Submit Your Poems
Get Your Premium Membership


See and share Beautiful Nature Photos and amazing photos of interesting places

School Ballad Poems | Ballad Poems About School

These School Ballad poems are examples of Ballad poems about School. These are the best examples of School Ballad poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

123
Details | Ballad |

Johnny Had A Girl

Johnny was my best friend through our early teenage years;
Wherever one of us went the other could always be found near;
Until he found a girlfriend who soon supplanted me,
But because he was my best friend, for Johnny I was happy;
Johnny had a girl
He had a girl
Johnny had a girl
She rocked his world
Johnny had a girl.

Throughout four years of high school I was always the third wheel;
Going off often by myself, leaving Johnny with his girl;
They learned about biology outside the class room walls;
Johnny always had plans with her every time I would call;
Johnny had a girl
He had a girl
Johnny had a girl
Oh, what a thrill
Johnny had a girl.

One week before graduation, coming home from a date,
Johnny never saw the drunk driver until it was too late.
For three months in a coma, I sat by Johnny’s side;
I knew that when he woke up, someone had to tell him she’s not alive;
Johnny had a girl
He had a girl.

I took him to the gravesite so he could see it with his own eyes;
We stayed there for hours so Johnny could say his goodbyes.

Johnny got in his car that day and started heading west;
Nobody has seen Johnny since, I wish him the very best.
I’ve taken care of her graveside for thirty years and more;
If Johnny ever comes home again, we’ll be friends just like before;
Johnny had a girl
He had a girl
Johnny had a girl.


Details | Ballade |

Home schooling

Home schooling

My Grandson Jakob lives with me
He’s quite intelligent
Now he’s a ‘one of’ kind of lad
He’s deep and he’s intense
He used to go to the local school
Where bullies did abound
And though he’s such a peaceful lad
No peace for him was found.

So we took him out of school
And his mum, she teaches him
He’s showed since she has started this
That he’s anything but dim
His grades have shot up very high
Since he left that school
And no one bullies him no more
Or treats him like a fool.

And yet I hear so many say
Home schooling is real bad
So I do say to all these folk
‘Well you should see our lad’
He’s happiness just shines on through
He’s getting brighter ever day
I think home schooling is the best
In every kind of way.

18 May 2014 @ 0940hrs


Details | Ballade |

New Guinea Kokoda Campaign

New Guinea Kokoda Campaign In 1942 the Japs appeared, took all the islands north. Our troops were mainly school boys and for New Guinea bound. 13,000 Japs landed, climbed up Kokoda and came forth. As Yanks, Macarthur's boys took over Melbourne town. Churchill said "No we can't help, let them take Australia too, we'll take it back later in a few years." Our P.M. got most of our men home, to fight our war it's true, Though Churchill tried every trick but tears. The Thirty Ninth Battalion, old men and school boys. 400 kids to do the job, oh yes these few. They met the Jap whose weapons, were anything but toys. Militia boys, with old 'threeo's' there to use. Our boys could only hit and run. Or be surrounded and slaughtered like the roo's. The Jap he had it all, mortars, machine and mountain gun. New Guinea we could more than likely lose. War seasoned 2/21st Brigade it's then they climbed the trail. Came to meet the Jap so many thousands there. They tried to stop em, many died, but no they wouldn't fail. These men so game and earnest every where. Battle hardened 2/25th Brigade now came to do its bit. Replaced the dead and wounded, and the few left on the trail. Our men charged the Jap trenches as the 25 pounders hit, used cold steel, Yank Tommy guns and leaden hail. The Jap ran back o'er the ranges with fear he was instilled, with just three battalions snapping at his rear. At Templeton they stopped, got surrounded there and killed. Aussies made them pay the price, much dread and fear. The Kumusi river was in flood, where Horii's men pulled up. The General's men they'd stopped again to fight. When five hundred died upon the bank they'd really had enough. So they tried to cross the river in the night. 400 drowned there in the flood with General Horii too, from capsized boats and rafts and other craft. They retreated back to Gona and to Buna they were through, their ranks so thinned, they hadn't cause to laugh. Our Pilots flew with the Yanks, to bomb and strafe and kill. Then our Tanks appeared with Mortar and Field gun. With better support now, we sapped their very will. Our mountains choked with dead now Kokoda it was won.
by D H Johnson


Details | Ballade |

ABORIGINAL RESIDENTIAL SCHOOL, 1927

THE BLANCHING

Gone, the sun dance, gone, the beat of the drum,
forbidden by the phantoms who stole us away.
No dreamcatchers here so the nightmares come,
and lashes from thick belts bully our play,
branding even the youngest Ojibwa
who ache for family, long for their lands,
but dare not speak what their tribal hearts say
as church and state slowly blanch the red man.

Beneath my skin, I hear the Great Spirit hum
as the priest yells of sins on Sabbath day.
Bellies are empty, we scrounge for small crumbs
on scrawny knees while we’re forced to pray
before we drink blood to kill our wicked ways.
My native tongue has been muted and banned,
but visions tell tales, old memories stay
though church and state slowly blanch the red man.

The circle of life hides from the sacrarium,
my warm wiigiwaam is so far, far away,
we feel the cold as we’re taught decorum, 
and the girl who’s stood since dawn now sways
but she remains like a totem on proud display.
Each hour seems whiter, part of their plan,
we scrub with bleach, read Psalms, tearfully obey
for church and state slowly blanch the red man.

Weep for the taken and the peace English betray
for they sent us to hell to say that we’re damned,
as we witnessed our birthright first pale then decay
while church and state tried to blanch the red man.





*This ballade uses slant rhyme and loosened syllable counts intentionally. 
For more information and to read of the near ethnocide of First Nations People: --- http://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/story/2008/05/16/f-faqs-residential-schools.html


Details | Ballad |

How I developed reading as my hobby

I heard it so many times,
“Books are man’s best friends,”
Not just that I wrote an essay of 300 words in my secondary school,
Yes I read it in the book, ‘How to write impressive and ideal essays?’
Honestly speaking, it was out of no choice,
As the other topics were difficult to attempt.
I grew up thinking, “Reading would never be my cup of tea,”
And it held true for many years to be.
I would see people around, glued to books and deriving pleasure,
Also it was my father’s favourite activity in times of leisure.
During college I had the company of passionate readers,
In their discussion on books I was just a listener.
They often would talk about new and fascinating book they had come across.
But somehow didn’t much bother and I dint assume it be a great loss.
Deep in my heart I had planted a seed,
One day even I should develop a habit to read.
I have to admit I had even put, ‘Reading’ as my hobby in my C.V,
For it is considered to be an imposing quality.
I joined a school as a teacher,
I had to read stories to children,
I considered it to be a part of my job though found them somewhat interesting,
Still didn’t take it very seriously and found it to be alarming,
Until I got married and when my husband was not there,
I had lots of time to spare,
I don’t how and why I picked up a book,
It made me smile and I was happy for the decision I took.
I learnt innumerable things from the books I read,
‘Hats off’ to all those writers my heart said.
Then I realize that in books’ company one never feels lonely,
I am convinced for it’s the best hobby undoubtedly.
Finally it has happened to me and I am glad,
I owe it to my school and students I have had.


Details | Ballad |

Heraldry And Tribute

I'm just a sputtering old fool,
Muttering old school rules,
When times made more sense,
And neighbors were your friends.

Now trapped by utter frailty,
And fear of today's reality,
My moistened eyes fasten,
Upon the new age reaction.

No longer do we aspire,
No longer do we inspire,
Religious or national pride,
For now we must take it all in stride.

That which can utterly,
Steal pride in God and country...
Oh I'm a sputtering old fool,
Just muttering old school rules.

You open doors and say Mamm',
You do everything you can,
You give to the poor and especially,
Love your neighbors, friends and family.

For it is in giving all that you have,
Caring, sharing and loving all you can,
Which tells the greatest story about you,
And lives on in heraldry and tribute.


Details | Ballad |

The toy collector

Toy collector:

He holds the bear gently in his old wrinkled hands as he gazes into its kind beaded eyes. The toy collector sees love lined in its double stitches and his childhood in the busted toys smile.

There stitched in black thread he can hear the sound of a child laughter, happiness, and growth reviving his memory of youth, like a jolt of life to an empty vein.

The years have passed freely, almost fleeting by. He had no more time to play in grassy school yards or hide from girls wearing satin dress, he had to grow up. The boy eventually turned into a man and was forced to pack away his toys regrettably into a wooden box.

There they sat in the attic awaiting the return of their beloved friend while he aged slowly into an adult.

High school came and went, college, even marriage but unfortunately he was never blessed with his own child. No one to share in the lined pleats of his own childhood. All of this he now recognizes in the bears sandy eyes.

The toy collector hands his most prized procession to his wife, a dazed look covering his forlorn face. 

She takes his withered hand and speaks gently in his ear.
“All the memories in the world could never replace the love between a man and his bear.”

“Yes, but even the toy collector eventually grows to old and must let go.”
He replies in woe.

His thin lips force a smile as he repacks the boxes that escaped him long ago and in the early morn of the next day he patently sits alone outside for a bus to come.

The driver honks her horn and greats him with a warming smile.
“Are all of these toys for our orphanage?”

The toy collector regrettably nods.
“Things have been pretty rough but this will surly lift there sprits up.”
She confesses as she gently grabs a random box.

As she stacks them one by on into the now cluttered van his bear falls onto the pavement below.

Unable to pick it up he wrinkles his brow with great sadness.
Suddenly the passenger door opens revealing the face of a young girl and as she draws near she extends her hand and clutches the bear.

“Did you find a friend little Lou?”

His heart melts as she kisses the teddy gently then smiles.
“thank you.”
The child coos softly.

The toy collector lives in the toys he collects, but the man lives forever in the bear the child now possesses.






























Details | Ballad |

Magical School

When I enrolled in magical school
Ma said good luck
Dad called me a fool

He always thought with my IQ
I’d fix people up,
Not saw them in two.

But I had a vision
And my self esteem
Hung on the balance
Of this simple dream

So I packed my bag
Gave Ma a hug
Reached out to pop
Who said with a shrug

Watch each one of your steps
Cause each one of them matters
When you walk without looking
You’re sure to splatter
So take my advice
It may save your life
You can’t step twice
On thin ice.

I’ll show that man who I can be
With a B.A.
In alchemy

I have no doubt that he’ll be glad
Because my plan
Was ironclad

I bought all my books
Most second hand
I was so ready
To beat the band

But where was my room
Did it disappear?
I’m such a buffoon
Then dad’s words appeared.

If you can’t find your way
Don’t lose your nerve
It’s all a small part
Of the learning curve
So take my advice
It may save your life
Rolling the dice
Is a vice

I tried running down the empty halls
But all the doors
Turned into walls

I shouted a chant, before weeping
‘Allah-Kazow-ee’
To get me sleeping

I dreamed about A’s
The prodigal son
The star of my class
Magic 101

But soon my visions
Became nightmares
I woke and screamed
And if pop was there

He’d say, when in a jam
Take an afternoon nap
Cause a grumpy head
Ain’t worth a crap
So take my advice
It may save your life
To make nice
Sleep twice

At last, I made it to classes
But that first day
I lost my glasses

Teacher assumed I was a jerk
Rewarding me
A week of homework

Then my trick cards turned red
The hare’s sick in bed
The bouquet looked dead
So I called home, and said,

“I’m failing Hocus Pocus
Gotta D in smoke in mirrors
It’s so hard to focus
When all I make is errors

Then dad said with much calm
First give yourself a hand
Before counting on others
And soon you’ll understand
So take my advice
It may save your life
Give yourself a high-five
To survive

So I practiced day and night
‘Till each ‘Abra’
Came out right

And my Presto-Digi-ture
Was more than
Amateur

Then all those D’s
Turned into A’s
Without tricks
I was amazed

Hard work after all
Was a giant step for me
But with dad’s advice
I learned the mystery

Each day is irreplaceable
And comes with a caveat
If you waste its offerings
You deserve just what you get
So take my advice
It may save your life
Being wise
Is the prize


Details | Ballad |

BALLAD OF THE BAD BOY In MONTANA dedicated to my grandmothers twin sister

Some songs
Are of saddest times
The skies of darkest days
Some words
Bring such discontent
There are no gentle ways
To tell the tale
Without the tears
That tear the heart in two
But I will share
This saddest tale
Of hearts both black and true

There was a widow 
With a son
He was a spunky lad
And when she found 
Another man
The boy turned
Mean and sad.

The maid who cleaned the widow’s house
Saw the what was going on.
How each day the battle raged 
As soon as she was gone.

The man took off
His silver belt
And like a man insane
He beat the boy, he cursed at him 
And called him filthy names.

The mother’s love had maddened him
 He hounded the poor child
Jealousy had filled his head
By hate his heart defiled.

He loved the widow, now his wife
Her son was in the way.
He sent the boy away to school
On that their wedding day.

The boy wrote home--
He hated school
They beat him there and worse
They starved the boy
To punish him
For writing silly verse.

The boy wrote home to plead his case
He promised to be good.
He begged to be at home again
He’d even chop the wood!
 
At the widow’s urging
The man re-read the letter
'He must come home'--his sweetheart cried--
'He's promised to be better.'

The man sent off the widow 
Quick to get her son
She left him on the next train
Before the day’d begun.

The day was hot, the winds were bad
The clouds, they shouted rain
The neighbors said that angels wept
As they hailed the train

The man stopped by to get the mail
Without his widow’d  wife
Another letter from the school
How tiresome was his life!

He put the letter in his bag
And headed his way home
When bedtime came he got it out
He liked to read alone.

'Your son is dead,' the letter said,
The hand was from a man
the school was starving naughty boys
the lawmen had a plan.

The school would close, the boys all leave
But one boy would remain.
The dead boy would be with his ma
When she returned by train.

The man who loved the widow
And took her for his wife
Hanged himself before the dawn
And took his own dear life.

The widow and her son
Returned through beating rains
She walked into that darkened house
And blew apart her brains.


Details | Ballad |

School Bus Tragedy

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>Im here to tell you a story.
                                 Its sad and its true.
                                 I met a girl along the way,
                                 She looked a lot like you.

                                I would see her on the bus going to school,
                                Her eyes were o so blue.
                                Each time she would look my way ,
                                My heart would come unglued.

                                We became very close friends,
                                I saved my money and bought a ring.
                                As i put it on her finger,
                                My heart felt like it could sing.

                                It all came to an end one Friday afternoon,
                                The school bus blew a tire.
                                The driver lost controll of the bus,
                                It rolled and caught on fire.

                                Kids were screaming , let me out,
                                But the doors would not open.
                                As i looked around for my close friend,
                                She had fallen, her neck was broken.

                                It was on that day , my heart did break,
                                I had lost my closest friend.
                                Now i ride the bus alone,
                                Trying to comprehend.

                                As i look out the school bus window,
                                At times i can still see her blue eyes.
                                It makes me feel so sad inside,
                                We never got a chance, to even say good bye.


123