Narrative Graduation Poems

These Narrative Graduation poems are examples of Narrative poems about Graduation. These are the best examples of Narrative Graduation poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

If you don't find the poem you want here, try our incredible, super duper, all-knowing, advanced poem search engine.

The poem(s) are below...

Details | Narrative |
The day’s hot-the wind like a convection oven
Blows hot air in our faces.
My cap and gown insulates me
Baking me like a potato wrapped in aluminum foil
I desperately fan myself and look around
My eyes search for my peers and see;
The bros that survived school with me;
The others who shouldn't have;
The girls with memories already wet in their eyes;
The people I never met and will never know;
All desperately fanning themselves
In silence and in waiting.
We all are waiting for the same thing-
What's next to come.
For some it will be their names
For another a trip to boot camp
For many including myself- college
A couple can't wait to forget the tortures of high school
And a few will already be planning our high school reunion
because it was the best years of their life.
As I bow my head, not out of sadness,
but out of sheer defeat by the sun,
I scuff up my dress shoes in the clumpy grass of the field- 
that just finished another infamous drawn out lacrosse season,
I'll be thinking about the 4 plus years, 8 seasons,
worth of drilling and conditioning I did in that very field and on the surrounding track,
With a flash of ivory across my sweating face
I'll be thinking about
All the nooks and crannies
that I sanctioned for the intimate meetings of my girlfriends
The times caught and not,
All the heartbreaks and rejections,
The friends made, the best friends kept, and the many lost.
The drama, stupidity, and immaturity,
Everything that was and used to be.
And, all this time spent waiting-preparing
for this one moment
You can't help but remember it all
And with one, final sweet goodby-

Copyright © Nicholas Bello | Year Posted 2013

Details | Narrative |
We met for poetry, found a lively group
occupying our space; Herculaneum 
High School Reunion Committee.

They introduced themselves,
offered to move. "No," we said.
"We can use the other end of the room."

Distracted by their excited chatter,
we asked, "What year did you graduate?
1961 . . . your 50th reunion . . . wow."

"You're too young for this," she said.
"No, I graduated in 1953," I said.

"1953! Hey, she graduated in 1953,"
she said. They were astonished.


"No Way!"


"You graduated when you were five?"

I thanked them and moved on 
to the poetry meeting, floating on air.

cfa © 12/9/2010

Copyright © Cona Adams | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative |
I was a seventeen year old senior in a coed, catholic high school.  Our gym classes however were still all boys and all girls.  My senior year we had gym every other day and music every other day in the same time slot.  The music classes, therefore, were also all boys or all girls.

She was a twenty-eight year old nun in her first teaching assignment.  She was in way over her head.  She was about five-foot-four and weighed practically nothing.  The nuns in our school no longer wore habits and I remember thinking it was a good thing because she would probably fly away like Sally Fields.  If you don’t know what I mean by that then you are too young to be reading my story.

The music class was a mad house.  She could not control a room of twenty some boys bound and determined to make her life hell.  I mean, music class?  Really?

We never did the homework assigned; never answered her questions seriously; never believed her threats at discipline; wouldn’t accept the demerits she tried to hand out; and basically goofed off for the hour that was supposed to be dedicated to learning about music.

For some reason, she seemed too proud or too green or too determined to go to the principal or another teacher for help; and, sensing that, we knew we could get away with our childish behavior and so we did.

One day, a handful of us “got in trouble” and she said she wanted to talk to us after class.  I was the only one that actually stayed.  She tried to lecture me on my bad behavior but I guess my smirk was evidence it was not sinking in.  Then, she started to cry, and for the first time I saw her as a person.

“What am I doing,” she cried.  "I can’t do this.  I am trying; I am really trying, but I am not cut out for this.  Why are you boys so mean and hateful?”

I stood up in front of her not knowing what to do or what to say.  I felt like a real jerk.  I was a real jerk.

Tears poured down her face, which I finally recognized as being a pretty face.  She bowed her head and just sobbed.  In my awkward seventeen year old manner, I slowly opened my arms and allowed her to lean into me.  And I hugged her while she wept.
At seventeen, I was no ladies’ man, and this crying nun was the first woman I had ever held so close to me.  I could feel her breasts pressed against me; the heat emitting from her body; and, the delicate nature of her womanly form in my arms.  I knew then that I was destined to go straight to hell for the thoughts that were going through my head and the feelings I felt between my legs.

She pulled away and whispered, “I am so sorry, I should not have done that.  You may go.”

I simply said, “You know, you are doing fine, you just have a class of a bunch of butt holes”, and walked out of the room.  It was that night that she started coming to see me in my dreams.  To hell I go, for sure.

I wish I could tell you I had the moxie and the influence to whip that class into shape, but I did not.  The mad house continued with one less student joining in the fun.  I tried my best to behave, answer her questions, pay attention and feign interest in the topic of the day – but I was just one in a sea of monsters.  I stayed after class and after school a few times to talk with her, ask her how she was doing, and see if I could help in any way.  She was actually starting to get the hang of things and was able to focus on the few classes that were willing to learn.

At the end of the school year, I was one of the few students who had not enrolled in a college for the coming year.  Because I was one of the better students, it caused a little bit of a fuss and a number of teachers talked to me about the huge mistake I was making taking some time off before going to college.  It seems they were all convinced that if I did not start into college in the fall, I was doomed to never go to college.  I challenged them by saying what they were really worried about was their statistics of percentage of students who went on to further their education.

During the last day of classes, the music teacher asked me to stay after class.  It appears, it was her turn to try to talk some sense into me.

“So, I hear you are not going to college,” she said.

“No, I’m going to college … some day, just not this fall.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know yet.  Take some time off.  Work.  Nothing.  I don’t know.  Why is it so important to everyone?  When the time is right, I’ll go to college.”

“They just care about you.”

“Bull loney,” I said, only it was another word.

She smiled at me.  I had been dreaming about her now for six months.  I changed the topic.

“Have you ever kissed a boy?”

She laughed, “You know, I grew up the same as every girl in this high school.  I did have boyfriends.”

“Yeah, but have you ever kissed a boy,” I challenged.

“No.  Not the way you mean.”

“Do you ever wonder what it would be like?”

“No.  Never,” she lied.

“If I told you I will register for college if you kiss me, will you?”

“No.  I believe you when you say you just need some time off.  I think that is a good idea.”

Then she walked up close to me and stopped a heartbeat away.  Suddenly, she reached down between my legs, grabbed the crouch of my pants and said, “Just don’t let this thing get you in trouble.”

She abruptly turned and walked out of the classroom while I tried to catch my breath.

During the graduation ceremony I saw her sitting with the other teachers and shared a private smile with her while walking back to my seat after being handed my diploma.  I would never see her again … outside of my dreams.

I often think about my high school music teacher and my ticket straight to hell.  Unfortunately, I never heeded her advice.  That body part of mine she grabbed ahold of for a fleeting second those many years ago, has gotten me in trouble time and time again.

Copyright © Joe Flach | Year Posted 2012

Details | Narrative |
I thought I was ready, I stood quite prepared
Before dozens of rows, aware of their stares
Hot, shiny teenagers, looking so wierd...
Capped by flat, tasseled cardboard, and wow, was I was scared!
Eager to flee, and squirming like worms
Waiting to be given, a diploma in hand
To be unleashed to the world, and to be in command!
My classmates, friends, chums, this vast sea of birds..
Would soon fly the coop of the school we had known
I could trace giddy ripples…and a few whispered words
Their rapt attention, caught me a bit by surprise
I could feel pent-up parties were swelling inside 
But they were waiting for me…! Oh, how did this happen?
That I would now take the stand, my own meager offerings,
Rehearsed driveled nonsense, be heard?.......How absurb?!!
The auditorium echoed, in silence that night
The words sat there waiting, glib on my tongue
Words meant to stir their emotional wings
Of roads we had shared, and hurdles we’d jumped
Achievements, and memories, funny stories in store
Jokes we had played, games we had won, teachers adored
Shared school years to sum.  Oh,…they’ll be bored…!! They’ll be bored!!!

A speech I had planned, in my head it was grand
Intended it was,     to be even better
To melt from my tongue, like a river of butter
I did not know my feet would feel so large
The words that I had practiced would come out as a stutter
Where was the courage I had never needed before?

Two hundred pair of adolescent eyes
Waiting with patience, for words from a peer…
Oh Lord please help me recall just one single word!

He gave me a moment to gather my thoughts
Giving me a chance to swallow my fear….

To my astonished relief
I found three brand new words, quite unrehearsed
Indeed they were brief….and right off the cuff…
but they were enough ….and were followed by cheers..
                                     “Hooray For Us!!!”

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2012

Details | Narrative |
My daughter was 9 yrs old when my wife and I first separated.  I tried to get custody; was 
granted joint custody, but the children would physically remain living with their mother.
My career took me to New Jersey.  My ex took the children back home with her to Ohio.

Over the next few years my daughter started getting into more and more trouble.  Her 
school grades were very poor; she was not allowed to participate in extracurricular activities 
until they improved; her attendance record was poor; she was spending school nights over at 
friends’ houses and skipping school the next day; and, who knows exactly what else?

The reports I received from the teachers, the school councilor, from her mother and from 
her siblings had me very concerned.  I shared my concerns with my daughter through a 
series of long, verbose letters pleading with her to get control of her life before it was too 
late.  She was smart, talented and a beautiful person but was not applying herself and falling 
into bad habits that could ruin a young girls’ life.

After three years I once again sued for custody.  This time, it was much more obvious that 
the children belonged with their father; I was awarded full custody of all three children.

In high school, my daughter started to excel.  Her artistic talents were shining through and 
she graduated in the top ten of her Senior class.  This father was very proud to send her off 
to college knowing she was a bright, mature, well-adjusted young woman.

Four years later, at her college graduation party, after she had opened all her presents, my 
daughter announced she had a present for me.  She pulled out a stack of well worn papers
and told me that they were the letters I had sent her so many years ago.

She told me she had been saving these letters and constantly rereading them throughout the 
years determined to return them to me showing me she could right herself and not go down 
the paths I feared.  She admitted that she was headed there and probably would have ended 
up in the trouble I foresaw had I not fought once more to gain custody.

She thanked me for caring enough to write those letters.  She thanked me for caring enough 
to not give up on her.  She thanked me for continuing my efforts to get custody of her and 
her two brothers.

I cannot thank her enough for such a wonderful graduation present.

Copyright © Joe Flach | Year Posted 2010

Details | Narrative |

If, for might imagine it all...
Do try,... if you can.......

Pretending, perhaps, that it was long ago....
And let's say,...that you were on the brink of discovery, 
      16 years old, and thinking the world lay at your feet.
      It is the last week of your sophomore year,
      and we would find you at a graduation party, 
      mingling with friends, in the dwindling twilight 

Let us make it a sparkling, warm evening in June.

Try to imagine, if you can, that over the yard and trees
     are strings of little lights, criss-crossed streams of light-beams
         twinkling like fireflies, over the patio, over the yard
             just as the swarm of summer stars 
             are waiting to complete the scene...
Someone may have even set up an old phonograph, so there could be dancing....
Say, for instance,..Johnny Mathis was singing "Chances Are"..
And you are entranced, listening,...sipping a coke or something..

Now, imagine this great looking senior boy,...
         (whom you had seen around school, but had never met)
                        ..walks over to stand by you..,.... can you picture it...?
And let's just say, your heart is pounding nervously,
   and just when you thought you might faint... he asks you to dance!
                          Of course you'll say yes!!,....Just imagine!!....
Imagine then, you are tongue tied....can hardly catch your breath!
And when the song ends,...he doesn't let go of your hand?!

And just about then, .more music fills the air...
        something rare, something beautiful... 
        Something makes you swoon, it's "Moonglow"...just think about it!  
        And the rhythm fits the mood..and your feet seem to move on air

And let's say he begins humming softly, and his breath ruffles your hair.... 
and you close your eyes, he pulls you close, with your head resting with a sigh.....

Then another song, another dance, the phonograph plays on.. 
And the music blends, and the night is long, and you hope the moment never ends

And let's just say, it is very late 
    and your parents will be waiting,....

So he asks to walk you home...and you say, ...well..of course you'll say yes!.... 

And finally....we might have to say..
       ......well,.......what if..., what if from then on...
           he has been the only one who ever,......ever again, walked you home?

               We might just say that,......if only,.... if only you can imagine......

True story :)

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2009

Details | Narrative |
Grandma's dresser was a testament to time.  Elegant in it's curves.  Sturdy in it's 

A thick piece of plate glass lay atop, to protect the wood surface.  Under that glass, 
sealed away, yet there to be seen, were pictures and announcements.  Mile stones 
important to Grandma.

There was a picture of each one of us grand kids when we lost our two front teeth.  
Big, gap toothed grins on our young faces.  Taken years a part.  Yet placed side by 
side, under the glass.

Positioned below them was a poem.  Written by my Grandfather while they were first 
dating.  Lovingly kept to be read each day.

Over on the other side of the dresser top, was placed a short newspaper article.  The 
obituary of her mothers death.  next to it lay the program from her funeral.  Grandma's 
tears, still evident on the parchment.

Towards the middle, was my brothers Certificate Of Graduation from The School For 
The Deaf, at the age of five.  There had been a newspaper article done on him by the 
local daily paper.  That picture of him with mother was next to the certificate.  He was 
proudly wearing his first hearing aids.

A bit of lace from Grandma's wedding dress.

A napkin from a fancy restaurant Grandpa took her to, once.

A flower drawn on brown paper.  Given to her on Mother's Day by my mom at the age 
of three.

Other little photos and bits of life kept to be enjoyed and shared...under that plate 

Copyright © Paula Swanson | Year Posted 2010

Details | Narrative |
I am a future Criminologist!
By Charlemagne James P. Ramos

Today, I am preparing my heart, mind, body and soul for the final battle. I am a warrior, I can overcome any obstacles. I will be a Professional and I will be raising my hand and stating my name on the oath taking ceremony.

I know I can, I will act as a Criminologist, I will think as a Criminologist. I am ready to hurdle all the challenges on my way, I will give pride to my parents, love ones, and everyone who believes in me. Yes! I am willing to sacrifice everything for my future profession, this is the dream I’ve been waiting for. 

This is the opportunity and I will not fail. I do believe in myself that I could read a lot of books and focus on my review. I know that victory belongs to the most persevering. Yes! I will make history!

Today I will strive to achieve it! I will begin each day believing in success and end it with success. I will act positively to attract my dream success. I will embrace and love the things I am doing every day. I will approach everything and be humble to accept that I need to learn everything. I am craving for knowledge. Yes I do believe that I will be the one! I will be an exceptional Registered Criminologist with the help of the ALMIGHTY MAKER!

Copyright © Charlemagne James Ramos | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative |
Walking across a well-lit stage
I command my sequined graduation cap
stay perched up there!
I instruct my feet, 
Don’t stumble!
Gripping my Bachelor’s Degree
I recall the gruff,
Bronx-accented voice of my dad
dead now
Forty years ago I received 
his high school graduation directive
“daughters ‘ain’t fer college,
‘git a husband, ‘git children.”
Today my father stands on the edge
of a Heavenly cloud, 
hands on hips, 
grinning at me
I done it anyway dad.  
What you ‘tink ‘bout ‘dat?

Copyright © Denise Hengeli | Year Posted 2011

Details | Narrative |
That moment when you are an orphan,
Have your parents divorced,
Or from a poor family background
And other unavoidable circumstances..
That may make you a victim,
Of a non-biological parenthood..

It may be a relative or a guardian,
That brings you up through giving you the support,
That you may need throughout..
Be it education,shelter,clothing,among others..

All you are required of is maximum discipline..
So as to remain in possession of the support,
To the extent that you even undergo tough moments..
But just perceive them positively,
Pretending as tough nothing has happened,
All you need is to possess respect and hard work,
As your main values..
And do everything with the intention of pleasing them..

If you remain a big dreamer,
With long term goals in your brain,
And persistence as part and partial of you..
In the end of it all,
Success is what you shall possess..
And the remaining task shall be thanking those who supported you..
Throughout the journey..
And at most covering up the mess
In your biological parenthood..
Here I mean your parents and siblings..


Dedicated to; All orphans and those undergoing a non-biological parenthood.

Written by; Reagan Musore

Copyright © reagan musore | Year Posted 2017