We are very lucky to have some bullying poems shared with us by Gail Robertson from Perth and Kinross Council from the creative talents of three S2 pupils – Jordan Duff, Brogan Riley and Ricki-Lee Given. They took some inspiration from “The Boy Without a Name” by Allan Ahlberg. Have a read through the three poems and let us know what you think in the comments.
Bullying Poem Number One:
I remember that I was alone
The with no name
My life with other was lame
The boy with no name
I was friendless; people said I had a haunting face
My raw flesh, cracked and a scar that would never go away
People say I played near bins and handled eggshells
Everyone says that how I got eczema
It’s not my fault
I am this way, all I want was a friend
Bullying Poem Number Two:
Its only me
I remember a long time ago
I was different from everyone else
I would get called names
And people would try and avoid me
I was quiet and shy
Nobody used to care
It was like I was a book
Getting my pages tarred everyday
It was my face It was red and scabby
I’m just a normal boy looking for a friend
I remember walking down the hall
People pointing at me or staring at me
It made me really uncomfortable
It felt like I was alone forever…..
Bullying Poem Number Three
I remember it all clearly
I was the boy who was weary
It was thirty years ago
I remember my eczema it was all over me
Everyone looked at me it was terrifying
I was sometimes crying
No one talked to me
No one played with me
I was always sad
I was always red
And flaking raw
So I wore an iron mask
I hid my expressions
I had so many masks, a collection
But no one felt my affection
Please don’t hurt anyone
Like you hurt me
Just because I was different
We have attached a copy of the poem that inspired these three bright students to write their own personal versions of the The Boy Without a Name, all reflecting on how bullying makes one feel. It is refreshing to see young people combine poetry and such an emotive topic to create beautiful bullying poems.
The Boy Without a Name By Allan Ahlberg
1 I remember him clearly
And it was thirty years ago or more:
A boy without a name.
2 A friendless, silent boy,
His face blotched red and flaking raw,
His expression, infinitely sad.
3 Some kind of eczema
It was, I now suppose,
The rusty iron mask he wore.
4 But in those days we confidently swore
It was from playing near dustbins
And handling broken eggshells.
5 His hands, of course, and knees
Were similarly scabbed and cracked and dry.
The rest of him we never saw.
6 They said it wasn’t catching; still, we knew
And strained away from him along the corridor,
Sharing a ruler only under protest.
7 I remember the others: Brian Evans,
Trevor Darby, Dorothy Cutler.
And the teachers: Mrs Palmer, Mr Waugh.
8 I remember Albert, who collected buttons,
And Amos, frothing his milk up with a straw.
But his name, no, for it was never used.
9 I need a time-machine.
I must get back to nineteen fifty-four
And play with him, or talk, at least.
10 For now I often wake to see
His ordinary, haunting face, his flaw.
I hope his mother loved him.
11 Oh, children, don’t be crueller than you need.
The faces that you spit on or ignore
Will get you in the end.
Have you a bullying poem to share with us or our readers? If so – why not email us or even share it in the comments below.