When Liz Niven and S1 students from Gracemount High School soaked up the atmosphere in Edinburgh's ancient Canongate Kirkyard, these poems were the spine-chilling result.

The Graveyard

Down in the graveyard where people lie dead
Crumbling of rock
Rustling of leaves
Is where I like to go for some peace
Down in the graveyard where people lie dead
Feel the cold breeze through my hair
Sometimes I have a picnic there
Down in the graveyard where people lie dead
Old and new come and go
Statues built with honour and pride
Down in the graveyard where people lie dead
Where rose bushes grow with
Roses red as blood dried in flesh

Christina Caulfield

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an extract

Slowly walking down the narrow path,
They sense my presence as I pass.
Reading the gravestones. Suspicious.
Hearing the ringing word my head –
Death!

Kayleigh Gibson

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an extract

Sound of gravel at my feet.
The breezy wind blowing at my face.
Reading the crumbling headstones.
Hairs standing at the back of my neck…

Beverley Ho

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Clarinda's grave

Here they come,
Big ones, wee ones,
Noisy ones, quiet ones.
Trundling over my legs.
Looking at my face.
They don't know what it's like lying here,
Staring at the cold soil,
Waiting.
Maggots, worms to munch your face,
Nibble here, nibble there.
You end up like a piece of mouldy cheese.
Shouting at the top of their voices,
With their beautiful faces, staring down at you.
Standing on my head now, bouncing in the wet slippy grass. Waiting on their teachers calling them.
I know what it's like,
Lying underground,
Waiting on the beasties coming for your face.

Bianca Anderson