Best Binders Poems
I glanced out my window watchin' kids plod along to school today.
I recalled my school days and how things have changed along the way
I watched the little fellers hunched over with their over-loaded packs.
'Tis a wonder the little dudes don't develop a twitch in their sacroiliacs!
I wore overalls and shoes that I was told by Mom I'd better not scuff!
Nowadays, kids are sportin' Rebok shoes and all kinds of fancy stuff!
If they don't have the latest and greatest, they're bound to pitch a snit!
Appearances mean everything even to kindergartners, on the face of it!
To begin school in days of yore, I was required to supply a pot of glue,
Couple of No. 2 pencils with erasers, ruler, ink and a ruled pad or two.
Wrapped in a newspaper for lunch, a baloney sandwich and apple for a snack.
When my grandkids showed me their list of supplies, I nearly had a cardiac!
Included were - a backpack, Rigatoni noodles, crayons and composition books,
A cell phone, calculator, protractor and for reading, one of those fancy Nooks,
Facial tissues, scissors, a ruler, colored pencils, pencil sharpener and erasers,
Elmers glue, Ziploc bags, a ream of paper and plastic dividers to use as spacers!
One change of clothes in case of accident to include underwear, pants and socks,
Disinfectin' wipes, three-ring binders and a padlock for individual locker locks!
I am caused to pause and ponder how we "oldies" got a solid education,
Sans all the geegaws and fancy frills that are now required for graduation!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Categories:
binders, funny, school, school, school,
Form:
Rhyme
I will not be late to work today
I will get there on time
I will brush my teeth
Without singing songs
Without thinking about birthdays
About gymnasiums
About TAKS
About sound
About war
Republicans
Democrats
Independents
I will get there on time
I will eat my oatmeal
Without thinking of
Broken valentines
Strewn against a wooden
Fence
Like dropped goblets
From a robbers pillowcase
I will be there before the bell rings
My papers will be checked
My hair will be combed
My mind will be alert
Ready to begin my lesson
I will not wonder why
My oldest son doesn’t have a job
I will not pray too long
For my daughter who is taking the bar today
At 10:30 AM in New Orleans
I will not scar my knees wishing
For some alternate world
Where children are never neglected
Or hurt
Where there is no abandonment
What nonsense to try and order the world
Just get to work on time
Put your things in the car, your projector and
The white binders that you didn’t look at
All weekend although you were supposed to check the papers and put the
grades on the computer
I will leave now
Before it is impossible to
Be on time
I will cream my ashy ankles
I will not focus on the white
Cat on the black pillow
With the green eyes
I will not water the plant
I will not watch TV
I will not write poetry
Before work
I will not write poetry
Before work
I will get to work on time
I will be ready
I will not be daydreaming about fog
Wondering if I’ll get Alzheimer’s like my mother
Or colon cancer like my dad
I won’t be thinking about that stuff
I will be locking the front door and
Closing the gate and clicking the clicker
And starting the car and leaving
I will not be in my living room
Wondering if there is any reason to love
Because I do not love for reason
I love because He first loved me
It is not incantations or intoxication
Or imagination it is my life and
The structure will come with the
Clearness of Bajan water
So clear you can see the fish
Fly float across the Atlantic
It is time
This poem must end
I will not be late for work
This morning
Not for nothing
Not for nobody
Not for anything
Not for everything
This poem is over
the work day begins
Categories:
binders, education, introspection, life, love,
Form:
Free verse
Mondays were school days.
Mondays were rule days.
Mondays can be cruel days.
Sundays make me sing
but Mondays bring
open books,
a crooked look from the boss,
leaving crying children
with their first strangers.
The outlook for Monday
might be blue
or overly optimistic.
Moms love Mondays,
circling the day
with a fat red marker.
Moony-eyed Mondays,
for lovers
separated by the weekend.
Their love-mobile
yellow bus, reunites their lips.
Shy Mondays
hide behind rain clouds,
and binders and backpacks,
and inside lockers,
and behind thick glasses.
Fridays make you tingle.
Mondays are the starting line.
The race is on!
You step over the line
and yawn and sip
coffee with reluctance.
Your t-shirt speaks loudly,
“I don’t do Mondays!”
No one hears you.
7/30/2018
Tania Kitchin’s Contest
Categories:
binders, day,
Form:
Free verse
sometimes i feel like my life is a clock
i am programmed to behave like a robot
my mind ticks along with the little hand of an analog clock as i tell myself who to be
at 6 am i am weighing the pros and cons of faking another sick day to stay home and fill my day with poetry and sleep, but by 7 am i have transformed into an eager and lively girl who can’t wait for what the day holds
within the hours to come i undergo small changes of becoming more bitter and withdrawn
at 12 pm my patience begins to cease and my excitement is a flickering candle light in a windy storm
as the day continues i talk less and less and my forehead begins to crease as the weights on my eyes grow heavier and heavier
at 3 pm i allow my thoughts to drift and be pulled by the winter wind on my walk home from school, and it doesn’t take long for 4 pm to reach when i’m back in my bed and i am consumed by regret of what my day consisted off
and by 5 pm i am sufficiently filled with anger as i watch my life on a loop
at 8 pm i close my binders and put away my homework while wondering if i can do it all again the next day, and a short 60 minutes later at 9 pm i find myself standing in the shower trying to decipher between the tears and the water
at 11 pm i have said goodnight to my friends, but not to the moon
my mind wanders to places of pixies and fairy dust and eternal rest and loud music
and my life quickly jumps to 12 am when i really start questioning why i’m still awake because i know that the morning is six short hours away,
then monsters crawl out of my ears and more tears emerge from my eyes as i wonder if everything is still worth it
at 1 pm i force myself to sleep because i remind myself that when i’m asleep i don’t have to think
about things like how my mind is a shattered mirror and my life is a clock with a broken second hand.
m.r.
Categories:
binders, angst, anxiety, depression, emotions,
Form:
Free verse
A Farewell To The Travelers (On The Bhoja Airlines Plane Crash)
With pace does darkness conquer light,
when mounts the sun the dying toll,
spied an aura grim my wistful sight,
for had poisoned all, a single bowl;
captive of death as it life betrayed,
the awakened --to the resting prayed,
"Oh! Farewell the mornings vanished pole".
Life comes with such a temporal mien,
has it plucked the wings of future how,
though pillows of respite --I had seen,
but these feathers do no sleep allow;
do fly swift! The binders of this cause,
your pause of age, is our ageless pause--
"So, farewell the birds of heavens now".
But, soul a machine that does not cease,
yet it fools us from our time of birth;
pass on, move towards the restful peace,
but, secluded stays its pensive worth;
Until the day, we shall meet again
at some wondrous unknown valley then.
"Ah! Farewell the travelers of this earth".
R.N.Khan, © 2012
Categories:
binders, death, faith, family, people,
Form:
Elegy
Students at Work
See them work!
Studious looks,
Buried in books,
Leaflets flipping,
Binders snapping,
Pencils tapping,
Textbooks slamming,
Nick-knacks toppling,
Back-packs rummaging,
Noses rubbing,
Nail nibbling,
knees flapping,
Foreheads scrunching,
Eyebrows rising,
Lips compressing,
Faces scowling,
Chins supported,
Tongues catapulting,
Coughs echoes,
Work Accomplished!
Categories:
binders, school
Form:
Building a fire
Had a smirk of sorrowful clarity
Someone dancing on my grave.
And a artist
The night was gathering materials.
Knowing ambition for pleasure
Would never fill the pit.
The night called for a burn
All the grasped boxes of blankets
Nostalgic wood, Rhapsodies of a ratt-packen
Journals, binders, scraps of thoughts
Nick-knack volumes of prophets
Overdosing on written salvation
Hoping for a instance coffee relief
A always, never the fallow-through
More is pilled, the mix of kindling
Dirty-bits, and old yearnings
A stone from a beach, of first love
Scrapbooks of holding mortality
**** mags, and bed follies pics
A secrete place a catholic boy goes
My heap inter-mixed with nature
All of it dead, until the match
Erupts a fire enjoying feeding
Impermanence is really scarred
So is observing the flame
Hypnotic destruction is fire at night
Eyes dance to flares refection
Chaotic colors of visible heat
A calm abiding trance
Warm glowed my garments
In ambers consuming to ash
Categories:
binders, introspectionnight, fire, fire, night,
Form:
Free verse
she now knows love
love, not a lifeless thing
that she used to talk about those days
while carrying a backpack
full of books and binders
a mustang she wanted to drive
symbol of success and speed
a perfect blend with boom
and the ooze of black-gold
but today for her
only one thing that matters
living with a man
sharing his failure
to graduate from a high school
that teaches not techniques
to survive that stoppage
of an upward movement
and a free flow of more
her achievement
she carries with care
as if holding the first university degree
that will open the greater door
to a doctorate
to walk around with a prefix
before her name
now she smiles, inside
every time she feels that kick
a little stretching
in that cozy cave
intricately decorated convocation hall
calling him, her baby
while feeling that wall, outside
her boy will soon graduate
to enjoy her love
her success, her own graduation
to that new title – Mum
Categories:
binders, beautiful, career, caregiving, celebration,
Form:
Free verse
Ten monitors
Nine hours
Eight safety messages
Seven binders
Six coffees
Five computers
Four clipboards
Three maps
Two microphones
One stubby pencil
Categories:
binders, work,
Form:
List
My verse I check with regularity
To ensure there's no vulgarity
Then for convenience sake
Hard copies of each I make
And file in binders for posterity
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 2 in A Rambling Poet's "Did You See My Poem, I Lost It" Contest - Jul 2010
Categories:
binders, on writing and words
Form:
Limerick
What’s on your mind today: Do Tell? #2
Binders full of women; where? what is the price?
Governor that is so nice
Was it the pioneer women? "No
It's the women from Massachusetts
Not the pioneer women
who feed the hogs?
Attend to the children
And fed the chickens
But the modern women who attend
Harvard, Princeton, Yale and Cornell
Prestige Colleges and Universities
A binder full of educated women
Mr.R you would have been better off saying
I am going to give a voice to all women
Whose experiences might otherwise have been overlooked?
My Administration new passed word from now on is going
to be"Ladies First"
Pulled up your bumper babies
Vote for me.
Categories:
binders, black african american, dedication,
Form:
Educated fools make rules that tell you and I what we should or should not do
Rules needed to continue to burry you under the edification of demons
To resurrect menus of abuse from a time of misuse
Just like Stalin and his socialistic science
A super human I mean ape is behind this
The majority wants to blind us letting us use our own binders
Manufacturing an army of one kinders
They say we are weak so they play finders keepers
Leaving man kind to turn into sheepish weepers
Destined to be believers
Enlightenment is no longer enticing us
Instead we just role the dice and cuss
Cause we are man made erected in a cave
Just born yesterday
An ancestral clock ticking no body feels the licking they are getting from there master
No more disaster no more devastation the majority stands on the sidelines awaiting
Blackened lips shoot out spit and all ears perk up to hear
Clear illumination shown in high definition
Wasting a generation still not raping but taking yes taking the tasty suckle youth
Not asking to write this new dictionary of hope
Im not a dignitary but I hold up my post
Not to boast shout outs closed
Putting on my cloak of quotes for awhile
If we off then we off lets go off in style
Categories:
binders, black african american, education,
Form:
Lyric
Mental or physical,
I'm sick and leaving
The mental hospital today.
My backbone a twisted rope of despair
I do and I don't want to choke
On misery, questions and shame.
Lasso the Abyss, bind
Me In this moment, Now
Driving towards a chance where
I empty my brain, dreams, vulnerabilities
To wisdom, beauty and poet,
Professional therapist,
Harbor Master of my storm.
Thank God there is no normal.
Released, I leave her office, find
A way back to the mental hospital.
Lasso the Abyss, bind
Me, In this moment, Now
I love the hospital's psychiatrist.
His office wall holds a whiteboard, written on it,
Only two words; Answer Board.
It's been blank since I arrived in October,
my core beat-up, broken, until a May day discharge.
Leaving with binders of notes without answers.
Lasso the Abyss, bind
Me, In this moment, Now
________________________________
(Bop) form, not listed as a form
Categories:
binders, growth, health, mental illness,
Form:
Free verse
A mother is a legend
Never to whither or bend
She has plenty binders
Little, big or strong never fragile
She is the source of one’s love
That never dries or withers away
Even in death sometime she smiles
At lost regrets her children mourn about
Even at seventy a man can remember
My mom used to cook it this way
Something related to his very being strong never to sway
Moon would stand witness
To young mouth fed wailing and tear jerking intense
Her mental image the child never age
She can swiftly think the day one in her arms any stage,
Hurt she will for her little ones
Helpless in state but never say die her attitude with smiles
When you were a kid will always remain
She is a punch bag, dear diary to many, who hit with unintentional blows
Remorse and guilt are her parade to watch and help in stride with no tirade
She stands at a junction like a martyred stone
She stands a witness to many flow of love, still alone
For she will not side or stand apart
Knowing her base as inseparable part
Her children are waves to flow back with love
She never ceases to expect this to conclude or impede
As long as mum is around and one is lucky to have
A dedicated soul with only love in her heart…..
Categories:
binders, caregiving, family, children, mum,
Form:
Free verse
I’m feeling so squared right now in my cubicle
With my steamed four eyes oh so whimsical
How I suddenly lose composure and get butterfingers
Every time she peers to request some staples or binders
And if she never greets me first thing in the morning
A dark cloud fills the rest of my day like I’m in mourning
I’ve got no intension - at all - for office romance
It’s a disaster leading to poor job performance
I’m ignoring the fact that she’s the boss’s daughter
I best stop daydreaming before I'm fed to his pet alligator
09-06-2015
Mystic Rose’s Who Is Your Neighbor Contest
Categories:
binders, how i feel,
Form:
Couplet