Poetry: Until we meet again

During their last day in school, before Royal High School moved to guided home learning, the students of 8K wrote a poem called: Until we meet again. We had 10 students joining us from home and 10 in the classroom. We connected on Microsoft Teams, using the chat and video functions (so the students at home could ask and answer questions), and then the students used a shared Padlet to begin a wall of memories. We then turned these memories into free verse stanzas, thinking about how form can shape poetic meaning.


Until we meet again

I will miss the early morning,

squeezing squishing squashing

through the sports-hall crowd

to find my friends.


I will miss the blackcurrant wall

waving its tiny sprouting leaves in the wind.

I will miss the birds

- flying high -

above that little wall

twittering and tweeting in a sky high game of tag.


I will miss the lunch-hall laughter with

pasta and bread and jelly.

I will miss the break-time cookies:

round and


chocolatey and


melting in the mouth.


I will miss the register in


We all know Alfie gets it wrong.

Miss goes: 1. 2. 3.

Alfie says: 1 or me.

We all laugh every time.


I will miss being so valued.

Here they want me to blossom,

like a flower on a summer day,

each petal a new subject:

Geography then Physics, Art and Maths.

I can now use large machines and bake a Swiss roll,

I can act in plays and play the flute.


I will miss the

game of pigeon!

Adrenaline rushing from seat to seat,

Charging against a feathered enemy,

Waddling across the hall,

till finally with the end in reach,

eyes fixed on the empty seat,

exhausted pigeon

is replaced.


I will miss running and racing

slipping and sliding,

down the embankment,

to find our stash,

of secret items.

I will miss the smell of the chemicals,

the magic of the photo,

kneeling on the cold hard ground,

to focus the negative.


I will miss the

time when I stop and think,

in class or in the hall

about my life, my world, the people with me,

the voices around me.


I will miss

walking up the red stairs,

searching for my lunch buddies;

the friends who always have my back.


I will miss the bell ring,

When all hell breaks loose –

A herd of hungry horses.

The roaring voices.

The ringing voices.

The stampede of students,

rushing, rushing, running


I will miss my friends

pulling me out of the sharp metal fence

I fell in by the sports hall.

(I shouldn’t have been running).


I will miss the sweet

sound of the chaos, the

smell of the Steinway pianos waiting,

waiting silently.

I will miss the bitter smell of coffee and cake,

lightening my mood,

a teacher jumping and skipping with glee.


But we will return to

the pigeons and pianos

our smiling friends

their friendly smiles

the laughter in the room

our moments

our learning

our school.


We will return to

the memory-making

and remember the memories.


We will return to

this space

this place.


We will return.