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School Inspirational Poems | Inspirational Poems About School

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

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Details | Free verse |

She Hulk

When I was a child I only ever wanted to be strong.
I wanted to be able to compete with the boys
and when I foot raced them at recess I won every time.
They called me ‘She Hulk’ because of my muscular frame
and from the way I only ever wore soccer t-shirts and sweat pants.
After that nickname was implanted into my brain like a growing weed,
I’ve only ever wanted to be feminine.
I started wearing skirts and dresses 
and in middle school they shrieked at the site of my makeup and done up hair.
But that weed inside of my mind only grew, and grew, and grew
until I became a mixed drink cocktail
with one part anorexic and two parts lonely,
because I thought that the definition of feminine began with the word frail.
No one ever realizes how greatly words affect us,
how a simple nickname can turn a pretty girl into a skeleton.
I stood at five foot two weighing seventy nine pounds,
so cold and frozen,
yet I still considered myself a ‘She Hulk.’
You could see my ribcage through my t-shirt
and my spinal cord protruded loudly through my weathered skin,
as if somehow my bones were dirty knives
just trying to cut through the flesh of judgment.
As I grew older I became the girl that was never enough.
Not good enough to speak poetry.
Not good enough to lay paint on a canvas.
Not good enough.
Not tall enough.
Not big enough boobs for them.
Not primped to perfection.
Not undeniably straight.
Not smart enough.
Not dumb enough.
Not ditsy enough.
Not cool enough or fun enough.
And I began to believe, too, that I wasn’t enough.
I never told my mother that I had been in madly in love with a girl.
I never told anyone about the night we first kissed 
because I was too vulnerable for the judgment.
And parents always justify saying that ‘kids will be kids’
But when we are kids our brains are still growing
and the smallest of seeds that get planted will one day bloom
into one giant regret,
will one day affect the choices that we make,
will one day influence us about the clothes that we wear,
will one day shape us into the person who we thought we would never be.
I only ever wanted to be strong,
and as a child I thought strength was only about being able
to lift a bar stool above your head.
I thought that strength was only about being able
to beat the boys in bare foot running races.
I was told that strength was something only
a man could have.
But as I’ve grown older I’ve realized that strength
isn’t about muscle at all,
but it’s about weakness,
and the ability to overcome the social anxiousness.
It’s about carrying around a lifetime of baggage
on your broken back
because the ones that kicked you when you were down
are going to be the ones that were  ultimately wrong.
I thought that the definition of woman 
began with the word disappointment.
And I became a mixed drink cocktail
with one part freedom
and two parts Sailor Jerry
because every girl needs a stiff drink once and awhile.
We are not disappointments.
We will never be the ones who gave up on hope.
We will never be the ones who gave up on each other,
or god,
or our mothers.
We will always be enough;
enough for the ones who shunned us 
enough for the ones that cursed us
enough for the ones the hurt us
and destroyed us
and beat us when we were covered in bruises.
But you see, bruises fade
and the scars of our flesh are only stories
things we have overcame
and there are things out there that we will overcome.
When I was a child, I only ever wanted to be strong.
I hid my vulnerability.
I hid the parts of me that were true.
I never told my mother about my girlfriend
because I was afraid she wouldn’t understand,
kind of like all those people who never understood 
just how much words effect us. 
I can’t say that I can beat the boys at foot races anymore,
because, well, I smoke cigarettes now.
And I can’t say that the nickname of my childhood didn’t affect me.
But I take that name now and embrace it.
Because I am strong.
I am the ‘she hulk’.
I am a mixed drink cocktail
with three parts greatful.


Details | Verse |

The Canvas

This poem is a farewell piece of advice to a group of students I have taught over the last four years. I do 
hope they find the metaphor meaningful and believe that they are the "architects of their own future."

Spread before you is a canvas of hope and opportunity Waiting to be painted with strokes of what you are and can be Waiting to be filled with colours that define you and the life you live Waiting to be stamped with the personality that only you can give To the portrait of your life, by itself a work of art A work which, on this day, with vigour you will start Spread before you is a canvas of vision and desire Waiting to be sketched with shades of passion and fire Waiting to be decorated with a story and theme Waiting to be etched with ambition that is now just a dream Of a picture whose tone, texture and style Would have made this work worth all the while Spread before you is a canvas, empty, yet full of space Waiting to be stroked with your wit, charm and grace Waiting to be brushed with strokes daring, vivid and bold Waiting to be painted with a story that can be told Of a life whose essence is one of sublime beauty Of a person who lived his life and did his duty Of a person who lived life the way it should be Of a complete canvas that will reflect many a memory.


Details | Free verse |

i am part 2

I am the wind 
beneath the 
sparrows wings 
as it heavenly sings.
I am the single rose 
sitting in a barren land.
I am the the lions voice,
and the partridge voice as they 
rejoice. 

I am the beam of light 
penetrating the vastness
of the worlds darkness.

The secret power is 
no secret,the secret 
power is me.

I am the secret power revealed
and concealed in greatness.
I am the suns majestic flames.
The clarity of rain drops,
the zest ,to the minds
bland thoughts of boredom.
I am entertainment.
I am the wood pecker,
soaring steadily in the
balmy winds picking at success.
I am the eagles soaring over
sweet allysum, capturing the sent. 

Stupendous I am,
Preening my mind with knowledge,
a pen rigged with wisdom,
wisdom speaks beyond paper 
as it leaks from the pore of my quill.
I am the potion full of devotion. 
My pen rigged with morphine,
killing I hope the pain of my readers 
with poems.

You are no longer lugubrious,
lugubrious you are not.
Healed and fixed upon the first dosage.

I am ,I am ,
I am the poetic doctor,wooing medicine 
from the green pastures,
 to robe my pen with healing secrets.
I am the nectarines of peach orchards
 basting the mouth of pages with sweet words.
Sweet splash sweet splash. I am the sweet taste. 
I am the revival of a sun baked raisin, the
 revival to a corps laying beneath circling 
vultures of the Arabian dessert. 
I am the fragments of light circling your heart,a campfire,
the supplier of its poetic aspire. 
I am the fridge for poetic dreams,
preventing from expire, raising 
heat of poetry soup higher and higher. 

Ill never retire until my face
 wrinkled and my hair grey wire.
My pen aiming for a writing desire. 
On icy roads I keep traction with 
hot ink and mental snow tires.
I am a poet wrobed with 
creative ink and sapphire.
I am safe gaurding the gates
 of a dying world of poetry.

looked upon as a fool why should I stop, 
because kids from high school saide iam not cool,
what is their some rule that makes it uncool.
It must be april fools ,safe guarding 
your desire is a golden rule.
I am the hope, iam poetrys stool fueling
 it with my hand tool full of ink iam the talisman of poetrys gates.
I know who I am and this inspires ME!!!

By: Elliott Bowe
Inspirational Contest
Sponsor:Gail Doyle


Details | I do not know? |

What If

Hey people why you listen to the people that don’t matter. You all get mad when the talk 
sh&t and when they put you down. Why do you think they continue to do it? It is because 
they get a reaction out of you and it drives them to get more. They feel like they have 
control over you and they are your masters and its pathetic. I’m not innocent no one is. 
Everyone does it either because they have had it done to them or because they feel like 
they have to be noticed. I’ve realized if you just laugh and completely ignore them you will 
have a better life and it will make life out to be better then what you thought it could ever 
be.  I know I can’t say I’m fully able to ignore everyone but it’s a process I have made a lot 
of progress and I have learned I am a lot happier and feel way better when I just laugh or 
walk away. If people actually stopped and didn’t say anything and laughed about it more 
people would stop bullying. I know it’s very hard to believe me and it’s a process I think 
everyone needs to take. Who are they to judge you? You are the only one who needs to 
accept you for you. If you can’t accept what you are and what your personality is without 
being embarrassed about it you can’t live with anyone else. If you stop right now and think 
about all of the times you retaliated and said something back at the person that was 
bothering you did it get better or did it get worse and ay what if I don’t say anything maybe I 
won’t get angry and maybe they will leave me alone. If you can take the first step even 
though it is the hardest one there is to take you will have a better outlook on life and 
yourself and you will be happier then you could ever imagine.  I don’t care who you are if 
you will only make the first step the next steps are a lot easier and you will learn to live life 
to the fullest and it will make you have more friends and you will have a better life style and 
you will have more fun instead of always being mad and sad and depressed. If everyone in 
the world would just take that one fateful step it would make all of the difference.


Details | Free verse |

Years

Years…
Sometimes friend
Often foe
How the years seem to flow
More quickly with each passing one
And less, it seems that we get done
With what years we’ve now left

Let this not, though,
Be our shame
Let us use each year the same
As we would use our waning breath
Until at last our earthly death
Does come, one final
Year





by Donna Golden 

May 23, 2005 (A few months before my twenty year high school reunion!)


Details | Prose Poetry |

Ghosts of South Dakota part 4

	Of course on this night we are supposed to be asleep so Santa 
could come, but we hadn't been home from Midnight Mass very long, and the 
invigorating cold was not conducive to sleep.  Even the hot chocolate did not do 
much to help sedate the excitement.
	We were hoping for sleds that year.  The snow was perfect for 
sledding especially like we did it.  We tied out sleds on behind the car or pick up 
and were pulled through the hills.  We got our sleds.  My dad and my uncle made 
them for us.
	No television and only in the late years were we allowed to use the 
radio.  Batteries were to expensive for frivolous use.  We spent many hours 
playing cards or games.
	I took time out and went to high school and college and got my 
teaching certificate.
	My aunt taught there only one year after the Federal Government 
turned the schools over to the local government.
	The last time I was back there the out buildings had been moved and 
Indian families were living in them.  The school was dirty and unkept.
	Now the school is gone.  The ancestors who once walked these 
dusty plains are gone.  The Indians who were there when I was a child are gone.
	They are Ghosts.  Ghosts whose faces can be seen in the clouds.  
Ghosts  who still chop wood on those sub zero nights.  And the drums we heard 
in the middle of the nights are still beating.  They beat as strongly as the heart 
beats in a healthy body.  The laughter of the children still echoes under the 
bridge.
	The life blood of a culture, of a nation grows thin.  The Battle of 
Wounded Knee was the last battle to be fought  between the white man and the 
Indian on the northern plains.  It's cries still echo across the land.
	My foot prints in the creek did not last any longer than those they left 
in the dust.  But in my memories, this mile and a half by three quarter mile haven 
still lives.  And will live forever as a piece of unrecorded history.


Details | Rhyme |

My Kindergarten Teacher


My kindergarten teacher and I’d guess probably yours
Taught me all I need to know to open all the doors
She taught me all my letters and how to write them out
She taught me about indoor voice and there is no need to shout
She read to me for hours; she taught me 2 + 2
She said “in learning there is power and I’m giving that to you”
She taught me how to make friends and how friends help friends get by
She taught me how to make amends when I made others cry
She taught me that in sharing I get more than I give
She taught me that in caring a better life I’d live
She taught me about teamwork and how to be discerning
But most of all she taught me a life-long love of learning

My kindergarten teacher passed away some time ago
I never got to thank her but I’d hope somehow she’d know
A kindergarten teacher is an angel in disguise
Leading – loving – learned - intelligent and wise

If not for kindergarten teachers who knows where we would be
Thank your kindergarten teacher, once for you and once for me

mdailey


Details | Couplet |

Robin Hood

Of all the trials and test this year
A lot of nerves, a lot of fear

By the grace of God I’m here to tell
It all ended up going very well

If life is a journey, school is a maze
A wonderful way to spend your days

So much diversity, so much culture
Feels so good to no longer be a vulture

Picking scraps up off the bone
Heart encased in a block of stone

I simply love being tender and true
Like a billowy cloud in a sky so blue

Floating on air for the world to see
Like a peacock strutting proud as can be

Yet, forever humble and forever true
Eyes no longer red they’re clear and blue

No longer living all tired and funky
I kicked the crap up out of my monkey

Kid’s gather to me like chicks to a trough
I welcome them in I never shrug them off

Which is truly as strange as strange can be
I once would have said, “Get away from me”

“Nothing in me should be considered good”
“You’re looking for a hero, I’m no Robin Hood”

Today, I’m first to school and first in my seat
With exuberance for life, which can’t be beat

With kids gathering to me looking to study
Listening in awe to their gray headed buddy

I’m forever speaking on life and all that it entails
Guiding my younger friends down happy trails

Being very careful to not criticize or judge
You can’t help someone holding a grudge 

I tell all the youngsters with a heart so true 
I traveled one hell of a road to get to you

I have a single goal before I enter my grave
I want to teach you all how to not be slaves

Don’t let fears and addictions control your life
That’s an endless road of sorrow and strife

Make your dream and grab your star
Let the world see who and what you are

Whatever you do, do it with a smile
Life is truly a gift enjoy it for awhile

It feels so strange to feel so good
We all have it in us to be Robin Hood


I dedicate this poem to all the youngsters
who come over to my house to study. You
know, I never would have dreamed that I
would be considered a good example. It's
truly amazing what the Lord can do in our
lives. The correlation I'm speaking of with
Robin Hood; is that we all have it in us to 
take from the bad and give to the good.


Details | Iambic Pentameter |

Blank Verse Rhyme

Blank Verse Rhyme

The master said “create blank verse in lines of ten”.
Form five Iambic feet without a rhyme.
“These five Iambic feet you must achieve”.
The verse will have a rhythm you can hear,
when studied closely this will be revealed.

For, lines of blank verse rhyming discontents
the master. “Do it over, take all night”!
The lines of blank verse sing a little song,
each syllable, each rhyme, you’ll hear them ring!
You’ll sing the tune of verses blank and pure.

And now I keep up with this blank verse trick,
I hear its tick ten syllables per line.
It rhymes so soft; I have it mastered now,
so naturally it falls right from my pen.
Oh, where will this blank verse rhyme find an end?

Yet, twenty lines of syllables came out
much faster still than I had thought they should.
I love each rhyme, the timing so precise,
I hope it pleased the eye and ear. I turned
it in, it came back very clearly signed

“Rejected”.


-Tiffany R-2009


Details | Senryu |

Playground

Kids go down
The slide…they head toward the swings
TIME TO SCREAM!

Free time ends
Their parents want to go home
Frowns exchange 


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