Best 6Th Grade Poems | Poetry

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The Best 6Th Grade Poems

 
Details | 6Th Grade Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Being Disliked Means Nothing to a Bully---picture 3


Twelve-year-old Cliff was moaning in his sleep.
Again--bad dreams of Bob the Bruiser who
lived right next door. Bob was a thug, a creep
who picked on smaller kids like Cliff and knew
on Monday mornings they’d have cash to steal,
lunch money for the week. He’d take it all.
Till after school, these kids would get no meal.
The Bruiser ate his fill and had a ball.

Bad Bob saved up a pile of loot and bought
a bike. He told his victims what he’d done.
He jeered, “You’ve got no proof. I won’t get caught.
Tormenting all you losers is such fun!”

One day the bike was lying in between
his yard and Cliff’s. The Bruiser wasn’t there.
Cliff was outside. A man he’d never seen
said, “Let me buy your bike. I’ll treat you fair!?

Cliff’s conscience stirred, but then he thought of how
he’d been abused and robbed. He said, OKAY!”
The stranger said, “Two hundred?” Cliff yelled, “WOW!
That’s just right, Sir.” This was Cliff’s lucky day.

Bob’s parents would deal wisely with their son
when neighbors told them just what he was like.
They’d see he made amends for all he’d done.
They’d NEVER know what happened to that bike.


January 12, 2018

entered in Eve Roper's There's a Brighter Side Contest (picture 1)
 






Copyright © Janice Canerdy | Year Posted 2018

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Love is a bond

Love is the confluence of two peoples,
this bond is of two relationships,
one is way and one is the destination.
One of the hearts of both heart beats.
This is the bond of all their births.
Love is the confluence of two peoples,


Copyright © Kishan sharma | Year Posted 2018




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My Most Embarrassing Moment

I scorn thee, Puberty!  Damn thee as well,
Thou abominable herder of shame,
Will thou findeth glee by my told sarspell?
I beseech thee of ineffable name,
Rendereth thineself as quiet slain game,
For thine cruel ends be reached, let thine eyes droop,
Immortal Rite, meeteth Poetry Soup.

Forsaken specs findeth young Phillip (me),
He the first noble son born of Sir Mike,
That betrothed Diane, mother of he (me);

Neareth NASA lived they by Houston’s dike,
We plus two girl offsprings I still dislike;

Turneth back time to nineteen ninety five,
Thus now the setting as ocean, we dive.

I of ten years then plus three more years aged,
By mine mom’s woven hand rags yet adorned,
Draperies bindething spirits encaged,
Mine lot too ignorant still ‘be forlorned,
For two years would pass ‘fore Nike I yearned;

Looken now friends, at thine narrator’s dress,
Mine costumes for school were each mismatched mess.

And hath we not yet speaketh mine afro?
Then let us for humor’s saketh too laughs
For atop mine snow pale flesh did it grow!

It was beneath that nest mine brain did graphs
On one Tuesday morn; during sixth grade math,
Unbeknownst of a sneaking wretched pest:
That ineffably named prepubescent guest.

Still in present times remember I can’t,
What the hell kindled mine loins ablaze,
Yet fiery flames of embarrassment
Secretly smoldered through my brainy haze;

When mine teacher upon me called that I raise,
And thus stirred the scene I’ve oft reflected,

The moment I’ve chosen for my most embarrassing?

When in 6th grade math class I stood up…

   …fully erected


Copyright © Phillip Garcia | Year Posted 2016

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Elementary realism

This is a story for anyone who may have lost their way, lost someone or themselves or just need love and guidance in any form...

`I'm recovering a memory that I forgot long ago.. some parts are still vague and hard to process but I'd like to share it here especially for today, and in the best way I know how; so here goes; 

It was 5th or 6th grade English class at Greendale elementary school. We were doing some work and me and some of the other kids were getting easily distracted. Most days Mrs Branston would align the desks and chairs in sections and push them together to form a rectangle so as we sat we'd be facing each other; and that's when it happened - out of the corner of my eye I saw and heard Niall's* big voice ripping on Melissa* and it went something like this;

N: "Yo Melissa your teeth are so yellow, the suns jealous" ...
and...
"Go brush your teeth" and the one that really set Jessie off- 

"two words TIC-TAc" Melissa wasn't saying anything to this, so then without missing a beat Jessie turned around and said 
" Niall, two words, Slim-fast!" `


there are people and things that remind you of who you are and who you want to be and I am thankful for those moments just like this one. And today I happened to think of this moment in my life and although I may have hurt and stooped to his level a little bit it's sometimes necessary- I'm proud that 11/12 year old me stood up for someone who couldn't stand up for themselves.
 

**When I originally remembered and posted this story on Facebook, it was November 8th 2016, two years after my ex-boyfriends younger sister Julia had passed away. The pain was enormous and confusing and difficult.. she had her struggles but this angel's life was cut short at 20. She was the younger sister I never had.. The night before the two year anniversary I asked for strength and her family always believed  in angels so I turned to them for guidance, and I woke up the nextt day with this story. 

So the moral is go on with love and kindness; always. ** Julia knew this and reminded me of this for myself, reminded me of my old self that I was losing. I was always much happier in my elementary days, carefree, funny, kind, outgoing, honest and truthful. 

Thanks for the memories I asked for angels and thanks Juju.. now I can move on and let go, but I'll still love you for always xox, Jessie <3 

p.s. the asterix* symbol was used because I changed the names just to keep things anonymous for those involved.. 


Copyright © Jessica Ross | Year Posted 2016

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Hindsight

A-B-B-A form

The more you learn the dumber you get
knowledge seems to leave me with more questions
Are these thoughts sane? They feel like transgressions
Ignorance really is bliss, think about it...
Suppression, depression, oppression, recession
Reflection, discretion, expression, progression
It's your choice, take your pick, but quick, lickety split...
I'm not sure I even believe In the truth anymore
Just imagine the things we'll know in 50 years
The problems of today will be but quaint souvenirs
We always look back in disbelief on what we stood for...
All there is to be sure of is constant change 
Isn't life funny? Change is the hardest thing to do
Why is that? Is what we have worth holding on to?
Doesn't one look around leave you slightly deranged...?
What're the odds there's something instead of nothing?
Can we at least think about what God might've missed?
What if this planet is another's hell? Whoa, plot twist
Forgive me for that last line, I'm just bluffing...
Or am I? What if "God" is just an idea to attain to?
What if God did create the world and then left?
What if we're an aliens 6th grade science project?
Okay, that's enough, these next few are my adieu
All I know is there's suffering and no ones guilty
Let's use our abilities and respond, responsibility
Read "Thus spoke Zarathrusta" if this seems abstruse...


Copyright © Zachary Alvstad | Year Posted 2015

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purple bracelet:i remember you

A purple bracelet made of beads
i found in my small box chest
while holding it only your name pops in mind
trying to figure how i feel inside.

A purple bracelet you handed me
afraid to accept i'm counting from 1 to 3
back in 6th grade can't figure the feelings
infatuation or first love, you don't tell me either.

A purple bracelet i'm afraid to wear 
i just keep it, for what's reason?
it doesn't matter it's been a long time,
for the past years we both forgotten.

The purple bracelet you gave me,
it doesn't fit me anymore but i'm glad
remembering we became close
contrary of what we are now.

A waste of time! what am i doing?
reminiscing the past is not my intention
but cleaning my closet, take away wastes
and this purple bracelet... i should keep.


Copyright © charmane bellen | Year Posted 2011

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Misconception of Misery

It only started as a misconception, a misunderstanding
then like grass fed rain, it grew...grew into this
A eulogy, maybe this could be it
about you? For once, this is about me
How can it be...how can it be?
Dreaming, a dreamer am I
I've been dreaming since I was five
What age am I? 13?
Sorry, I felt like I was just a little older
I've had a rough life to live through
Lately I've been on edge, a steady step away
from jumping headfirst off a bridge, off a ledge; yeah
My life, a disarray of scattered promises
some broken, some kept
Emptiness, sorrow; all I seem to understand
everything has swept under me too fast
and I have nothing to hold onto to help me stand
Help me, I'm stuck on a roller coaster
I've had to teach myself how to react, how to attack
how to be stronger than me
while an unconscious thought screams, "WHERE'S MY DAD AT?"
but unknown training left me to mimic
the things I've seen on TV or the reality set before
Chameleon boy
and where are my parents: working and away
Unknown and unheard of has my father been 
till I was out of kindergarten
No one told me anything yet again I asked no questions
maybe I was just too young to understand
like a good boy, I just fell in line
while the innocence took over, leaving the oblivion
and my mother..somehow I've found 3 more women to call mom
They've treated me as part of their pack, their family
while in my own home, I'm the black sheep
while in my own home, I'm the outcast
When did home turn into high school part 2?
I shouldn't have to teach myself anything
I shouldn't have to change colors to satisfy anyone
so why do I feel I need to be a rainbow to be noticed
cause I'm so sick of being clear, of being me
How can it be, how can it be?
All I've ever known up until 4th grade was knowledge
knowledge only got me so far
I didn't know the stage beyond friend
I didn't know how to make friends, how to be one
Socially awkward, is this my disease
Misguided and divided I am
Is this what all Geminis face or is it just me
Did I remind her so much of my father
that my punishment is to live in my island of a room
and never return to shore
Everyone wonders why I'm the odd one, why I'm the distant one
why not since I know I'll never be enough
I know I've been more than a little harsh
I might have everything all wrong
but have you ever been taken away from your father
kicking and screaming while he stands defeated
switched between parents, back and forth
switched between states, off and on for years on end
Growing up yet you are absolutely oblivious
the only thing you know to be true is the sky is blue
the only thing you know to be true is the one place you hate
From 4th grade on, I've been a vortex
spiraling down, becoming gradually worse 
guess where I'm bordering now
In 5th grade, a poor reaction from confused feelings
lead to a breakdown and a halting of tears I couldn't stand
6th grade, I was a walking time bomb
fueled by rage, quelled by romance but all was fleeting
all I saw was red
All my judgments went so poorly
and every other day I hadn't the strength to move on
almost becoming a part of the in-crowd
that little kid dream of fitting in
Isn't it fun, caring so much while losing yourself ends friendships
funny, I never wanted to leave that year behind
I had my childhood friends, a girlfriend
I knew these people for years, I was content
until I went home, packed my bags
not breathing a word of goodbye
giving up everything it took years for me to have
whisked away to a new life
a new life I want nothing apart of 
7th grade, what a maze
I stood on my heels, pacing, a loser
Fitting in with people I know I'll never see again
showing a side of me I never knew existed
while becoming confused with a different attitude
towards this new life I've been chosen to live
education still my dictator
but that summer changed everything
I grew into myself, making new friends along the way
somehow I was someone everyone claimed to love
8th grade is where my life started, apparently my best year
Popularity, I reached my goal; I was thinking for myself
finally feeling like I was more than a face
but everything fell apart too quickly
Everywhere I looked up, we had to pack and move
there was too many questions and stress
while I just wanted to survive the year yet I survived nothing
Like my walls, I withered and crumbled
Why must I always be taken away from the things
the things I love the most
It's like breathing in cancer to remember
so I try to forget but I meet irreplaceable people
yet I know we'll grow of touch
Life just loves to see me suffer
Insanity is just sitting there, laughing away
while music tries to calm me down
with the aid of friends, the people I've come to know and love
and the one I'm chasing after
Somehow through the dark clouds
I find beauty in the unseen life of the world
I care too much, fall too hard, love too seriously
I try to be more than myself when I really just want to be...me
I admit I'm selfish yet selfless
This life has proven an obstacle I cannot conquer
My heart is strong but my bones are weak
I think too much
and all I've been through just made me older
just made me wish for a better life
wish for something beyond this
yet I just needed some relief tonight
from my shattered wasteland of uncharted feelings
Let the waves calm to halt and the sunset fall
A tale for time to read and weep for the misery of...me


Copyright © Crow thepoet | Year Posted 2016

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Memorization

In school, I had to memorize
A Kilmer poem called “Trees.”
I wasn’t crazy ‘bout it, but
I did the deed with ease.

My 6th grade brain had lots of cells
Absorbing all the stuff
I entered as I learned things;
There was always room enough.

But as the years flew by, that brain
Was filling to the brim
And adding more, or trying to,
Took me out on a limb.

Abilities go AWOL, too,
And thus memorization
Appears at this time to have gone
On permanent vacation.

I have a speech to memorize – 
Of course, it’s rhyming verse – 
And I’m not sure if reading it
Or botching will be worse.

I’ll try it but will sneak a copy
Just in case I need it,
Though I’m expecting, honestly,
Most likely I will read it.


Copyright © ilene bauer | Year Posted 2016

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playing with the young christians head

playing with the young christian’s head

when i was in 6th grade,
i can remember the rumors from a neighboring school spun 
about a young girl around my age
who had gone into the bathroom &
rambled on “bloody mary” repeatedly in front of the mirror---
apparently, as the story went, she ended up in the hospital
because she had been traumatized by something that
“attacked” her in the bathroom &
the scared little christians who populated the middle of nowhere elementary school
thought that demons, or a witch, or something 
downright awful 
had shone its face to the girl,
and so, as little kids do 
(unfortunately, no different than “adults”),
the morbid curiosity & a combination of boredom throughout the day
forced some of them to go into the bathroom at my school &
repeat the same idiotic behavior
in order to “summon” whatever it was that
had been rumored to show up
when you should’ve been pissing or taking a shit.

my own threshold for annoyance had about been pushed to its limit &
so i myself went into the bathroom, turned the light off 
(so my moronic classmates could see the crack under the door become dark) &
proceeded to dig my fingertips (never had much fingernail growth as i bite them like a fiend) into my neck enough as to leave a few red streaks---
and i put my favorite shocked face on, flicking on the light again &
walking out into the classroom.

with wide eyes like those of parishioners of an evangelical psycho,
they stared up at me, a nonbeliever, in a combination of brand new horror,
mixed with a self-righteous “i told you so, now don’t you believe?  ain’t ya gonna come over to our side of the tracks now?” look 
painted all over their faces.

after i sat down,
depicting as much fake shock & horror that i could muster,
i started to laugh with a mixture of disgust 
stemming from looking in their brainwashed eyes &
utter relief, 
that i myself could not be made to believe as they.


Copyright © andrew delapruch | Year Posted 2012

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The Life and Times of Sourmash

Her name came from her native heritage from the Navajo Tribe
I got this story because I offered her a bribe
She works at McDonald's as a shift leader
Her boyfriend, dropped out of school after the 6th grade, he goes by the name Skeeter
They take their showers with the laundry soap Dash
She has such a negative attitude, can't afford to change her native name Sourmash
Her boyfriend loves her for the free food and on her paydays
He has one shirt, the Toronto Blue Jays
They live in a singlewide, Wikipedia trailer trash
The deep love shared between Skeeter, McDonald's and Sourmash
She just bought her first VHS tape, the mini series Roots
Skeeter owes three more payments on his cowboy boots
Skeeter has Sourmash convinced she is a direct descendant of Koonta Kinte'
They sit and watch the movie as they eat their dinner on McDonald's meal trays
The carpet is stained red with Piggly Wiggly brand hot sauce
After drinking some Mad Dog 20/20 grape, Sourmash brags to Skeeter how at McDonald's she's the boss
They are convinced the laundry soap is giving them a rash
Good luck in your future with Skeeter, poor, poor Sourmash



Copyright © Eugene Carmen | Year Posted 2008

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Buddgelin Bey - Translation of Rex Marshall's Buddgelin Bey by T Wignesan

Buddgelin Bey – Translation of Rex Marshall’s « Buddgelin Bey » by T. Wignesan

(Rex Marshall, b. July 16, 1943 at Grafton, belongs to the aboriginal tribe, Thungutti/Gumbaingeri of the Baryulgil
Reserve in New South Wales. He studied up to 6th grade in primary schools and then set himself the task of working for the betterment of aboriginals. The Hardy company’s asbestos mine, situated right in the centre of the reserve, accounted for the deaths (through asbestos poisoning ; l’amiante in French) of many miners and their family members. Asbestos tailings were used for covering roads. Rex Marshall and his fellow kinsmen then set up the Aboriginal Embassy in 1972 in order to draw international attention to « the racist oppression and covert genocide of Aboriginals. » He served on various aboriginal organizations for the uplift of his peoples, both on the regional and national levels. (Inside Black Australia, 1988). T. Wignesan, Paris, December 12, 2016 .

Les nuages noirs s’amoncellent loin dans le ciel 
D’un moment à l’autre l’orage va s’éclater
Et Maman le tient à l’œil sans cligner des yeux
En tenant l’hache dans ses mains et en gardant les deux pieds
        bien firmes sur le sol
Enfin elle se prépare pour se défendre
Contre le vent déchainé et la pluie se tombant tout autour
En accordance avec ses coutumes, elle devait couper les 
        nuages orageux
Pendant qu’elle agitait l’hache en chantant avec toute 
        vigueur
Un rite qu’elle avait hérité de sa tribu
Cette coutume qu’elle pratiquait toute fière d’elle-même
Elle acheva le rite en poussant le cri : « Buddgelin Bey ! »
L’orage est bien sûr dissipé.

© T. Wignesan – Paris,  2016




Copyright © T Wignesan | Year Posted 2016

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Not poem sorry, but it's part of a story I'm writing, Comments and Opinions please

Chapter 1 – The Field
There I was, looking at the field. It looked incredibly long but was one of the most gracious fields I’d ever seen. It was about six feet high up off the ground and everything looked green. The field itself was not only a field though. It was full of fruit, freshly grown fruit. From watermelons to peaches to apples to oranges, the field had everything. It looked so tempting to eat. But, I dared not to. One of the reasons I didn’t though; I was warned. Now, the angel, he was at my side and as I approached the never ending field he stopped me. With just one tap on the shoulder I let him move past. Floating to the front, he explained to me about this field. He explained this field was a temptation field and to eat the fruit was forbidden. Yet, to do so at your own will, may cost you your life. He never told me his name, but he explained that this field is a test. He said, “If you make it out of the field, two more tests you will bestow against you. For to return home; you must pass all three.” As soon as he explained that to me, he vanished. 
As I walked closer to the field, I had this weird feeling that someone was watching me and if not someone, something. Yet, no one was to be seen. The field itself looked to be about two football field lengths wide and from where I stood I was unable to see the end. I kept thinking two more tests until I go home? Was it some sick and twisted game? All I wanted to do was go home. To me, it felt like an Alice in Wonderland movie, but there was no rabbit hole. Yet, I kept thinking about the angel. He looked so pure; so untouched. He had this tall like figure, not because he was floating but because he seemed to be about maybe 5’11 or taller. I couldn’t tell the eye color from his gracious glow but if I had to guess, it’d be hazel. Now, from the looks of how he dressed, he’s apparel looked as if it was one of gods. Like the togas of a 6th grade project times one thousand. His long white and gold gown flowed so evenly against his perfect flawless skin. Now, people have the ideas of gods and supernatural people all wrong; he didn’t have a sparkle or super abnormal muscles. His skin looked the finest of a male model, but more towards the average of any human. But, I think I’m ranting now. 


Copyright © Amber Chafer | Year Posted 2011

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My Jiggling boobs

since maintaining a diet 
of exercise heeding "yo dude" 
(you look like a lady)
the inner fitness maven against 
the temptation of high caloric junk food 

and nightly snack king 
on a flexible fitness routine, 
this LIX aged body electric feels good
these myopic eyes and 

well-calibrated hands measure less dense hood- 
winking bosom, that if I feigned being 
a "bared naked lady" - 
as per this chest lewd

city in reference to "man boobs" 
that seemed to materialize overnight 
now appear to decrease as well 
that unwanted "love handle, 

this chap more inclined 
tubby in a greater mood 
to parade around 
this noncrowded house shirtless 
AND definitely NOT in public, 
BUT no weigh Jose 
would this generic guy go completely nude
cuz being self-consciousness of my physique 
might prompt outsiders 

to consider me a prude
and even during closed bedroom door 
sexual exploits deter me tibia rude
fellow (with average go daddy long legs) 
and my dangling dipstick smallish 
(concluding biology screwed)
a chap worthy tube he more endowed,

though gratitude proffered
to same divine cosmic consciousness
but as the year's pile up appreciation 
of functional faculties alter matts' at tee 'tude
accepting physical characteristics 
more or less static 
hoe ping belive mass elf ya wood.










Copyright © matthew harris | Year Posted 2018

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Think Spring

Now, unlike my usually trenchant literary librettos, i regale the unknown (tum me) reader for savoir faire articulation, elocution, and indomitable tour de force proffered by spectrum of bounteous expropriated hegemony rightful to Mother Nature. 
--------------------------------------------------------
A Place Revisited Within The Mind
(an illusory escape during dead of winter).
 
The shafts of a golden veil, spring sun at noon
break through the heavily coated
overgrowth of leafy foliage
and cause shadows spar upon forest floor.

In a field of wild
a mosaic of crystalline color
from prismatic play of sunshine
upon the silently talking heads
of the swaying stalks.

the scintillating and sparkling rays
in unison with the weft
(and warp across an invisible loom)
weaves a delicious tasting warm breeze,

(which sways the boughs of treetops to and fro,
akin to an unseen baby being cradled)
brings a ladled spate of cool freshness
from the map-cap world (webbed wide)
of a manmade existence.

The grandeur of the fallow spring meadow
a pageant of exquisite dignity
by the graceful movements
from the un-choreographed fall and rise
of the unplowed acres

eyes orbit, ear re: Canal,
and twitching nostrils of sensate beings
to the mellifluous sounds
and sweet smelling aromas
that gently teasingly assault the senses
beguiling the sight,

and lulling ears into a transcendent state.
A buoyant airy tonal plume
rises into the surrounding heights
touches the breadth of cerulean sky
and scythe lent lee gently tumbles back down
like a merry widow waltzing flowery water fall.

In quiet circumspection 
the antics sans plethora of buzzfeed ding
busily buzzing foraging insects,
which contentedly hum and alight nearby

flitting to and fro
oblivious to plaudits encore
harmoniously thriving 
within the living laboratory

of Mother Nature,
sans, Insects or Insecta are by far
count as the largest group of
hexapod invertebrates
within the arthropod phylum,

where simultaneously
underneath the earthen surface
the ground tis abustle with
glorious heart throb

of one micro universe
comprising architects, builders and weavers
engage in all manner
of natural devices for a livelihood.

This brilliant splendor tantamount
to top notch operatic performance,
a sensational visual and audiological feast
hypnotizing one humble human (me)
into an inebriated state of bliss.


Copyright © matthew harris | Year Posted 2018

Details | 6Th Grade Poem | Create an image from this poem.

THREE HUNDRED AND SIXTY FIVE DAYS

We've met again,...smile in hearts,
Before I resume to page you with what I have,
I welcome you to my desk,
Grace has brought you far to this late lap of expandable life race,
Where are we going to?
The map is missing, 
And will you mind being the next captain of this ship?
Taking speculation from this perspective,
I guess the sailing will end with expectations,
Multiple of waves come towards our direction,
It's very frightful,
Hug me firmly,and I will seek for safety,  
Day break on an island, 
Will it be fine indeed?
Why this question?
"Hurricanes,Tsunamis and its kind have made the journey more hopeless with panic", 
Watching the sun,there's a brightening face saying,
"Follow the directions I'm giving you,work with diligence and relax for the rightful moment,...the destination is closer than you think",
Pirates of centuries,...Hunters of years,
Penning down records of those past generations,
Inspirations are dugout, 
The passengers number is too much,
Noah's arch carried only seven persons, 
You're here,...I'm here together with him or her,
Feel the presence of a spirit around the ship?
Rectification to the star,we're coming close to a coconut tree,
Coins filled in a barrel, 
Call me the rich man on sea
Wanted to buy your integrity,
Suddenly,you've taken my birth right,
Lead us;the time is clapping for success, 
You're the Psychologist speaking of our existence, 
I'm the man who is theologically analysing our existence;
But we shouldn't fright for the same old story,
Look at the moon,it's now full,
I believe we're saved,
And of course,they are secured,
Some have stepped out of the ship,
We're still in here,
Crying everyday for my love one's makes me feel alone,
"Where are they",I seek always their whereabouts, 
Escort me to the kingdom of death,
Take the bold step towards it's ruler, 
Life is our prime pennant,and we won't swap it, 
Soon we'll be lost under the equator, 
Tomorrow is engaging today with pain and sweetness,
Wait,for I will serve everyone according to his or her goals,
Much wisdom,less talk;spoken with confidence,
This is your man,"THREE HUNDRED AND SIXTY FIVE DAYS".


Copyright © Anderson Walkingshoes | Year Posted 2018

Details | 6Th Grade Poem | Create an image from this poem.

'Tis The Gift To Be Simple

The Valley Of Love And Delight':

An anniversary feting mine birth (date),
a plan we almost didst ditch
nonetheless the general game plan 
soared like an Eagle,
and went off swimmingly (into a dive)
hence we chose Wegman's with doll finned porpoise
minus a sue per stevedore tailored hitch

cuz the China Jade restaurant
near Collegeville Redner's
nearly felt cold as ice dining niche
as if we accidentally 
got highjacked to Siberia
where heat took precedence

verses restaurateur eatery reputable pitch
thus despite praise worthy Yelp reviewers,
whether they be named Poe or Rich
hard, earning their keep whose fingers

hut till lee diploid across 
warp and weft to stitch
together disparate threads
weaving a webbed whirled Magnum Opus
where thoughts analogous

to this aspiring paperback writer exerts,
(whose muscles twitch)
in an attempt for phalanges
tortured as going every which

way with to craft a non ode us paean
from deep within thy bowel
applying me magical diving rod –
essentially a computerized dowel

which makes a dinging sound,
or emitting an odor most fetid and fowl
unintentionally inducing creatures
large and small to howl
at the abominable cursing and swearing
using languages that lack a vowel

sound - clouding ability to communicate
to remain steadfast 
with intent thwarted by (third eye blind)
minor detour of fate

three doors down and celebrate modestly, 
NEVER thought to "FAKE" 
forgo wing NOR deferring
time to be spent with 
a gluten and MSG free 

NON GMO endearing sibling
NO whey iz she dee snide dour twisted sister
hood moost likely become irate
invested in marriage to a loving mate.





Copyright © matthew harris | Year Posted 2018

Details | 6Th Grade Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Total Time I Spent In Dental Chair Post Adolescence To Present Age second appointment

some agents provocateur didst maim
self-acceptance, and (found thyself 
as a boyish twenty something
weathering onset of gum recession, 
maxillofacial surgery, impressions, 
xrays galore, scaling) 

necessitated (score years later) urgent intervention 
i.e. treatment plan under auspices 
re storied name
University of Pennsylvania 
Dental School to mitigate malady 

entailed every last tooth plucked with ease 
since no other recourse could tame
accompanying jaw bone loss, 
which destabilized rootless choppers,
and despite the state of the mind turning to pulp 
(this haint no “fiction, nor FAKE)

thus I acknowledge sincere gratitude thru poetic aire
for the entire fleet of dental students, 
and staff that didst care,
who assuaged distress, exceeding the best expertise flair

which eventually warranted being fitted for dentures here
bringing an exemplary end result 
encompassing yours truly writing in his lair
after about a dozen years encompassing 

so many wing (bitten) angels far and near
across webbed wide world to help repair
chronic distress minimized now, cuz there
prevailed the most blessed delight 
when Medicare picked up the tab
now smile more willingly with artificial dental wear.







Copyright © matthew harris | Year Posted 2018

Details | 6Th Grade Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Dear Miss Bully

She looks in the mirror
I tell her she's ugly,
She puts on a dress
I say that she's fat
She tells me her problems
I say to leave me 
She puts down her blade 
I pick it up back
Everything good 
I snatch it away 
But I feel no qualm 
At least not today 
For one thing I know 
Forgive me she will 
She has a huge heart 
Too big for stand still 
Broken like glass 
Alone she stands 
A victim she is 
A bully I am 
No I am not proud 
Of what I have done 
For I am a bully
And victim in one 



Copyright © shabana hunte | Year Posted 2018

Details | 6Th Grade Poem | Create an image from this poem.

The Rose

Darling,
She said,
Look away.
Why,
I say.
Never looking back,
Is what I say today.
Take this single rose,
She told me,
It will comfort you in the hard times to come.


Copyright © Payton Avila | Year Posted 2018

Details | 6Th Grade Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Capital Bust

Pennilessness shadows black
unemployment endless track
rails tie-er less lee when dumbly staring
overdrawn account issues 
   another clattering smack.

Income pleat undergraduate degree
contributed to the role of a sporadic employee
time to acquire handy dandy blues clues key
lost within vacillating undermining spree.

Mental state can be a precarious widget-like thing
directly at the whim of financial sliding swing
self-destruction demonic ring
courtesy of pauperism
delivers the destructive poisoned scorpion sting.

Immortal force of please hear my cry
provide support while 
   under the sheltering sky
steady (just out of reach) 
   sought income bolster up high

mirage vision brings transient delight
to this great (former
Civil War Yankee) supreme guy.

If no breakthrough I do not foresee
charity not for profit (but only prophet) I will bee
and this blurb carved outside my cave-like hovel
many moons and break of the day find me

imploring existential vagaries this baby boomer
sans middle-aged man who hankers to be free
thus though aye to be a schnorrer

who scrounges parking lots for scattered change
yet...decries blubbering the beggar's credo
write out a check and mail to me.

Philanthropic persons 
   may rightfully balk and get irate
at such brazen plea to squelch 
   ma pecuniary financial state

yet where the crossroads of mine future
most likely crop up which
would cause far a tete a tete
meanwhile, stoicism bids me wait...

For Godot, Curly, Shemp, or Moe
the stand-in for a Stool Pigeon
or even an odd antagonist
   or protagonist dreampt 
   by Edgar Allan Poe.



Copyright © matthew harris | Year Posted 2018

Details | 6Th Grade Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Matthew Scott Harris Born January 13th, 1959

Thank ye immensely devoted sister Shari
   for availing Shana Aubrey
an expansive plethora of blessedly
   extravagant opportunities
wherein here anatomical fist-sized noggin i.e. grey
matter sponging up - less doable from me
the biological father, who validates
   your doting, helping, kickstarting,
   et cetera I clamor to see!
--------------------------------------------
   Matthew Scott Harris Born January 13th, 1959

I shake my shaggy hirsute hair
in utter disbelief, when the cocked arrow
begat thine conception,
when meal ate mum and octogenarian papa

begat their second offspring and only son,
what now seems to be a stepped-up pace,
where father time
doth affix another candle to blow
where the passage of life now measured

in swiftly tailored decades
denoting another birthday,
when in the blink of an eye,
I vividly recall crow

wing like a Lil whippersnapper of a boy
leisurely playing monopoly
for make-believe dough...
--------------------------------------------
nothing ranks as the greatest gift
since being a father twenty-one years ago
then bearing witness to grow
increasing autonomy

of my two precious daughters
whereby each will become master
of their domain, and meet a loving beau
(actually thy eldest dates
a delightful young man
from Puerto Re Coe),

whom intuition discerns would be
a near perfect match –
and this papa intuits dough
nuts to dollars – that such an
em man hint gentle, humble,

intelligent lad – doth hoe
pa fully become the future groom
of said firstborn, (which outcome I know
wing couched in a couple of poems

sent his way, and no doubt his smarts lo'
and behold revealed the slightly obscure wish),
where love doth most obviously abound mo'
then prevailed between myself and bride o'

mine these last deuce score
plus (21+) years, but now this Poe
whit aspires to recognize the worthiness of she,
whose chose thyself as a lifetime
groom cuz peaceful status quo

avoiding animosity –
as thyself and spouse gently row
merrily...merrily...merrily
our once quite rickety craft
which oft times in the past needed a tow
off the craggy shoals of constant woe.



Copyright © matthew harris | Year Posted 2018

Details | 6Th Grade Poem | Create an image from this poem.

World wonder

Wolrd wonder that you are,
You boast with so much beauty
Stolen from others but put into good use
You're gods right hand woman
You're flesh full of life for everyone
You're a spectacular showdown
You spark fireworks for the universe
The world is in wonder still

World wonder that you are,
When you move you leave trails of love
Your steps are friendly to the earth
The soil feels sponge in contact with your feet
Your smile can stop any war of the world
Your eyes are too much for mankind
The corners of your mouth are perfect parabolas
When they stretch they cast the devil out in any man

World wonder that you are,
Your whole body is a castle,
Your voice must be commanding like royalty
Your brains should be snow white,
No wicked thoughts about them

World wonder that you are,
I see life forms in the color of your eyes
I see survival in the curves of your body
I see nature springing out of you
I see clear future in your reflection.


Copyright © Treasure Nkosi | Year Posted 2018

Details | 6Th Grade Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Meeting at the Well

Meeting at the Well
By Valerie D. Staton
January 27, 2018


She trudged to the well for condensation
For she had a plethora of tasks;
She met a man who knew her vocation, 
He answered questions, before being asked;

She freely talked to the man sitting down, 
Who was Bearer of the “Water of Life”
Amazed by His report, she ran to town
Spreading the news, bringing others to Christ;

Enlightened woman served the Son of Man
Until Emperor Nero took her life;
She died a martyr - the Samaritan,
For boldly spreading the gospel of Christ;

Tortured severely then tossed in dry well
With Christ, in heaven, her spirit now dwells.
 


Copyright © Valerie Staton | Year Posted 2018

Details | 6Th Grade Poem | Create an image from this poem.

WHO TELLS

What do you say now?
Is there anybody who want to foul?
Standing behind and knocking,
Little lady....I see this sparkle rocking,
Life is full of dream,
Can't distinguish the laughter from the scream,
Out from the frying pan...straight to the fire,
Serif stuck to support.....I never mind,
No answer but I'm super,
Have mercy,oh kind!
Life is full of twisting,....I and that lady felt in a deep love,
No money but made each other have,
I was just a dreamer,.....
Questions we both asked,...why this night is not for our two?
Gradually protracted the range of pain from our affection shoe,
Her complexion is beyond the pan of ebony,
It was silly,
Watching her in a magazine!
Liberating men on their gusts is sequentially annihilated by power....But what should I say then?
A prediction propels the phsychologist...
but what is the outcome from that list?
What is the source of inspiration laid under the equilibrium of an action?
A beige model,...thus the life prospects of a solemn speaker.
Endeavoring the downcast,setting pinnacles to catapult those beneath,
what is the supremacy of outcasts limit?
Elude with nothing but a pinched of a capricon's feather....
Rich man sitting in a pub....unconscious of his expense,
A white coloured worker aim at counting even a penny.
It's a secretion to tie many,
Veil the remarks of the low class in society,
Makes an uncovering of their best nasty,
Keep on jeopardizing the honorary of a paupers good motives in building societal ray,
Wax blended with a marble clay.
Yeah!....yeah!
A swampy worms will be their king size bed....
A pinhole camera is before an eye...gonna see,right!
Just an optimal glance welled,
It's branded with a momentum....if Job was shield with the pinion of might.


Copyright © Anderson Walkingshoes | Year Posted 2018

Details | 6Th Grade Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Intelligence

A measure of the grasp,
Of life on this planet Earth,
Is reasonably shown as intelligence.
Alas does the tongue of man,
Spoil another’s bread,
By words and words of simple evil.
They sharpen their minds,
Broaden them to a point of lesser thinking,
And they rise above those fallen warriors.
A sphere of glass,
Cannot predict one’s future,
Hence the laws of common man.
Why say what is unknown,
To you,
And praise yourself for false conclusions.
An evaluation,
Of intelligence,
Measures only mental security.
What about those fallen warriors,
Who have not risen from defeat,
Who show their strengths that have fallen as thee.
The values of great Owl,
And system of us,
Tie together in not a way.
Priorities vary,
By warriors and kingdoms,
Ever so different.
The different levels of intelligence,
Measured by a priority varied,
Can have no measures to the soul.


Copyright © Payton Avila | Year Posted 2018