Best Blackboards Poems
If guns don’t kill people
Why are so many people dead
Another moms child
shot in the head
Blackboards white chalk
splattered in Red
A teacher killed
For something she said
Victim after victim
Demons need to be fed
On violence they’ve been bred
We shouldn’t need
Metal detectors at School
A place of innocence has become cruel
What happened to the Golden Rule
Have we all taken on
the role of a fool
A gun isn’t just a harmless tool
It’s a weapon of mass destruction
and the most potent hate fuel.
I am scared by the NRA narrative
The power and control amendment imperative
Off to Washington lobbyist slobs
More and more gun factory jobs
Guns don’t lead to the collaborative
Weapons should not be the normative.
We have got in the habit of not looking up above
No gun has ever led to acts of love.
So until politicians become brave
Our society is a slave
Problems grow over time
We shouldn’t be so naive
Profiteers shouldn’t determine what we believe
In the end there are to many lives to grieve.
Second row to the board!
These words could not just be ignored
I’m thinking but a vintage few
Would even start to have a clue
Nostalgia begs those days at school
With steely nuns whose stare would rule
Blackboards and their squeaky clamor
Chalked Arithmetic and grammar
When called upon to diagram
By row, we took final exam
Our sentence structure, now to see
Whose brain has not been absentee
With prepositions, verbs and nouns
We hit the boards, such eager sounds
Arms held tight, just the right angle
Participles must not dangle!
If you go downtown early morning
You can see the shopkeepers setting
Old treasures on the sidewalk,
Writing their welcomes with chalk
On little standing blackboards,
Inviting you inside their stores.
Honeysuckle Antiques has its window
Filled with newfound things to show,
Local crafts and the latest junk,
A fringed lampshade and leather trunks.
Its storefront arranged with trifle clutter,
Metal lawn chairs and wooden ladders.
A rusted garden rake’s crooked grin
Begs you to come shop within.
A copper cowbell rings above the door
As dust scurries across a creaking floor.
Greetings from a curvy dressmaker’s bodice,
Empty coke bottles sold by the case.
The moment you enter you’re lost in time.
You never know what you may find;
A stack of old suitcases eager to travel,
Tiny dishes all the way from China,
A basket full of skeleton keys
Or an old black Singer sewing machine.
So many things lost and forgotten;
A lady’s hat pin, hundreds of buttons
Peer through the green glass of Mason jars,
A boy’s prize collection of toy metal cars,
Polaroid cameras and a reel to reel,
A pair of broken red wagon wheels.
Everyone’s favorite, a brown Teddy bear,
A no-longer-needed baby high chair,
Piles of silver spoons, a tarnished pocket watch;
Its workings inside have ground to a halt.
Someone’s keepsake once shiny and new,
Time of death; twelve thirty-two.
Overhead, a beautiful lead chandelier
Sparkles “I don’t belong here.
Take me with you when you go.”
Shelves lined with items needing a home.
Cramped, dusty isles you wander around
Through all the lost and all the found.
Then persuasive orphans catch your eye;
A porcelain doll sitting way up high,
Sad, in her torn and faded dress
Next to some pink Depression glass.
“Take me with you when you go.”
Beg the doll and the bowl.
“It cannot be seen, cannot be felt,
Cannot be heard, cannot be smelt,
It lies behind stars and under hills,
And empty holes it fills,
It comes first and follows after,
Ends life, kills laughter.”
-J.R.R. Tolkien
_____________________________
Place of Redemption is Darkness
unpetalling - - solace space unfolding
I sail drowsy dim seas without boat
or oars, conversing with walrus, whales
treading liquid tar silent, unseen
in distance a dog barks as I empty
bladder into ocean
underwater cables run fire
Darkness, Cloak of Protection
alchemy distilling gross, grime, goo
a thousand fingers unfelt sew broken
pieces of Life, loosen hooks, nooses
Angels of Death appear, wings
midnight blue, gathering loose threads
snapped nerves, false cues
I hear a night ‘plane flying passion
Here Crow visits sea darkly shining
untouching cast charming spells with
silent cymbals, unscathed holds sound
I covet cup of cold black coffee, unsmelt
swarthy, spilling on night waters —
hiding eels, oysters find their feeds
blankets have no feel, weave
unraveling, I perceive spindles
Coelacanth swim inquisitive incognito
individuated spirits shine poking
examine my tired flesh, as velvet
phantoms we attune to F o r e v e r
black cat runs sky, corrugated quarks
shatter moon smiles, its rock tumbling
rays on rippling nipples, navel upturned
circles spiral gene keys like piano notes
Place of Attunement is Darkness
no stagnation or pothole sidles, earthling placards, test tubes or empathy labels
shimmering umbra behind stars fall
dust upon midnight water smooth
gloom to-fro about unpaid karma
prison cell was scribbled with charcoal
I shout my name, nobody hears or cares
Humming, droning, buzzing black
holes beckon like blackboards with
light language — I recognise Cosmic
sound activating Heart, fall deeper into
b l a c k o u t __>>>
alpha kisses omega as breath leaves
returning in baby gurgles upon a
Bermuda Triangle ~ dog sniffs backyard
Darkness ignites laughter untasted
observing I pay Tolkien tribute, tinkling
___________________________________
GOLD Placement Poem : Allpoetry
May 26 : Prompt :
What may you find in Darkness |
Confirm no AI
Third Placement: Premier
Sponsor : Seth Pina : May : Your Favourite
The little brick school house
where Mama used to go,
sets quietly atop the hill
thru' summer heat and snow.
The bell on top is silent now,
the window shutters tight,
the door is weather-beaten,
and floors an awful sight.
The old stove is still standing
in the center of the room,
Lilac bushes, long forgot,
beside brick walls still bloom.
Blackboards stretch across one end
stained with dust and chalk,
memories those walls would tell
if only they could talk.
Honored places are now faded
where president pictures hung,
Pledge of Allegiance always said
when morning bell was rung.
There's a hitchin' post for horses
the children rode to school,
no bus for transportation then
to learn the Golden Rule.
Discipline was taught there,
honor and respect,
to take responsibility,
not leave one's youth unchecked.
The old place holds the secrets
of bygone days that passed,
of children growing tall and straight
with rules of life to last .
That dear old country school
where younsters sought their goal
within those walls of mortared brick
now stands empty of its soul.
Seamless Breath
by Odin Roark
At sunrise,
Man-child of his heart,
Reaches past the years,
Washes little sleep down the drain,
Accepts the body once tight,
Combs the few strands still allegiant,
And uniforms the spirit
For today’s insistent strategy.
The street he walks
Presents new calendared thoughts
All in parade dress
Ready to forever advance
An abstract reality,
Where boots in lockstep
Accompany him beneath dim streetlamps
Of his insomnia.
Close by,
That place everyone calls infinity,
His aging self moves forward,
Fingering a few coins
In the playground-pockets of his youth,
Reminding him he can still pay his way,
He can remain part of…
Like so many other such days,
The breeze takes his hand,
Making lighter the books
He carries inside his head,
His secret Trojan Horse,
His means of entrance
To that place of voiceless teachers,
The forever windows without glass,
The blackboards erased clean
Of yesterday’s answers,
Anticipating today’s questions.
Such is the place he dreams each day with a smile,
Where eternity’s anima reveals the seamless breath of vision
Only visible with closed eyes.
Enough is enough of this seriousness
Back to the sillies where I belong
Here's something to ponder, my friends
Why is the word 'abbreviation' so long
I don't usually have to think twice
Before giving it a second thought
You're schizophrenic? That makes four of us
Skydiving is good to the last drop
Have you heard that gravity is a myth
In reality, it's the Earth that sucks
Did you know old people have a secret
That secret is known as luck
You know you have a small apartment
When Kellogg's Coco Pops echo
Maybe our world is another planet's hell
Sure wouldn't surprise me to know
Why do psychics have to ask you your name
Going to live forever... so far so good
I adore you more than beans and rice
If I could love you more I would
They say, hard work pays off in the future
I say, laziness pays off now
Some sage advice, never ever stand close
To the back end of a cow
All those who believe in psycho kinesis
Will you please raise my hand
People usually wind up in a prone position
While involved in a one night STAND
What happens if you get scared to death twice
What do sheep count to help them sleep
Ever wonder why all blackboards are green
Do birds shake wings when they greet
© Jack Ellison 2014
Another dream
My strength seeps from the cracks,
crevices ripped in a single slip
Reaching for hope again
I left my chest wide open
Streams of worth
flow like lying children
stealing quarters from the collection plate
at Sunday school - knowing it is a sin
More of the same, though different
beneath stained glass shadows
with leaking pens pointing
to the exit vestibule below
Staining my crisp white shirt,
collecting in the wrinkles
of this button down nightmare,
pooling at my motionless feet
Exhaustion cradles and I can’t move,
losing a step at each turn
Internal screaming becomes deafening
as the pain sings harmony off key
I see my face in the stainless steel
but can not reach my wrists
It falls, mingling with debris,
scattered amidst this love I’ve lost
I am weak, I know weak,
I have taken this test before
Lessons on blackboards never sink in,
report cards inked in letters far down the scale
There is no more running, only hiding from myself
Sleeping in the darkness of my fears knowing
they will only bring another dream,
that I will once again follow
What's in a Name?
by Preston Hill
The Sun gives birth to dawn. We meet for the first time. We introduce. What’s your name?
We chat respectfully- all the while the sun continues to rise.
To think that once long ago in the cradle of humankind an idea sparked knowledge.
Testing, poking, prodding the mind, pushing thought into expression.
What was then an idea to be spoken was finally written down.
Pictograms on cave walls, diagrams of the hunt, the battle.
Pictograms on clay pots depicting commerce from a life long ago.
Pictograms on parchments that develop shapes, gestating onward to the formation of letters, words, ideas.
Of contracts, agreements, mortgages, governments, constitutions, proclamations.
Pictograms on chalkboards, blackboards, whiteboards on which an idea will be conveyed.
And children learn, apprentices advance, executives and politicians chart budgets and trends.
Pictograms on buildings, bridge abutments, railway cars declaring “This place is ours”.
And as ideas spread so did humankind. Wars and peacetime. Love and hate. Dignity and honor.
All emotion within passed from one generation to the next as the sun climbs higher in the sky.
And on one small piece of ground a family, a clan, a tribe, a village began to grow giving titles to their neighbors in relation to their geography.
Mr. Rock, Mr. Hill, Mr. Rivers greeted with a jaunty wave of the hand.
Then John had a son. Then Samuel had a son. Then Lars had a son.
Yearning for identity, Mr. Cooper, Mr. Smith and Mr. Baker began to teach their trades and build a future, contributing to the economy and serving others.
Soon, the village grew into a town, the town into a city. Nations and states formed and families, clans, tribes and cultures pooled together with separate and distinct idiosyncrasies.
In every language and aspect ideas spread, carrying seeds from the beginning.
Leaving their expectations, hopes, fears and dreams imprinted on the pages of history.
And as the sun reaches its apex, I look at my watch. You ask me, “What’s in a name?”.
I reply, “The world”, then smile politely and change the subject.
In an attempt to document my worth to your esteemed organization, I hereby submit my unredacted resume.
I was educated using blocks, books, chalk, blackboards and the slide rule. “Testing” was used to “evaluate” progress and assist in future choices.
I graduated Magna cum softly from a “free” education facility with a double major in life and its unlimited learning experiences. I am presently enrolled in its post graduate “Masters” program.
I am currently up to date on all of the recent “vaccinations”, upgrades and mask wearing theory.
I do, however, suffer from a long-standing problem with a “work ethic” issue and find it difficult not to show up and produce as I believe it is important to my remaining gainfully employed.
When asked by another employee a question such as: “I wonder what he/she thinks?” I usually reply: “I’m more concerned about why you're so concerned about what he/she thinks.”
I would bring to your “work” place an open mind (not to be confused with an empty head).
If you are interested in offering me employment please contact me by snail mail as my computer mysteriously disappeared last night.
John G.Lawless
©3/20/2023
“Hey Fat!!! Sit down and shut up!”
starts with butter on the butter on the corn
half-baked concepts dragging from the board ‘cross the floor
up to my pen. . . damn, this Prof. got two, too many blackboards
she wasn’t looking at my feet when she said, “Size doesn’t matter”
“Is that your tuba?”
bring back the bumper sticker, I want: “Baby I’m Bored”
take the nearest bus, a street-whale lobtailing curbs
turn up your iPod and mosquito ‘em all
nothing like that tin sound in the a.m. to make murderers of us all
“Bum a smoke?”
sometimes all that’s required is rust
yup, I worry about that pair of shoes I threw out back in ‘82
are they cursing me for being next to whatever’s in that plastic container that’ll be here a
thousand years from now?
“Gotta do the floors.”
Agreement feels like a back tickle
smells like magnolia
sounds like soft crickets and rushing water
looks like the bright moon
tastes like milk
Disagreement feels like a toe stub
smells like rotted vegs
sounds like fingernails running down blackboards
looks like the pic took of you at fourteen
tastes like medicine
Not so much difference, eh?
I was taught to run,
to shun, avoid.
My falling down, my scrapped knee was the punishment of my betrayal.
I suffered guilt for having too much,
shame for too little.
Love was earned through penitence,
some of those and these,
by rosaries
The notebooks were in order,
the same as my attire.
Sister this and farther that, never speaking out of turn,
for our souls would surely burn.
Traditional replies, with repetitive lies,
blackboards, rulers, skirts, and shirts.
We all looked the same,
In Catholic School
BROTHER I SAW BLACK BOARDS…
Brothe,r don’t ask why…
When I linger in a little longer in bed
Just know I saw blackboards
When I seem to have forgotten your ways
Just know I saw blackboards
When my opinion from yours differs ..,
Just know I saw blackboards
When I can’t join in on your drinking spree
Just know I saw blackboards…
When the language I speak is strange to you
Just know I saw blackboards
When to the family gods I sacrifice no more
Forgive me… I saw Black boards
Strange my life is…
Just know I saw blackboards.
Pointedly poignant points portend pointillism.
Pontiffs pontificate pointless pointers ponderously.
Pompous poems populate Pompei pottery potently.
Porous *********** portrays Portuguese porta potties.
Poppies pop Popeye’s popular popcorn.
Populist populism pots ponies properly.
Blithering blather blots bloody bleeping blips.
Bloomberg blogs bleach bleating bloated blinks.
Bluebloods bloom black blackberry bloopers.
Bluetooth blizzards blame blurry blackboards.
Blithe blighted bladders blatantly block blades.
Blazing blasts bleed blooming blenders.
Fumbling fumes funerals fast.
Feuding fluid furniture flutters flaps.
Fighting flatulent flamingos flounder.
Floating flotillas flee flying flops.
Families foment future futile forms.
Freaky frozen French fries frighten frogs.