infested with tiny white sea-lice, and underneath two or three rags of green weed hung down. While his gills were breathing in the terrible oxygen –  the frightening gills, fresh and crisp with blood, that can cut so badly  –   I thought of the coarse white flesh packed in like feathers, the big bones and the little bones, the dramatic reds and blacks of his shiny entrails, and the pink swim-bladder like a big peony. I looked into his eyes which were far larger than mine but shallower, and yellowed, the irises backed and packed with tarnished tinfoil seen through the lenses of old scratched isinglass. They shifted a little, but not to return my stare. –  It was more like the tipping of an object toward the light. I admired his sullen face, the mechanism of his jaw, and then I saw that from his lower lip  – if you could call it a lip  –   grim, wet, and weaponlike, hung five old pieces of fish-line, or four and a wire leader with the swivel still attached, with all their five big hooks grown firmly in his mouth. A green line, frayed at the end where he broke it, two heavier lines, and a fine black thread still crimped from the strain and snap when it broke and he got away. Like medals with their ribbons frayed and wavering, a five-haired beard of wisdom trailing from his aching jaw. I stared and stared and victory filled up the little rented boat, from the pool of bilge where oil had spread a rainbow around the rusted engine to the bailer rusted orange, the sun-cracked thwarts, the oarlocks on their strings, the gunnels  –  until everything was rainbow, rainbow, rainbow! And I let the fish go.

The Owl and the Pussycat: An Anthology of Poems That Every Child Should Read is edited by Helen Mort and published by Buster Books.

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Journey Poems

Journey poems from famous poets and best beautiful poems to feel good. Best journey poems ever written. Read all poems about journey.

BEST POEMS ABOUT JOURNEY

Ah Sunflower, weary of time, Who countest the steps of the sun; Seeking after that sweet golden clime Where the traveller's journey is done; ...

To and fro, to and fro In my little boat I go Sailing far across the sea All alone, just little me. ...

I have got my leave. Bid me farewell, my brothers! I bow to you all and take my departure. Here I give back the keys of my door ...

In love, nothing exists between heart and heart. Speech is born out of longing, True description from the real taste. The one who tastes, knows; ...

The time that my journey takes is long and the way of it long. I came out on the chariot of the first gleam of light, and pursued my voyage through the wildernesses of worlds leaving my track on many a star and planet. ...

Underneath the infinite sky, above the ovoid earth, anxiously, he began his journey, ...

Sick on my journey, only my dreams will wander these desolate moors ...

I shall die in Paris, in a rainstorm, On a day I already remember. I shall die in Paris- it does not bother me- Doubtless on a Thursday, like today, in autumn. ...

With ships the sea was sprinkled far and nigh, Like stars in heaven, and joyously it showed; Some lying fast at anchor in the road, Some veering up and down, one knew not why. ...

A golden sphere is lifting up so slowly in the east, The eye is looking towards it, and seeing such a feast, Blazing with bands of colour, and giving a wondrous heat, A view that to each observer, is something so complete. ...

From your hips down to your feet I want to make a long journey. ...

What should we have taken with us? We never could decide on that; or what to wear, or at what time of ...

If one could bridge the distance with a word, A journey would become a pilgrimage. Elegant letters slant across the page. My leaf has found a home upon your coat. ...

The gloom that breathes upon me with these airs Is like the drops which stike the traveller's brow Who knows not, darkling, if they bring him now Fresh storm, or be old rain the covert bears. ...

Life is a journey A journey of time Where a heart needs another To give it a shine ...

My poetry journey is nothing and nowhere to go Without leaving a word or two I need a companion along the way With you in my thoughts each day ...

'Attar began The Conference of the Birds (Mantiq al-tair) with an invocation praising the holy Creator in which he suggested that one must live a hundred lives to know oneself; but you must know God by the deity, not by yourself, for God opens the way, not human wisdom. 'Attar believed that God is beyond all human knowledge. The soul will manifest itself when the body is laid aside. One cannot gain spiritual knowledge without dying to all things. When the birds assemble, they wonder why they have no king. The Hoopoe presents herself as a messenger from the invisible world with knowledge of God and the secrets of creation. She recommends Simurgh as their true king, saying that one of his feathers fell on China. The Nightingale says that the love of the Rose satisfies him, and the journey is beyond his strength; but the Hoopoe warns against being a slave of passing love that interferes with seeking self-perfection. The Parrot longs for immortality, and the Hoopoe encourages the Peacock to choose the whole. The Duck is too content with water to seek the Simurgh. The Hoopoe advises the Partridge that gems are just colored stones and that love of them hardens the heart; she should seek the real jewel of sound quality. The Humay is distracted by ambition, and the Owl loves only the treasure he has found. The Hoopoe reprimands the Sparrow for taking pride in humility and recommends struggling bravely with oneself. She states that the different birds are just shadows of the Simurgh. If they succeed, they will not be God; but they will be immersed in God. If they look in their hearts, they will see the divine image. All appearances are just the shadow of the Simurgh. Those loving truly do not think about their own lives and sacrifice their desires. Those grounded in love renounce faith and religion as well as unbelief. One must hear with the ear of the mind and the heart. ...

I will not cry for satisfaction if I could get my choice, Among the divine beautiful virgins of heaven, I want only you. ...

Twenty-four years remind the tears of my eyes. (Bury the dead for fear that they walk to the grave in labour.) In the groin of the natural doorway I crouched like a tailor Sewing a shroud for a journey ...

Gold vessels of fine wines, thousands a gallon, Jade dishes of rare meats, costing more thousands, ...

NEW POEMS ABOUT JOURNEY

In the mirror of my mind, I see a reflection, A soul searching for love and affection, A heart that's fragile, a spirit that's torn, A journey of self-discovery, waiting to be born. ...

Life is but a journey The road gets tough Everything becomes rough Still we push through ...

The inward journey of the Divine Feminine is one of self-discovery and empowerment. The inward journey of the Divine Feminine is one of transformation. ...

Yeah, here I go, diving deep within If I chased the horizon Would I find my peace? ...

Life, a journey of mystery, A path lined with twists and turns, A tale to be woven with history, And lessons to be learned. ...

Is it a dream or illusion or reality I have travelled that I remember now? It is a halt I have made to make a sigh of relief before I continue my journey; How long I have to go I don't know as it is fate that decides everyone's journey; My duty is only to continue journey I have to say as my destiny will be known then! ...

Life is a mysterious journey! Every journey has beginning and end... ...but the journey of life has no beginning and no end! Behold! Life's journey is cyclical! ...

From the moment we are born we begin our journey down the river of time…it's the same river everyone travels…it's where all our journey's blend…however…we don't control how long we'll be on the river…or when our journey ends. We are floating solo…on the river of time there is no boat… what determines the type of journey we will have is how we choose to float ...

Life is a journey, the journey is a reward, enjoy the trip Move in slowly, enjoying every ...

O journey! 'O journey! Where are you going? Why are you so blowing? So strange are you, From place to place, sometimes in a queue. ...

Writing a poem is not about bringing some words together to create some charming sentences. It's so much deeper than that. Writing poetry is a bridge that allows people to express their feelings and make others live every single word they read. Poetry is to educate people, to lead them away from hate to love, from violence to mercy and pity. Writing poetry is to help this community better understand life and live it more passionately. PoemHunter.com contains an enormous number of famous poems from all over the world, by both classical and modern poets. You can read as many as you want, and also submit your own poems to share your writings with all our poets, members, and visitors.

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