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Details | Class Poem | |

POVERTY DEFINES TRUE WEALTH

written 25th Oct 2013


I don't know if human's will ever see
 every soul born, is right where it's meant to be
For the rich to become the richest
 there has to be a place for the poorest

The entire world is built up from the same level of dirt
 each soul is born without knowledge to cause hurt
Humanity teaches us what a human's life is worth, by money and glory
 I am to believe "all lives are priceless, every soul fit's to tell Earth's story

The luckiest to be born, is that of a poor man
 he learn's the treasures, of "everything he can
Those born into all riches, have no true understanding of "richness
 seeing us not as human's, but those living in poverty "as an illness

Love start's from the soul, and from there, it is taught to grow
 the rich find another kind of love, one only brought with dough
Love, trust, compassion and grace, defining the difference in richest and wealth
 t'is the beggar off the street, who climbs the toughest road to earn his wealth 

He is the most blessed man, he is rewarded with the most valuable key
 for his wealth, is humanly "uncountable, for only God know's the value of he...




Details | Class Poem | |

My African Sister

I am a white, middle class, American male; raised in a white, middle class American home.  I would not say that my upbringing included a lot of diversity.

I remember talking to my brother, Jimmy, just before he told my father he was gay.  Jimmy told me about the inner struggle he wrestled with in first admitting to himself that he was homosexual.  He said he thought it was wrong; it was sinful and something he must avoid being.  Once he realized that being homosexual was not a fault but an innate sexual preference, he decided that he would not live a life of lies.  He, therefore, decided to tell his family about his sexual inclination.  It took a lot of courage to tell my ex-marine father.

Afi is a beautiful, strong, black African woman; raised in a black, African home.  Afi will admit that she is not overly charitable and not likely to do volunteer work.  When she first came to the U.S., however, she was appalled with how our society treated its AIDS victims.  In Africa, Afi would tell us, AIDS patients were embraced and cared for, not shunned and outcaste like here in the U.S.

Jimmy was not a promiscuous man.  He only knew a few sexual partners in his too short life.  Jimmy was a very intelligent and artistically gifted man.  He was doing post–doctorate research in Iraklion, Greece when he first started showing symptoms of having AIDS.

When Afi volunteered to be an AIDS Buddy she made it clear that she did not want to be paired with someone who had full-blown AIDS.  The organization was so hard pressed to find someone with a profile to match Jimmy’s intellect and interests that they begged Afi to just meet him, just once.

Afi says that within an hour she was no longer on a volunteer mission; she and Jimmy 
would be friends regardless of a commitment to the Buddy system.  Jimmy and Afi 
remained best of friends for the two remaining years we were blessed with his presence.

It has been 15 years since Jimmy passed away.  I am still a white, middle class, American male; from a white, middle class American family – only now, we have a beautiful, strong, black, African sister in our family.

Details | Class Poem | |

Weird Carolyn

Weird Carolyn

The other cheerleaders didn’t like football
Basketball was much easier to follow
But I got bored watching them dribble the ball
My response was hard for others to swallow

Growing up I didn’t have too many toys
So I had to find my own entertainment
I became a master of animal noise
When I “croaked” on the bleachers strange looks were sent

My frog impersonations left them aghast
When I did my seagull, the team stopped playing
They stared at me oddly as though I’d passed gas
They couldn’t relate to talents displaying

This was the first thing that led to my nickname
But once in class I was asked to give a speech
The teacher was writing, so bold I became
Her attention I was trying to beseech

Being a contortionist since childhood days
Locked one leg and arm, looked like a flamingo
I perched on one foot for each eloquent phrase
The teacher looked up and called me a weirdo

The class agreed and “weird Carolyn” was born
Frequently called upon to put on a show
Much laughter I bestowed, accolades adorned
Never understood why I didn’t have a beau



*Entry for Francine’s “Tell us something we didn’t know” contest.  Okay, the secret's 
out and I'm ready for my punishment.  At high school reunions I'm still called upon to 
perform.

Details | Class Poem | |

trust the system

footsteps aimlessly
walking on their trails
beaten down and broken
shiny as the rails
the rails of the train
over used and rusted
crumbling ignored
the system that you trusted
the silence of conformity
the quiet crying song
of people lost in apathy
monotony so long
the old man remembered
the booming days of old
and tried to warn the youngster
with stories he had told
the young man in the t shirt
can hear no warning cries
television cataracts
covering his eyes
commoners injected
with complacent misdemeanors
fed intravenously
from mass media feeders
the heretics will scream
with no one to hear their call
the working slaves will perish
society will fall
in the pulpit yelling
mystifying lies
sweating like a demon
with fire in his eyes
passing round a dish
to collect the workers' wage
saving souls ain't easy
so he sets a stage
profiting from fear
preparing them for death
comfort is a business
says his liquor breath
on the front row fanning
the woman says amen
waiting for the bell
so she can live in sin
forgiveness is a blessing
that god will give to few
surely she'll be one
when her life is through
the child in the classroom
with the curious mind
will be beaten and conditioned
until she too is blind 
"trust in the system"
is the motto that they teach
"question nothing,
so higher you can reach"
the land of the free
the home of the brave
only for those of us
content with being slaves
some will stand on street corners
holding big white signs
telling of injustice
held beneath our sights
but those who throw the bombs
which burn society down
those will be the shakers
for true freedom to be found
but the sheep still continue
to justify their life
ignoring others torment
blind to their strife
perpetuating failure
selling bankers souls
to keep on consuming
to get the best remote control
to build themselves a shield
what kind of life is this
numbness is a virtue
and ignorance is bliss

Details | Class Poem | |

Dancing set her spirit free



She was a shy girl
Few words spoken from her
When out in the world.
She was unsure of who she was
Living in her shell
Not unlike that of a prison cell.


Refrain

But dancing set her spirit free
Gone was her fear
Whether in class or on stage
Gone was her cage
The beauty inside unfurled
A smart, happy, controlled girl emerged.



Afraid to say something wrong
Afraid to do something wrong
She did not wish to upset anyone
She was not so smart
So her mother said many times
Often cross with her she didn’t know why.


Refrain

But dancing set her spirit free
Gone was her fear
Whether in class or on stage
Gone was her cage
The beauty inside unfurled
A smart, happy, controlled girl emerged.


When she was back in the world
Where shattered had been her trust
The shy, unsure girl returned
She wanted to be liked
She knew there was much to give inside
Few people knew the real person inside.



Refrain

But dancing set her spirit free
Gone was her fear
Whether in class or on stage
Gone was her cage
The beauty inside her unfurled
A smart, happy, controlled girl emerged.


She had a smile that could light up a room
She was  kind and had compassion for others
She knew how to listen to others
Why didn’t she feel free
To express her mind
Why couldn’t she shine?


Refrain

But dancing set her spirit free
Gone was her fear
Whether in class or on stage
Gone was her cage
The beauty inside her unfurled
A smart, happy, controlled girl emerged.


One day she left her home
And made her own
She made many friends
And her work was commended
Others listened to her words
She found she made a difference.


Refrain

Dancing had set her spirit free
Gone was her fear
Whether in class or on stage
Gone was her cage
The beauty inside her unfurled
A smart, happy, controlled girl emerged.

By CarolineCécile
© April 6, 2006.

Details | Class Poem | |

Humor is my inspiration

At awe by my mothers beautiful mind,
when it came to writing I always felt so blind.

Literature class advised us to write,
for the first time I did not feel bright.

Sneak a poem of my mothers i did,
boy did I feel like a little kid.

Praise my teacher gave me for such a lovely write,
my mind here and there like a kite.

Lucky me open house was here,
the poem posted on the class wall had me at fear.

Suggesting my parents to skip that class,
trying to avoid the coming sass.

She read it and thought to herself that it was idolized,
her eyes got big as she realized.

Quiet she kept as she knew how embarrassed I was,
of course it gave her a buzz.

It was cause of that day we look back,
and my mom gave me some slack.

She later taught me it's as simple as rhyming,
and with the emotions I have priming.

Details | Class Poem | |

A Touch Of Class

A Touch Of Class A touch of class, I wish I had, but what is that? To some people - it means to be rich. Others just say that they have class, for reasons that only they know. If you have money - you got class. If you don't you are considered trash, or so they say. Class I think comes in different forms. Some people marry into class. Some people gain class and some people are born with class. To have class is to never brag about your exploits. Let others do it for you. A touch of class is like a touch of MINK. You see it but you can't catch it. To have class is to respect others and to respect yourself. That's what I think is CLASS...
02/03/2013 Written by Lucilla M. Carrillo

Details | Class Poem | |

A Touch Of Class

A Touch Of Class A touch of class, I wish I had, but what is that? To some people - it means to be rich. Others just say, they have class for reasons that only they know. If you got money - you got class. If you don't - you are considered trash, or so they say. Class" I think comes in different forms. Some people marry into class. Some people gain class and some people are born with class. To have class is to never brag about your exploits. Let other people do it for you. A touch of class is - like a touch of Mink. You see it, but you can't catch it. To have class is - to respect others and respect yourself. That is what I think is class...
Copyright: Written by Lucilla M. Carrillo

Details | Class Poem | |

To Whom It May Concern

I walk with a silence to my step,
as if in reality they never took place.
A shadow cast upon what has been done,
evidence misplaced.
Seconds merge into minutes, minutes which remain endless.
Days stand without weeks moments reign endless.
Does the mind play tricks, or does the thoughts stay mine.
Without word spoken, whispered from lips to allowing ears,
lies the moments experienced within the years.

Details | Class Poem | |

The World

Born in a world of sin
A world filled with evil from the very beginning,
Greediness and selfishness,
With the existence of poverty, unemployment, crime and disease
Caused by our own human nature,
An inevitable cycle that continues from the past to the present future
Due to the prevalence of social class segregation,
Whereby the lower, middle and upper class fights for social status elevation
In order to achieve upward social mobility,
These social classes will fight in pain and hostility,
An ideology of who is best suited to reach the top
With one class that is, (proletariat) continued to be oppress,
While the bourgeoisie continues to be the dominant class to reap success,
A society filled with greed and self-interest
Every person wants that recognition,
They will always battle each other to reject sorrow and oppression,
That’s the reason why the world will always remain in war, famine and terror
Due to human beings error,
A world divided in segments of continent,
With different nation or countries having differentiated political style of government, 
As well as structure, numerous types of culture and upcoming new subculture,
With every one wanting that one thing riches, prestige and fame,
A reward which symbolizes their name.

Demeter Edwards

Details | Class Poem | |

To My Super Souper Friends

Alot of you folks have been able to say what you feel this holyday season with exquisite 
wording and beautiful sentiments. I can't do that. Maybe if I tell you a story about a 
little kid who was raised and worked on a farm. A farm boy in a class of city kids is ridiculed 
for some reason and beat up alot cause that proves to city kids that they're strong when 
they beat up a farmer kid. So I did the best I could with my sense of humor, got beat up 
when challenged and avoided other confrontations by learning to run real fast! When they 
picked teams for basketball, I was odd kid out. Too little. I found it hard to fit in anywhere.
    One fine day our 7th grade teacher gave us a homework assignment to write a poem 
which we would read aloud in class the next day.The stipulation was that, on your honor, you 
could have no help whatsoever. A solo project.
   After chores that night, I did as she said and was surprised at how easy it was. The 
next day, when it was my turn, I timidly read aloud to the class the first poem I ever wrote.  
When I finished, I awaited the verdict . All was quiet. The teacher told me to sit down. I did. 
She then admonished me for cheating on my assignment and getting help. Of course I did 
not. I still vividly remember how it felt to have all my peers watching me as our teacher 
dismissed me for a cheater with a look of disdain on her face. I was speechless, devastated 
and embarrassed by what others thought.
   The experience pushed me deeper into myself than I had ever been.. It's amazing to me 
how these feelings are resurfacing en force as I write about it. I've written poetry on and off 
since then but never taken it seriously. It was just some force that reared itself once in a 
while until it was subdued by writing one.
    Now, in the autumn of my life, something very strange and wonderful is happening. I 
have been introduced to you, my poetry soup friends. The injustice done to my poetic soul is 
every day being identified by myself, rectified and healed by your loving support. I'm no 
longer throwing my poems away. You have given me in two months what has been missing 
since the 7th grade. You have given me courage, confidence, encouragement and the 
companionship to take up where I was left off. Because of all of you, I can grow again. I was 
at a stalemate in alot of things and then this. Coincidence? More like Christ incidence. Get it? 
YOU are my Christmas gift from Love come down! This is my card to you.  
 GOD BLESS YOU ALL.- ROBERT

Details | Class Poem | |

Wilderness is a Crowded street

Wilderness is a crowded street.

Silence stings the ears of the hearer,
Cacophony of sound, unheard.
Loneliness turns to solitude,
Converse without a word.

Wilderness is a crowded street.
A passer-by nobody sees.
Togetherness now disjointed,
Run! I feel their disease.

Money is their mind set
Full wallet yet they're poor.
A heart of gold inside me,
Theirs, an open sore!

Some own the World, yet are bankrupt,
Emotionally discharged black-holes.
Shiny shoes that point to nowhere,
Prices, still on their soles.

All the broken people,
Nobody tells me why.
Orphaned, divorced, mistaken,
I'll not lay down to die.

To roll over and just take it,
Is what they'd like us to do.
So let's all speak out, be counted,
Not be part, of the Zoo!

Details | Class Poem | |

I'm not nosey but

I've never been one to nosey but
Looking through my net curtains
I just happened to have a pair of binoculars in my hand
I'm a curious kinda man
Ooh you wouldn't believe the things I've seen
Not being a gossip of course
It's so posh around here the mail is personally
Delivered by the Queen
And across my vast sprawling country estate
Someone's skinny dipping in my lake
I think I'll choose a masserati today
And wave at the peasants on my way.

There goes Dietrich on her penny farthing
Listening to some Hank Marvin
Toqyen is drunk again
Casarah is walking her lama
Tim has just worked out at the gym
And Jan is looking nice and Trim
Peter and Vera 
are in the garden
Singing Shakira
Poet destroyer is cutting the grass
Ooh she has a lovely fast
Mower that lass.

There goes Mary Jo on her pogo stick
She doesn't look too well hope she's not sick
Over there prince Harry is having a party again
A fancy dress
And he's dressed as hen
Well folks Think I'll get in my hot tub full of champagne
And wait until tomorrow
When I can spy again.




Peter Dome. copyright. 2014. Sept.

Details | Class Poem | |

Waiting To Forgive You

Curves, black, red and pale Every letter written on your school bag All the words go stale. Weren’t those written by our friends on the last day With the colourless markers of age They are all there, stuck in my head Like stunning words from a different language. But the leaves shed off The peaceful blue sky turned grey The even red turned rough Where is the hope, where is the ray? I still have the memories of you and me Our friendship that looked all so true I still have bells in the back of my head Believe it or not, I’m waiting to forgive you. Those classes in which we sat together You taught me hi-fives And raps of Eminem, I gather. Remember the drama with your ex-girlfriend? And the trust that you never had on me? And when she left you for a new boyfriend “Warned you long ago, didn’t I, really? I still have the memories of you and me Endlessly insulting her, until apart, we grew. I still remember the 12th of December, when you said “Who’re you?” But believe it or not, I’m still waiting to forgive you. You trusted me at the last You came to me, only when you needed. So here’s this poem as the blast. Remember how you changed your seats Was I really that awkward, you adamant? You had better friends, I understand, So why did you do the drama of being the best confidant. I still have the memories of you and me And for all we shared as best friends, I just rue. Betrayal and insult, is all I ever got. But still, yes still, I’m waiting to forgive you…
If you like my poem(s), please follow me on twitter :-) https://twitter.com/Shivam_Murari

Details | Class Poem | |

This is me

My knees were the things that 
kept me up and my skin is my 
cutting board my eyes are the 
rain clouds to the fire running 
down my arms and my heart is 
the fire place that keeps me 
burning so calm

Details | Class Poem | |

The Color Missing

The Color Missing
Red, black, and blue are the colors of our work pens. Red is the color of the blood we spill on other people’s mistakes.  Blue is the color of the songs we sing on tax forms or pay stubs- every page has a secret melody. Black is the color of the streets we fear most. Black is the color of our signature of approval. Black is the color of our death.

‘But what about the Green pens?’ I ask. They say ‘the ink is too hard to see.’


Details | Class Poem | |

A COLLEGE LIFE

as a college freshmen, i expect a lot of things.
aside from picking courses,
studying, talking jargon or gibberish,
talking about a job for the future,
there are a lot of things to consider.

you are now grown-up,
and it's time for you to explore everything
and have some experiences,

learning a lot in this age was such a blast.
enjoyment, which gives pleasure or keen satisfaction!
but of course, we still need to be careful,
you will never know what you have until you lose it.

Details | Class Poem | |

Bladder Problems in Class

Numbers on 
White board…names written hori-
zontally

Students ask
To go pee…right when class starts – 
THAT’S just wrong…

Bathroom line
Of students who have bladder
Problems – WOW!

People are
Not using lunchtime to do 
Their business 

No one knows
When to do their duties – SER-
IOUSLY?

Details | Class Poem | |

Women

You women
Know how to make 
The best of what you've got in you
You do it everyday in your life

Details | Class Poem | |

The Rotten

Analysis read—and wronged—and pulled
Lulled into our idealistic mess
Words no longer ours but hung distress
Farced in carnality—they are ruled

Soundness remains what we will believe 
And all else is but tethered nonsense
Clinched tightly in unfriendly absence
Overcome in overwrought relief

The judges judge on behalf of tongue
When ears and eyes close achingly tight
And perhaps in woe we find them right
For witches sought and bound must be hung!

Lower than the softened dirt that cures
Where worms in halves blindly come to eat
The higher crush with tormented feat
And the suns scorch what is left of hers

Answers never tried—and cured to hide
They look to superior sources
The rotten are the strongest forces
Ripened and toughened with bequeathed pride

-Iambic Tetrameter
Contest: Metrical verse
Sponsor: Giorgio Veneto
Laura Breidenthal

Details | Class Poem | |

Infinite Energy S

Get on your bike and get out of my face it smells of fish and oil on the beach this peachy day cape on my shoulders to fly away up with the seagulls I sh*t on your face Now that the body has been properly buried full of the scars from the wars do I carry I cannot believe you all find me scary I skip full of spirit for despite this I'm still merry For on this day God smiled on me gave me the sign to renew my belief and with his presence I shall achieve an eternal life filled by my infinite energy (S).

Details | Class Poem | |

OUR BABY GIRL TURNS 21

OUR BABY GIRL TURNS 21

ON 1ST JULY 1990~ THE ANGELS DID SOMETHING ALMIGHTY
FROM HEAVEN THEY SENT US OUR LIFE-LONG DESIRE-A PRECIOUS DAUGHTER TO LOVE AND ADMIRE.
TRUE TO YOUR NATURE YOU ARRIVED WITHOUT FUSS OR PAIN--THE FIRST TIME OUR EYES MET WE KNEW OUR LIVES WOULD NEVER BE THE SAME

AS A BABY AND TODDLER YOU MADE US SO PROUD
YOUR VERY LONG HAIR, GREEN EYES AND SMILE-
ALL THOSE GOOD LOOKS MADE YOU STAND OUT IN A CROWD
YOU STARTED TALKING EARLY WITH MANY VOICEPRINTS 
YOUR CHARM AND GOOD LOOKS HAVE NOT STOPPED SINCE
YOU LOVED YOUR DOLLS AND PRAMS-- DREAMT OF BEING A “SINGER”
 AND VERY QUICKLY LEARNED HOW TO WRAP YOUR DAD AROUND YOUR LITTLE FINGER
YOUR BIG BROTHER DEVON--BEST FRIEND AND PROTECTER 
MOST OF THE TIME YOU GOT ON PERFECTLY TOGETHER

FROM AN EARLY AGE YOU SHOWED YOUR LOVE OF SWIMMING
AGE TWO AND A HALF YOU WERE ABLE AND WILLING
TO SWIM UNDER WATER AND DO MANY LENGTHS
THIS WAS CLEARLY ONE OF YOUR SPORTING STRENGTHS
AT AGE THREE YOU COULD BARELY WAIT TO START PLAYSCHOOL
“MISS INDEPENDENCE”, WAS YOUR GENERAL RULE
THE SLIDE AND JUNGLE GYM WERE YOUR FAVOURITE SPOTS
 AND TO OUR HORROR YOU WOULD CLIMB RIGHT TO THE TOP!
AT AROUND THIS TIME, YOUR FIRST BOYFRIEND YOU MET-
 HE LIVED NEXT DOOR, AND HIS NAME WAS BRETT

SOON IT WAS TIME FOR  PRE-SCHOOL
YOU LOVED YOUR TEACHER--YOUR NEW FRIENDS WERE COOL
‘SPRING BONNETS’ AND THE END OF YEAR SCHOOL PLAYS
THE TEDDY BEAR CLASS GAVE YOU SOME REAL SPECIAL DAYS
NEXT WAS ‘BIG SCHOOL’ AND YOUR FIRST CLASS
WE WERE SERIOUSLY ANXIOUS BUT FOR YOU JUST ANOTHER ‘MISS INDEPENDENCE’ TASK
LETTERLAND, MATHS AND LEARNING TO READ
YOU EXCELLED AT ALL THAT WITH INCREDIBLE SPEED
YOUR ACHIEVEMENTS CONTINUED THROUGH GRADES 2, 3 AND FOUR
YOUR PLACE IN THE SWIMMING TEAM HELPED YOUR SCHOOL WIN MORE

OUR MOVE TO AUSTRALIA… SAD FAREWELLS TO YOUR FRIENDS AND YOUR PETS 
BUT, GREAT EXCITEMENT YOU FELT AT ADVENTURES TO BE MET
A NEW SCHOOL--“METHODIST LADIES COLLEGE”
NEW FRIENDS--JUMPING A GRADE-- MET WITH SUCH POSITIVE COURAGE
YOU MADE US SO PROUD IN THE WAY YOU ADAPTED
MRS. WILLIAMSON SAID YOU WERE THEIR NEW CLASS ‘ASSETT’
.
THE ‘MR BEE’ SPELLING AWARD AND MANY MERITS LATER 
WE ALL GOT HOMESICK-- BUT YOUR POSITIVE NATURE DID NOT WAVER
THE DECISION WE MADE TO RETURN TO CAPE TOWN 
CAUSED YOU HEARTBROCKEN TEARS AND A PERMANENT FROWN
ONCE AGAIN A SAD FAREWELL TO YOUR NEW FOUND FRIENDS 
RETURNING TO S.A. FOR OLD ONES TO MAKE AMMENDS

IT WASN’T VERY LONG THAT YOU PICKED UP WHERE YOU LEFT OFF AT ALL
 ADDED TO YOUR TALENTS WERE NOW TEAM HOCKEY AND NETBALL

AS YOU APPROACHED THE FIRST OF YOUR TEEN YEARS
WITH YOUR LOOKS AND CHARM, INEVITABLY THE BOYFRIENDS WOULD APPEAR
SHOPPING, MOVIES AND MANY PARTY SLEEP-OVERS
CHOOSING TRUE FRIENDS AND DUMPING THE LOSERS
DANCE SHOWS AND DANCING EXAMS… YOU EXCELLED AT HIP- HOP
 FUN AND OF COURSE THE DESIRE TO SHOP

THE END OF JUNIOR SCHOOL-- THE FINAL ASSEMBLY—AWARDS
TROPHIES FOR SPORTSMANSHIP AND YOUR S.R.C. PRIZE GOT MANY APPLAUDS
SAD FEELINGS AT LEAVING YOUR OLD SCHOOL BEHIND 
EXCITEMENT AT STARTING HIGH SCHOOL WOULD SOON COME TO MIND
NO PROBLEM TO YOU, IT WAS ALL JUST A BREEZE 
AS YEAR BY YEAR YOU CONTINUED TO ACHIEVE
SWIMMING AND ‘A’ TEAM HOCKY MATCHES ON THE ASTRO TURF 
YOU EVEN STARTED TO LEARN HOW TO SURF
FRIDAY AFTERNOON CHRISTIAN MEETINGS AND EVENING CHURCH YOUTH
WE WERE SO HAPPY YOU FOUND GOD AND HIS TRUTH

THE REST OF HIGH SCHOOL PASSED IN THE BLINK OF AN EYE WHILE 
YOUR LIST OF ACHIEVEMENTS REMAINED EXCEPTIONALLY HIGH
YOUR ORGANISATIONAL SKILLS WERE ASTOUNDING
COPING WITH TOUGH SUBJECTS LIKE MATHS, SCIENCE AND ACCOUNTING
IN HOCKEY AND SWIMMING YOU MADE THE TOP TEAMS
NO SURPRISE AT ALL THAT SWIMMING COACHES MOVED IN ON THE SCENE.

THEY CULTIVATED YOUR TALENTS FROM STRENGTH TO STRENGTH
EVERY YOUR NIGHT YOUR PASSION SAW YOU DOING MANY LENGTHS
WEEKENDS OF GALA’S AND NATIONAL SWIMMING
S.A.SHORT COURSE, YOUR P.B’S, AND FAIR SHARE OF WINNING
TOGETHER WE CELEBRATED YOUR PLACE IN   W.P. SCHOOL CHAMPS THAT YEAR 
SO PROUD OF OUR BEAUTIFUL SWIMMER ALWAYS AHEAD OF HER PEERS 
.
FIRST YEAR AT UNIVERSITY YOU BECAME SO INDEPENDENT
 STARTING YOUR STUDIES AS A B.Sc. STUDENT
IT WAS ALSO THE YEAR YOU LEARNED TO DRIVE
GOT YOUR LICENSE—DAD SPOILT YOU—NEW CAR—RESPLENDENT


YOUR FAITH AND TRUST IN THE LORD STILL REMAINS FIRM
AS YOU WALK AND GROW SPIRITUALLY DAILY WITH HIM

SO MUCH HAS CHANGED, AND YET SOME THINGS REMAIN
YOU BEAUTY AND TALENTS SO EASILY MAINTAINED
YOUR  LOVE OF SWIMMING AND OUTSTANDING ACHIEVEMENTS IN WATER
YOU KNOW WE WILL ALWAYS BE YOUR NO. 1 SUPPORTERS
AND NOW YOU ARE 21, SWEETHEART 
YOUR WHOLE LIFE AHEAD OF YOU-- TODAY IS JUST THE START
IT SEEMS LIKE JUST YESTERDAY THAT YOU WERE BORN—
OUR DAUGHTER~LOVES BRIGHT SHINING LIGHT~ WE ADORE
YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL AND TALENTED IN EVERY WAY 
WISHING YOU GOD’S RICHEST BLESSINGS ON YOUR SPECIAL DAY
HAPPY 21ST BIRTHDAY TO OUR BABY GIRL

TO HAVE YOU AS A DAUGHTER HAS BEEN A REAL PLEASURE
-YOU HAVE AND ALWAYS WILL BE OUR MOST BEAUTIFUL TREASURE-

(FOOTNOTE: OUR DAUGHTER WILL BE 23 THIS YEAR, HAS COMPLETED HER BSc. AND HONOURS DEGREE’S IN PHYSIOLOGY AND GENETICS AND NOW DOING HER MASTERS DEGREE IN EXERCISE SCIENCE. SHE IS ALSO A PROFESSIONAL TRIATHLETE—DOING SWIMMING, CYCLING AND RUNNING AS ONE DISCLIPLINE)


Details | Class Poem | |

Mirror - Mirror On My wall

   This image of me, now so many years later
each year looking, I’ve found some imperfections
Mirror-mirror, why should I ask - my time won't last,
peering into you, gray now, not young only faultiness,

    Years passing, why my image in my mirror
   should have creaked by, each year looking
will my image fade in front of my Looking glass 
I did Love being strong, young, only gray I see

So now seeing time as if it stood still each time,
touching this image onto my glass of memories past
wrongs, rights, scars, life time stories untold all mine
My life has found it's way full circle to gray, at last

         Things I see now in my looking glass,
are all part past, present, future, why I’m handsome
 graceful, I see each year in me, as if with class
so I will leave my mark, "love"  too touch someone


Details | Class Poem | |

EVA CASSIDY

Miss Sunshine was her sobriquet, and she the golden child 
All through her happy infant days she wore that winning smile 
She loved the colors nature gave, but, sensitive and shy 
She suffered from the thoughtlessness of  some at junior high.  

So music was her salvation, she practiced all the while 
And breathed new life into sad songs with unique wondrous style 
And harmony came naturally, with shades of dark and light 
As with her paintings and her arts she kept her spirit bright. 

In the Valley of the Nightingales, by peaceful waters there 
That sylvan voice of honeyed cream still dances in the air 
Gifted by the shooting star with heart and mind so pure 
The softly spoken blue chanteuse too fragile to endure. 

Then morphine -laced to ease her pain and lifted to her chair
She sang out What A Wonderful World and left pure magic there
Adored by friends and family, her last performed goodbye 
She graced the notes with perfect pitch and heard her angels cry. 

She never got that little house, dreamed of, by ocean's roar 
She never sang out to the seas  from treasured golden shore 
Perhaps a choir out of sight down some yellow brick road 
Is led by Eva clothed in white, in Toto's fields of gold. 

In the Valley of the Nightingales, by peaceful waters there 
That sylvan voice of honeyed cream still dances in the air 
Gifted by the shooting star with heart and mind so pure 
The softly spoken blue chanteuse too fragile to endure. 

HEAR ME SING THIS.

ON YOUTUBE -  VALLEY OF THE NIGHTINGALES, LOUIS SPENCE 

THANK YOU.





Details | Class Poem | |

25

Look at me, I’m a 25 year trendy maker!
I feature a brand new me, at present!
Look at me, and Read through my transition,
I wear George and shave jeans,
Now I’m getting A Gucci,
And now I can volunteer in UN.
I’m the birthday lad at present.
May the folks warble for De Poet, as I take my view.
I’m floating in the galaxy,
But now, let me trail down, to my castle,
Look at the mirror, it all defines me as A Script-Writer,
On my fingertips, is where you unearth my lyrics!
Did you just read that? I’m A Song-writer as well.
I just don’t give a break,
God dam it, I’m A Poet, “Bryan De Poet”
I am, and I have T.m.T forever.
I am 25! And I’m a silver jubilee today.
What a better me, I can fly far and wide,
And It’s a Sunday, when Emmanuel rose,
My pristine birth–date, though! was, a Good Friday, back then in 89,
That defined and defines, my other name “Emmanuel”
Now let me stroll to haven,
With my own visions and missions,
Extremely eventful and magical I’ am,
Wait a Sec, let me accolade my mother, the tremendous queen “Stella”
And not forgetting my father “William”
For today, don’t try to find my station, and try not to provoke me,
Just listen to me,
I’m what I am, and what you see.
This is, an even year for me!
It’s my birthday,
But I haven’t forgotten where I came from.
I’m 25.

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