Poem | |
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.
Poem | |
ye lamhe ye yaade ankho me basa ke,
tum to chale jaoge apne din ajmake,
teri yaad reh jayegi in nam ankho me,
tere pyar bhare jajbat chalak ayenge tanha rahon me.......
wo yaro ki batein,wo apas ka pyar,
kav mitha to kav kadwa sa takrar,
wo roommate se jhagadna,
phir usipe hak se rob jhadna,
wo warden aunty ki dant,
phir unpar makkhan bhari baton ki barsat,
wo rat rat bhar gappe ladana,
or class me late attendance banwana,
class me lectures se jyada teachers ki harkaton pe dhyan dena,
or hostels akar unki khilli udana(kehna yaar unka lecture to kuch palle hi nahi padta),
wo exam ke 1 din pehle xerox ke liye jhagadna,
or na chahte hue v doston ke ache marks ane pe khush hona,
wo sixth sem ke result ka ana,
or ek taraf supersenior hone ki khushi
to dusri taraf college chodne ke gam ka satana....
ab wo farewell party ki rat or masti ki barsat,
ankho me chalke ansu or hothon ki muskan kam,
ye sb yaad kr lena tum,
jab kav lage tumhe apne jivan me hasin pal kam..........
ye hai humare college ki choti si duniya ki choti si kahani kasamagam......
Poem | |
I’ve wrestled with devil in blue grass.
That college that picks pockets
and helps itself to damsels’ purses
fixed nooses just off seventy-five south,
over Clay-way Bailey.
The viaduct that divides two states
divides thieves from Potter Stewart’s Court House.
I refused to march the underground rail road;
a black man rules the white house.
like Mathilda’s Trunchbull,
is as mean as salt on back of barn toad;
she lifted con from condescending.
I relished reflection of her
standing stiff like light pole,
frozen by the return from her calling the school “the company”
They were to give me what I pay for,
but madam flying high on stilettos
was too uppity to climb down and meet me.
Requests made were called controversies,
but to me it was freedom,
and I (pusher of this pen) was on battlefield
with Jamaican fire.
A competent crook cover ass with alibis,
and you should never be seen as obstacles …
If you are negro and alone walk with caution,
but not so with me;
I should live Luther’s dream,
‘cause I own college road.
It was my journey.
I stood stout,
to cast the devil out.
With Obama fueling negroes,
I wonder why Sam is blind
to the now white-collar crime?
I sure hope there are copycats up college road.
Poem | |
in grade school
he heard about it
in high school
he prepared for it
in his first year
he explored it
in his second year
he focused on it
in his third year
he felt part of it
in his fourth year
he graduated from it
Now, he has a job
because of it.
Poem | |
It has always been my naïve, farm-boy assumption,
That one attends college to attain a degree of gumption!
And furthermore that Daddy sends his kid to college,
Not so much to party but to obtain a modicum of knowledge!
I assume that the autocrats who abide in Washington D.C.,
Have attended college and somehow earned at least a BS Degree!
BS stands for Bachelor of Science Degree without equivocation,
But it seems in Washington, BS has assumed a different connotation!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
Poem | |
Go to college they said
To get a real job they plead
Don’t worry about someday
Just get to work by Monday
So here I sit resume in hand
But I feel like I’m stuck in quick sand
What to do? Where to go?
How the hell am I supposed to know?
I have an education
But much to my agitation
It never taught me what to do
Sure I can solve a problem or two
And I am supposed to look at things like few
If I’m so smart?
Why don’t I know where to start?
What tomorrow has in store I am unsure
But my best friend just woke up on my floor
And I’m having the time of my life
Amidst all the struggle and strife
So screw getting older
I’m giving it the cold shoulder
Poem | |
The College Graduation
By Elton Camp
To a life of prosperity, you see
Your college degree is the key
Commencement speaker did say
Each and every expected cliché
“Not an end, but a beginning
The race of life you’re winning”
“Why, the first thing that you know
You will be bringing in lots of dough”
But as was the college’s intention
Certain things he didn’t mention
Jobs will prove hard to come by
No matter how hard they may try
Massive student loans come due
What will the hapless grads do?
Even bankruptcy won’t wipe ‘em out
“Pay up or else!” the lenders shout
Those who fail to pay what they owe
It’s off to debtor’s prison they may go
The grads have the world by the tail,
Let’s just hope they don’t go to jail
Poem | |
Kirstie Fonte's Blog...stirred up a memory... A repost of a mother watching her son grow up
. . . . . .
His small red car, a dent on the left rear side
is parked in our driveway,.....loaded to the max....a full tank of gas
His duffel is crammed with rock-band t-shirts, faded torn jeans
new underwear and socks, (that I insisted we buy),
and that ratty old jacket with the hole in the elbow.
Guitar, books, sports equipment, and cardboard boxes
fill the back seat of his little sedan.
On the passenger seat in front,
is a battered old shoe box tied with string.
Inside, (I've been told by his sister)...are private letters from girlfriend, Cindy
It is the same box (hence the battered state it is in)...that his sister found one day,...
tucked it under her arm, and ran from him laughing...
His long legs chased her through the kitchen and out the back door, screaming
"You're going to die for that!!"....
On this sunny, autumn day, his sister is not laughing...she is standing quietly...pacing...
He reaches over, and tussles her hair a little, and she leans against his chest for a minute,
then steps away, and looks at me with solemn eyes...
He and his father share a hug and an affectionate pat on the back
I stand there watching them, on that dreaded concrete driveway...
My eyes are glistening with unshed tears, but I'm determined not to cry
I knew this day was coming, we had planned to be cheerful....
My emotions are betraying me now....but I will send him off with a smile.
I promised him and I will !
A neighbor is driving by, as if it's just another ordinary day, and waves.
We all wave back, and it breaks the somber spell for a moment.
I hand him the care box I made....laundry soap, toothpaste
candy, energy bars, his favorite home made oatmeal cookies.
Hugs, extra tight. One more....no tears....Oh, God, Help me no tears!!
"Be sure to call when you get there." Drive carefully....Love you"
Poem | |
My son, the college professor
comes home for a visit.
He leaves with all his shirts
ironed, my heart on
Poem | |
I'm tired as I'm about to expire trying to conspire to take my education higher where to
the world I am sire
I get tired of people getting PELL I'm this, I'm that, I'm there, I'm where; I'm here
and about to fail as I go through hell while creditors stalk me through the mail
My blood bleeds success but I must confess if I wasn't blessed, I'd be a mess because
I'm obsessed with being the best
But as life gets hard, I wonder if my start will end before it begins over a test of my
The struggle still needs to be fought over freedom of thought
While I try to stay Mr. 4.0 somebody can decide my chest needs a zero because of some
stuff that wasn't worth cero over some de niro and they really think they Pacino
I don't want to be a King or a GD, a Cobra or a BD, a Four Corner Hustla or SGD, I just
want to be me and it's hard to do that with walking through these streets because they
don't understand peace; all they understand is heat from a piece
Why life gotta be so tough?
Why I gotta be prove I'm rough?
Why people gotta come in my face and talk stuff?
Isn't just being black enough?
Why when I take these streets guys gotta look at me and wonder if ima turn my hat to the
west or the east; why my mind can't be free to study culinary and get off 87th street
I pick up a paper and I get scared of terror alert red or anything Bush has said about
the children in Africa getting fed or the blood in the Middle East being bled but as my
tears turn red because I read about a girl who took lead in the head because she wanted
to get ahead and grow up to be a fed at least that is what the line of the head said but
she will never be able to come home to her bed
Life is a gamble or a try
College is suppose to be a smooth ride and that's a lie because I don't know if ima live
from the bus ride to the El ride
I'm this, I'm that, I'm where; I'm here