Ballad School Poems | Ballad Poems About School

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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.

Copyright © Joe Flach | Year Posted 2010

Details | Ballad |

The Fall of Fifty-Nine

In the fall of "59 we played our best...
That was the year we were better than the rest.

Brooks and Richard always led the way...
And John and Butch were there to play.

Campbell and Bailey were on the ends that year...
And with a line like ours Billy never had a fear.

Farley and Bill, great tackles were they...
And Wayne was a great guard-that's what all our
opponents had to say.

Doug and Steve, boy could they run...
In the fall of "59 didn't we have fun?

We had great coaches that year, no one can deny...
Coach Jim, coach John and coach Gainer- they made
us reach for the sky.

We had a team that was really fine...
That was our team in the fall of "59.

WE won all our games and finished number one in the state..
And for all of us who played the fall of "59 will always be a special date.


Copyright © tom kesting | Year Posted 2015

Details | Ballad |

From Sunday School to Monday Morning

Once again I tip the scale
And mutter, whoever invented it was a man from hell.
It was not a woman who created weights for size
For women can look past the outer shell
And search deep for what is inside.
Men must have their cake and eat it too…
From head to toe-perfection-from hat to shoe
I dress in all white for today I must teach Sunday school
If only a man’s heart would find my food
I can shake and bake
If only on my plate would a handsome man chance to take.

The preacher gets up on the pulpit and puts on his show
Talks about the place where adulterers must go
None of us admit he is a hypocrite as we all know
For he has slept with every woman in the front row.
But, even still my pig’s feet goes from hot to cold
No matter how many ties for him I’ve sewn.
Some women have all the luck
Others like me can’t even get a look-let alone a touch
Being me, ah yes, it is too much.

Sister “Gossip” waves her fan as I go past
“Speak out loud?” would be too much to ask.
I wonder if it is my skirt that is too tight
Or whether I will be at home alone again tonight
I wonder if whatever she says about me is worth a fight
Or is it even true and right.
I pray for her soul with all my might,
I can’t let the Devil move into my mind.

People tell me I sing like a bird
Its gospel time, time to praise the Lord with words
I walk on stage to take my turn
Hands sway from side to side and my throat burns…
But the men stare at the teenager in the short skirt
And the first lady with the red dress
My curves ripple my stomach
For I am not that blessed
I have what a man wants to hear
But to lye beside me is what they all fear.

The service offered nothing by way of encouragement.
But, I have worshiped God
Even if the day was not heaven sent
I know somehow it must be time well spent.
I kiss the little children good-bye
And pretend all is joyous on the inside.
Satin-Legs Smith walks pass the church and sighs
We all know what is on his mind
Therefore though I dream of marriage he doesn’t give me the time.
He looks at me winks and a little smile.
He would only laugh if I asked him to come eat with me
For a little while.

I hang my coat in the closet
Beside a dusty wedding dress
I was wishful thinking when I bought it.
It is four sizes to small
I had planned to shrink into it by last fall.
But, too much time passed and I can’t even return it to the mall.
I can’t bring myself to put it in the trash down the hall.
I may use it for curtains or to cover the dirt stains on my front wall.

I lay myself down to sleep
And pray to the Lord my soul to keep.
And that I do not die before love I see
It is enough to at least give me hopeful dreams.

Monday comes and I have to go off to clean
For rich white people who don’t need anything.
Except for J. Alfred Prufrock
He lives on top 
Of the food chain
But he too is looking for love
We’re both the same.
He always looks at me like he has something to say
But he can’t get past his bald spot or the creases on his face.
Again I wonder should I do the flirting dance
Let him know I am available and that I can
And I will, so he will take a chance
I know he would be willing to love me still
I am not settling for second best!
He is a man!
I am a woman!
Shouldn’t we make love manifest?

I think I will give it a go
And see if I could be someone he would come to know
A fine meal some sweet potatoes and a roast
A pan of peach cobbler, such things men love the most.
I will make his house squeaky clean
Show him what he could expect if he married me.
I drive up and he is at his window
Watching his neighbors come and go
Eavesdropping on their conversations
About Michaelangelo.
And he is reading a book, Dante’s “Inferno”

“Is this for me?” when he sees the plate of food.
I nod yes and hope it gets him in the mood
He smiles, blushes and turns red.
All sorts of happy thoughts run through my head.
But still he only eats and does not speak
It seems the asking will be up to me. 
But what do I say for I do not wish to be
Considered by him, a hussy.
I ask him if he likes the movies.
He tells me he prefers plays
“I have never been to one” I say.
“Maybe I shall take you to one someday.”	
“And I will make you a German Chocolate cake.”
“I guess then it is a date.”

How should I wear my hair?  Should I sport an afro?
Or get a perm?  This is the time to use all those make up tips that I learned.
It seems I will feel the joy of being an Eve.
The birds are singing just for me.
The sun is shining, the flowers are blooming.

Will they be putting Prufrock on my tomb stone
If I do this right I won’t die alone…

Copyright © Tyshawn Knight | Year Posted 2015

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.

Copyright © nilofar shaikh | Year Posted 2011

Details | Ballad |

country pride

My country pride runs deep within,
some understand it, others don't want to.
A rebel flag, a Dale Earnhardt shirt, and a cold one
at the end of the day.
That is country..
Ridin on your pappy's tractor
while on his knee as he chewed tobacco
and told stories of the war.
Grammy's in the kitchen bakin pies and making lemonade.
That is country..
A nascar race in Charlotte,
a hunting season with buddies that followed you
into the army.
A moonshine til or your first date
in daddy's car with your high school sweetheart.
Catchin fireflies in a jar and rockin on the back porch
listenin to grand pappy's stories of when he was young.
And alwazys rememberin where you are from.
That is country...

Copyright © susie penrod | Year Posted 2006

Details | Ballad |

I'll Pause and Cry

There can be tossing and turning and a sleepless night...
Just mentally preparing for the next days fight.

But we love these kids what more can I say...
Life as a teacher provides an interesting day.

There is spitting and cursing and yelling too...
There is pure terror in the parking lot if you're new.

But we love these kids what more can I say...
And for our kids, our pain and suffering will pay off some day.

So we drag out of bed and put a smile on our face...
We want to make a good impression when we enter this place.

We cover our backs as we survive the day...
And we all know that we earn our pay.

Years from now when the movie is here...
We'll sit together and point and cheer.

I love you teachers and I'll miss you so...
And I'll cherish our memories wherever I go.

You'll always be in my thoughts and prayers until the day I die..
And when I stop to remember our experiences I'll pause and cry.

Years from now when these kids are grown...
Let us pray and believe, as a team, good positive seeds have been sown.


Copyright © tom kesting | Year Posted 2015

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.

Copyright © Whitney Hart | Year Posted 2012

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
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

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

Copyright © David Fisher | Year Posted 2012

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.

Copyright © Victoria Anderson-Throop | Year Posted 2012

Details | Ballad |

The Book of Sadie Lynn

****Self Harm Trigger Warning****
Not for children-

The Book of Sadie Lynn

Sadie Lynn, her wrists are canvas. 
Her razor-blade: her pen.
She’ll write a scarring story.
I’ll tell you how it ends.

It starts with simple words,
They push her to the edge. 
“Bitch,” “Slut,” “Whore,” but,
They never understand.

The bloody ink,
it writes the tale.
The crimson pink,
it leaves a trail.

She feels alone and 
runs on home.
she grabs her pen 
and writes again.

Her mouth, it tastes like metal.
Her storybook of sin,
As she writes her final chapter,
“The Book of Sadie Lynn.”

Copyright © Dylan Schmidt | Year Posted 2015

Details | Ballad |

A white day off school

I look around 
at this ground
thinking why didn't we 
get this before

the lay of white
that fills our sights
why didn't
this happen before.

We can laugh and play
if we want all day
but when we come in hot coco awaits

life is full
of unexpected things
like and risk
a diamond ring
but snow brings a nice day in white

there could no school today
or luckily a two hour delay
but who cares snow is on the ground
and everyone is happy
we don't see frowns.

Copyright © jessie conner | Year Posted 2015

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.

Copyright © My Gull Wheels On | Year Posted 2007

Details | Ballad |

School House Bashing

School bashings in 1951
Oh I went to school in fifty one
Like every six year old should
I did't know what was in store
A flogging for my good?

Bushy got a sandwich from another kid at school
He handed me another, nice tucker it was cool
Bushy did not come this day, I got another sandwich
Head teacher grabbed me by the scruff
A long cane he did brandish.

He thought to drive the evil out
I surely got a thrashing
Blue stripes from heel to nape of neck
Yes mate I got a bashing .

Beryl Mason was the older girl    (bushys sister)
Who came and told my father
He sprang upon his horse, did whirl
His stockwhip cracked like thunder

He rode up the steps into the school
And sprang upon the teacher
Belted him often hard and cruel
And Joe become a preacher....he saw the light

So I did not get the cane for awhile after that.
I'd had all I needed for awhile.   Don Johnson 6-12-10

My mate Sourpuss Noble of Dirranbandi had his head 
Jammed through a plate of glass in a school door ..
As the teacher said .You will not talk no more?

Copyright © DON JOHNSON | Year Posted 2017

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.

Copyright © Alan Fitz | Year Posted 2009

Details | Ballad |

School Yard Politics

In the school yard
I am a politician 
I am adding subtracting some sort of division 
Ladies check out my fresh foamposites I rock with precision 
Not the smartest my homework always needed a revision 
So don't copy my answers in class it needs more erudition 
I am on a mission to score a sweet shorty I am not worried about the competition 
Running the school yard is my ambition
Girls in the corner the boys staring like an exhibition
Their is a hierarchy everyone striving for that representation
As if their is an invisible partition
Cool vs lame concealed segregation 
An unremitting orientation 
Not keeping up with the style is unforgiven
Forever banished, extradition 
Tomorrow and the day after will be the same game, endless repetition

Copyright © Sofia Ra | Year Posted 2017

Details | Ballad |

My Day

They’re staring at me 
No. they don’t care
They constantly judge me
They don’t even notice you
She’s laughing at me
She’s laughing with you
He’s looking at me
...he’s reading a book?

I need to leave
 I’m shaking
Calm down 
Music. I need music.
Shit. Dropped my ipod
They’re all staring
They didn’t even hear it 

Walking the halls is the worst
    Keep your eyes down. 

Left foot.
                    Right foot. 

  Just. Keep. Walking.
   I hear my name.
    Walk. Faster.
Left foot. 
                 Right now. 
Damn. They caught up.
Friends. Friends are good. 
         Eye Contact
                 Look at them.

“Hey what's up?”
 Quick. Don’t be weird.
“um.. yeah i’m good”	
Try again
“Shut up.. No not you”
you blew it.

School is over now.
Go to your locker.
  Get Homework.
 I drop everything. 
People are staring.
They’re helping you
No. Don’t need help. 
Means i have to talk.
Just say Thank You 
“uh.. You’re welcome.”
  “I mean thank you”
    Finally outside.
“How was school?”
“It was good today”
       In the car.
       Safe now. 

Copyright © Alissa Thomas | Year Posted 2017

Details | Ballad |

Happy Mothers Day

From stubbed toes ,countless tears and many more to come
Being a Mom is never done
From baseball games,gymnastics,dances and proms
There is no full time job such as mom
From the punishments like no outside and no tv
To the love that was so unconditionally
From "Its painfull to be beautiful" & " Live and learn"
You taught so lovingly yet so firm
Making us proude to be who we are today
Keeping our mouths shut, if there is nothing nice to say
Working how ever long it took
Just to buy me that new pocket book
Getting the school clothes off of lay-away
Man that was the most magical day
It was enough for you, just to see us smile
Letting us stay home from school every once in a while
When we faught, you were the referee
Sending us both to our rooms so seriously
From being our cheif,servant, personal shoufer and maid
Doing it all without getting paid
Hosting parties on our behalf
To practicliy forcing us to get in the bath
Dressing us from head to toe
Not missing one talent show
Your a magnificent sculpter, molding and creating us
A love built on honesty,integrity,compassion and trust
Love you mom your the best!

Copyright © Dawn Quering | Year Posted 2009

Details | Ballad |

Capital punishment school 1951 Australia

Oh I went to school in fifty one Like every six year old should I did’t know what was in store A flogging for my good? Bushy got a sandwich from another kid at school He handed me another, nice tucker it was cool Bushy did not come this day, I got another sandwich Head teacher grabbed me by the scruff A long cane he did brandish. He thought to drive the evil out I surely got a thrashing Blue stripes from heel to nape of neck Yes mate I got a bashing . Beryl Mason was the older girl (bushys sister) Who came and told my father He sprang upon his horse, did whirl His stockwhip cracked like thunder He rode up the steps into the school And sprang upon the teacher Belted him often hard and cruel And Joe become a preacher...he saw the light So I did not get the cane for awhile after that. I’d had all I needed for awhile. Don Johnson 6-12-10 But perhaps it worked on me i didn't do time and i'm drug and alcohol free?

Copyright © DON JOHNSON | Year Posted 2010

Details | Ballad |

High School Sadness Sans Shana Aubrey Harris - part one half

Subtitled: A Quiz Sic Hull Emotionally Test Ting Senior Event
Valedictorian treads across makeshift platform 
   i.e. most likely auditorium stage
marked by pronounced hushed audience, 
   who exude a collective sigh lent sage
laden tour de force vis a vis inhaling, notating, 
   and regaling gleeful yet pained page
turned - closing a chapter of progeny prolific accomplishments, 
 i honor Shana, who did engage 
*          *          *          *          *          *          *        *                          
her wholesome being i.e., she with her sunny 
   delightful disposition and lightness of being 
buoyant feat (yeat as heavy of hearted butler) 
   feted for 2017 Redmond i’ ching 
a bundle of mixed emotions sans 
   Enrichment Academy graduates, by tests acing
*          *          *          *          *          *          *        *                          
who attained milestone vis a vis earning laurels and plaudits 
   from family members hook air
high school diploma, and ready to launch 
   bountiful daunting challenges, yet surely un clear
about destiny, though place one foot before 
   t'other each young gal and/or guy will exude flair
to succeed, now bestirred by joy and sorrow 
   upon grasping their papier
ma shay – nah - High school diploma aware, 
   a sound education 
   sent each on their own future path veer
ring this way and that, 
   while pomp and circumstances issues forth 
   by adroit musically talented underclass mates 
   and seniors next school year.
man, twitching emotional celebrate 
   achievement denoted, evoked, 
   and feted voiced loud and clear
   by keynote student speaker, 
   who braves the tsunami 
   of glomming audible suppressed tear
but also underscored via 
   well worn mortarboard, linkedin, kickstarter, Joyus 
   Eye-to-eye grin freshly minted graduates wear
*          *          *          *          *          *          *        *                          
the mood swept up via that well worn tune 
(composed by Sir Edward Elgar, his moon
light Sonata - subtitled March Number 1) acknowledging June
a per cheers, eliciting grownups immense 
   Kleenex moistening overpowering quintessential immune
eye zing, simmering ululating wrenching yowling 
   as tassels get tossed, ripped and flipped in tandem with a boon
*          *          *          *          *          *          *        *                          
dog gull (maybe in conjunction 
   with a non twittering uber angry bird) 
to the left side of the caparisoned newly anointed future 
   where flocking sounds of silence heard
Dharma Bums, professionals and/or trades persons
   momentarily stung with sadness NOT ab surd 
to cry depart ting iz such sweet sorrows adieu
   to favorite classmates and teachers, whose supportive word
just the perfect balm to ease academic despair, who voluntarily
   cosseted, ferried, and whispered magic.

Copyright © matthew harris | Year Posted 2017

Details | Ballad |


Ashley Had a Small Goat
Oh, Ashley had a Small goat,
Small goat, Small goat,
Ashley had a Small goat,
And he had a coat of white

He followed her to school one day,
School one day, school one day,
He followed her to school one day,
And drank a some water.

 Oh, once he ate a spinach can, 
Spinach can, spinach can, 
once he ate a spinach can, 
Also a line of clothes.

The clothes can do no harm inside, 
Harm inside, harm inside, 
the clothes can do no harm inside, 
But oh! The spinach can!

 The can was filled with achemical,
chemical , chemical chemical,
The can was filled with a chemical,
Which the goat  thought was food

He rubbed against poor Ashley's chin,
Ashley's chin, Ashley's chin,
He rubbed against poor Ashley's chin,
His deep distress to ease.

There was a flash of girl and goat,
Girl and goat, girl and goat
There was a flash of girl and goat
And they were seen no more..

Ashley's soul to Heaven went,
Heaven went, Heaven went,
Ashley's soul to Heaven went,
And Mr. Goat went there too.

Copyright © John Long | Year Posted 2007

Details | Ballad |

The School Boy Anthem

I will learn to read tomorrow
When the teachers are not around
When facebook becomes book face
and instagram, pages of a textbook
Then,  my boom will be my companion. 

I will write the exams at my leisure time
when the birds sing on every tree
the moon perk and snarl like hyena
and the sun shows no more of its anger
then,  the script shall be passed to me. 

I will learn to dream at dawn
When papa Te where the He-goat 
get its waffy and mother learn to
tell me why I was made a boy in her womb
Then,  I will spell out my dreams.

I will learn to write in the classroom 
when we learnt gather all what griefs destroyed
And grandma forgets her childhood with
the angry trees in our family compound
Then,  I will learn to write in the class. 

I will attend the assembly soon
When all the students are no more
The field empty and scary to the eyes
No praises,  no clapping,  no prayers, 
Just me and the grasses gliding through. 

The older boys will follow this path
When Old age is no more priority
And those pains in their pride abolished 
To the stream of lost and want
This anthem shall teach that school does not build a boy. 

©John Chizoba Vincent 

Copyright © john chizoba vincent | Year Posted 2017

Details | Ballad |

The Lucas Seven Hip Hop Remix

Yo, I say yo,
Don’t go until you here this,
This bliss, don’t dismiss, my message,
I know 8 mc’s, 7 in physical form, one in spiritual essence,
We got presence,
It all started, with the Jerry G Lucas,
And then Lucas Jr.
He will school ya,
And Melba, the compassionate,
Castin’ it aside, all notions of herself,
In a symphony of sacrifice,
And then there’s me the poet scholar,
I wear a colla,
Of slayin’ beasts of hatred,
But I’m elated,
Because I found ha,
The christocentric, Madonna,
Who set my world on fire,
She’s no lia,
She claims the desire,
Of minions of millions of men,
Who envy my wisdom,
In choosin’ this venus,
Who gave birth to the child of light,
I mean a warrior of right,
Autumn, the season of joy,
And with little Woodrow, we make seven,
We going to heaven,
And leadin’ the world there,
Gerald G Junior, He’ll school ya,
With business elasticity,
And he’ll help you see,
The light of common urgency,
The magnificent 7, and with Christ we make 8,
The numba of new beginnin’s 
Sending, minions, to lendin’ love, and covetin’ kindness,
Can you rhyme this,
It all started with the patriarch,
He had no fatha,
But with his iron will,
He became the transcendent,
You can’t bend it,
His fist of fury,
With methodical precision,
He makes ya listen,
And can you understand, this man, of the ages?
Maybe so, maybe not,
But can’t no one stop us,
Cause we a clan, 
Of the all mighty,
Shine bright we,
Will change the face of Arrakis,

Copyright © Woodrow Lucas | Year Posted 2008

Details | Ballad |

Last School Day

So the day is finally here,
The day I wanted to avoid.

I wish I could skip a day,
So I dont have to feel so annoyed.

But I have to face it,
Look it in the eye.

I dont want to feel bad,
I dont want to cry.

I'll miss them all,
and I know that's true.

I'll smile all day,
and give them all hugs too.

We all have to start new,
and make new friends.

We will all cry,
but remember this is not the end. 

Copyright © Emma Ward | Year Posted 2008

Details | Ballad |

High School Showdown

I came home to Mom's house, 
After being booted out of Dad's, 
And though they called me the Mouse, 
I had grown into a strapping young lad, 

A high school student who never fit in, 
I was a loner and an outcast, 
You could find me outside smoking, 
Trying to defeat my sordid past, 

But once in a while, 
Trouble just came my way, 
There was one unusual rile, 
Let me tell you about that day, 

It started the day before, 
When a gang cut in line, 
And hit my little brother, 
When I stepped up this time, 

They got mad and decided, 
To kick me while I was sitting alone, 
Hit in the back I jumped up and asked, 
Which loser kicked me in the back bone, 

Silence that day was all I got, 
But the next day I found the truth, 
For the guy who kicked me in the lot, 
Was now walking with a cast upon his foot. 

They came at me once again, 
Calling me out to fight the leader, 
And he asked me to fight him, 
Behind the gym and in his fever, 

He wanted to take my life, 
For humbling him at lunchtime, 
They would pull their knives, 
Gang up on me in this fight, 

But I told him no, 
Fight me right here and now, 
Come on let's go, 
Let's have our showdown, 

Right here in front of everyone, 
And his gang started to form behind him, 
And I began to fear as they reached a dozen, 
But I stood there firm and grim, 

Ready to take them all on, 
And suddenly fear crossed their faces, 
Then one by one they were done, 
Leaving his side they left empty places, 

And soon they all left, 
Including my adversary, 
And I was amazed at this gift, 
In the face of a certain beatdown, victory! 

Then as I turned to leave I found, 
The reason the gang ran away that day, 
For behind me stood dozens of kids from town, 
Who were tired of the gang and their evil ways, 

So when you believe you are all alone, 
You may be the one person who, 
Can bring people along, 
When others are acting the fool.

Copyright © My Gull Wheels On | Year Posted 2012

Details | Ballad |

High School Sadness Sans Shana Aubrey Harris - part one

How quick capitalone two-step flickr ring imperceptibly, 
   kneaded asper byte
sized LivingSocial ties, linkedin and massaged viz MineCraft flight
of fancy outlook with plenti full confidence, faith, 
   and inherent lettered oblations height
ten ing to serve snapchatting amidst soundcloud, 
   thence spring boarding into unknown ether akin to a kite
hing shutterfly at the speed of light
*          *          *          *          *          *          *        *                          
mentioned opportunities, 
   no matter what destiny each young man or woman doth await
decision to pursue with accolades dedicated genuinely 
   (just distant participation) for gem I helped create
thus aye write this poem for special veneration of x2c 
   accorded beautiful daughter, now this papa does evaluate
her outstanding success wells sorrow at my absence,
   but internally rejoice that fate
did proffer ecstatic gloating honestly jubilant heiress –
   whose worth to me....
   mucho great issue Per Story of Your Life 
   with hosannas hooraying to the gift of your being
tore than fine spun gold, cuz this kindred offspring of late
made noble perseverance reaching the ultimate write x zit 
   that will usher her as proud 2017 class mate
onward toward opportunities sustained by confidence gained 
   thru academic ambition like ice skate
ting with dynamic dedication, and gigantic germination of maturation, 
   whose individual future exploits icon hardly a wait.
*          *          *          *          *          *          *        *                          
further education and thence employment endeavors. 
   So Punim – a pet name assigned
trajectory predicated with rubric 
   of essential scholastic tools essential to gain positive 
   (whom this dada, whose more omnipotent 
   than Comcast cables can bind
attempted to let words tumble upon display screen 
   communicating with difficulty defined
in my patois, (a gallimaufry of mumbo jumbo 
   shrimp limp ping missive) 
   at your success and lucky Gadshill find
attaining a laudable momentous occasion 
   per rejoicing, at how ye mined
esprit de corp no matter the message possibly all a jumble
lost amidst this cobbled gobbledygook, 
   the literary analogy of watermelon rind
which attempts to pass 
   as acclaimed  endeavor literary scholarly signed
. Okay, I experience tears of euphoria 
   and misgiving ent twined
at lack of finances to share 
in person how this dada daubs dribbling tears ducts. 
   Congratulations thy beloved Shana.
*          *          *          *          *          *          *        *                          
Great strides find me agog, how ye did leap from 
   (with unbridled support from 
many supportive services) stunned at lovely young woman, 
   a series of fortunate events (Take that Lemony Snicket!), 
   this papa doth regale and marvel! 

Copyright © matthew harris | Year Posted 2017

Details | Ballad |

School Benediction

As we walk to school today;
May the glory of learning be upon us,
May we not encounter something bigger
Than our little eagle's eyes.
The spirit of encouragement shall abide in us,
Let the teacher' whip mean nothing to us
But a challange we need to learn and excel.

Bless and enlarge our knowledge;
May the grace of wisdom abide still
In us like the ancient king solomon,
And bless the chairs, we sit on;
The four corners of the classroom
Shall be our friend, none shall injure.

May every lesson taught be easy and appealing,
May it be seasoned from above to the teacher
Not to be the reasoning knowledge of our teacher,
But your reasoning and words from above.
May every head obtain and preserve every 
Piece of information drop by.

So, bless this little classroom, oh God,
And exalt the school in your glory
And all that is within its care.
May the teachers find mercy in your sight,
As they Take care of us; so shall their children be taken care of.

With your tender loving care and favour,
Look after our parents who labour day and night
To see us through in this empty life of pains.
Lord, bless our founder and his family,
The trees and birds and the ants within;
For without them, school life would seem
Meaningless and troublesome.

Copyright © john chizoba vincent | Year Posted 2015

Details | Ballad |

Urban Wild West

Back in high school everything was a mess
kids in different cliques, in all types of dress
and everyday a fight to see who's the best
and gun threats with kids having gats in there vests.
Teachers not caring about the education of generation x
didn't believe in the future or us or what's coming next
just in it long enough so they can cash there checks
as they push the kids along, uneducated or not along with the rest.
Security guards check your i.d. to make sure you were where your
supposed to be
But now isn't it so easy to make a fake pass, doesn't anyone see?
so now kids are laying in pools of blood and agony
they say it's safe but schools still very uneasy.

School today's like the wild west
Everyone's fighting, lots of unrest
And every body's just trying to fit in
But some are lost right from the beginning.
School today's like the wild wild west
Everyone's wearing a bullet proof vest
Scared to go to school because of the threats
Afraid as hell as to what happens next.

There's no smiles as you pass by in the hallway
because one false move can make the wrong person angry
everyone seems to be dealing with there own hate
nobody wants to deal with a lonely fate
so much on everyone's plate
and the angst just unable to escape
so when he or she snaps and is in bad shape
everyone runs for cover before it's to late.
Im not out to scare you far from it
but it's time other take notice of it
before more innocent kids die from this
because a child who cries for help gets none of it
a tiny scream inside, the anger that they hide
they always answer with a pistol by there side
and it's up to us to find another way
so those kids who go to school can live another day.

School today's like the wild west
Everyone's fighting, lots of unrest
And every body's just trying to fit in
But some are lost right from the beginning.
School today's like the wild wild west
Everyone's wearing a bullet proof vest
Scared to go to school because of the threats
Afraid as hell as to what happens next.

Copyright © antonio swider | Year Posted 2007

Details | Ballad |


Nobody knows much about her
shadowy woman she
she haunts ill illumined corners
mostly vicariously.

Single-minded in her purpose
(focused on men of course)
one day she primped down her purse up
and side saddled her horse.

Prince Dick Whit, whom she had married,
impetus for her ride.
had been the Illuminati
for her ferocious stride.

Her Dad, you see, was imprisoned.
She armed with Dick's sway felt
the jester blind King would listen
when time the truth to tell.

Thus rode fair Taise off fearlessly
and cutting to the quick
Taise rescued Dad not tearlessly,
so many wounds to lick.

Was long ago, now both enjoy
reminiscing days old
when Daddy was the prescient one
said, “Please don't tase me, Bro!”

Written by Nancy Jones for Debbie Guzzi's “Creepy Irish Creatures” contest

*Taise is a minor figure in Irish legend who married a hero in order to free her father from prison

**The last line alludes to an outrageously incredible incident that occurred four years ago where I live.  If you're interested, I posted the video in “about this poem”

Copyright © Nancy Jones | Year Posted 2011

Details | Ballad |


My grandmom was a good woman in her time she was born in the depression error the daugter 
of sharecroppers in the deep south of Ms of clinton in the country she didn't finish school she 
clean schools for living it was a job the biggest job was taken care of other people kids I'm one 
of them cause the way she did it was a blessing by being handicapped I was her joy of life by 
getting me up to go to school church to my doctors visit every month she clean other peoples 
houses she gave good avice to people who need it she was there for every body the things that 
she talked me is how to make it in the world on your own when other people is not there for you 
I'm teaching my son the things she was telling me then and now

Copyright © shell thomas | Year Posted 2006