Best Class Poems
"America First",
is the worst.
Should not thinking of others,
be your thirst?
Those who are selfish,
end up being cursed!
Soon they'll be last,
instead of first.
Who among you,
prefers guns and war?
Do you really have freedom,
shore to shore?
If most have less,
are you happy with more?
Should the privileged few,
be guarding the door?
Protectionism,
rots you to the core.
In the end,
you won't know who it's for?
What does it mean,
to be "Great Again"?
I'll listen to learn,
try your best to explain!
Were there fields of cotton and sugarcane?
Was it back of the bus perfect,
everyone staying in their own lane?
A pain striped passport,
for those on the soul train.
If you know the truth,
please speak it plain.
I want to find great,
I've wracked my brain.
Whose America are you trying to regain?
At awe by my mothers beautiful mind,
when it came to writing I always felt so blind.
Literature class advised us to write,
for the first time I did not feel bright.
Sneak a poem of my mothers i did,
boy did I feel like a little kid.
Praise my teacher gave me for such a lovely write,
my mind here and there like a kite.
Lucky me open house was here,
the poem posted on the class wall had me at fear.
Suggesting my parents to skip that class,
trying to avoid the coming sass.
She read it and thought to herself that it was idolized,
her eyes got big as she realized.
Quiet she kept as she knew how embarrassed I was,
of course it gave her a buzz.
It was cause of that day we look back,
and my mom gave me some slack.
She later taught me it's as simple as rhyming,
and with the emotions I have priming.
When I have a bag of candy
I have oh so many friends
They all come gather around me
But it don’t last, it always ends
I guess I aint that special
I’ve never been cool it’s true
Still I just wanna fit in
All I want is a friend or two
So I steal me another dollar
From daddy’s jacket behind the door
Then I head on down the street
back to the corner store
The man behind the counter
He asks me “What’s your choice?”
“Please, some red blue and green ones.”
I answer with in a quiet voice.
He hands me my bag of candy
I pray it’s a magical treat
That someone might then like me
and not disappear after they eat
They like jelly beans and jawbreakers
For my treats everyone pretends
I’m just like one of them
and we’re all the best of friends.
He's the class clown, full of hijinks and pranks,
Puts tacks on your seat, swallows fish from the tank.
He's full of you-know-what and vinegar, energy galore,
Will he act goofy today? -- Does a hungry lion roar?...
...Back at home, he trudges slowly through the side door,
A frown and fret on his heart, like a festering sore,
His mind a dark cavern, not a thing to live for.
He takes off his mask, the transition's complete,
'Cuz you can't be a clown when life's got you beat.
I am a white, middle class, American male; raised in a white, middle class American home. I would not say that my upbringing included a lot of diversity.
I remember talking to my brother, Jimmy, just before he told my father he was gay. Jimmy told me about the inner struggle he wrestled with in first admitting to himself that he was homosexual. He said he thought it was wrong; it was sinful and something he must avoid being. Once he realized that being homosexual was not a fault but an innate sexual preference, he decided that he would not live a life of lies. He, therefore, decided to tell his family about his sexual inclination. It took a lot of courage to tell my ex-marine father.
Afi is a beautiful, strong, black African woman; raised in a black, African home. Afi will admit that she is not overly charitable and not likely to do volunteer work. When she first came to the U.S., however, she was appalled with how our society treated its AIDS victims. In Africa, Afi would tell us, AIDS patients were embraced and cared for, not shunned and outcaste like here in the U.S.
Jimmy was not a promiscuous man. He only knew a few sexual partners in his too short life. Jimmy was a very intelligent and artistically gifted man. He was doing post–doctorate research in Iraklion, Greece when he first started showing symptoms of having AIDS.
When Afi volunteered to be an AIDS Buddy she made it clear that she did not want to be paired with someone who had full-blown AIDS. The organization was so hard pressed to find someone with a profile to match Jimmy’s intellect and interests that they begged Afi to just meet him, just once.
Afi says that within an hour she was no longer on a volunteer mission; she and Jimmy
would be friends regardless of a commitment to the Buddy system. Jimmy and Afi
remained best of friends for the two remaining years we were blessed with his presence.
It has been 15 years since Jimmy passed away. I am still a white, middle class, American male; from a white, middle class American family – only now, we have a beautiful, strong, black, African sister in our family.
You will need a terrific setting. The suck up kids are nodding.
Make sure that your character is interesting.
She says this in a monotone voice.
The only voice she has.
The one that puts me to sleep.
I languish back, whispering with my tree.
A willow with flowing hair, and a sweet nod.
Her bluebirds call my name, inviting me to dance.
A teacher’s droning is in the background, but I can ignore her.
She is easy to ignore.
Here is a template you’ll need.
Two teacher’s pets immediately say they will pass them out.
The teacher calls another one’s name.
A reluctant student who is probably in the land of giants
Slaying dragons.
I smile. It’s not me this time.
Cardinals and robins flit over, hunting for food.
There is a brush against my arm. It’s the template.
But I pretend it is the willow tree, loving me.
My eyes begin to close, a nap in the works.
I enjoy my soft day with her gentle quick ways.
I am in the zone, asleep under the willow. It is a warm day. The sun is gentle.
“Will need a partner,” teacher says, bringing me back to my 5th grade desk.
I choose Jameson, I say, noting his horrified look.
He knows I did not hear almost any of the instructions.
They all know I am usually more than half asleep in most of my classes.
Someone giggles.
The teacher must have given her a sharp look.
The giggle stops in mid giggle.
Jameson is terrified that I will not know what to do, but I do.
Taking the paper out of his hand, I offer to do the writing.
I ask for his ideas.
He has none.
So I begin with a flourish!
Don't know if human's will ever see
every soul born, is right where it's meant to be
For the rich to become the richest
there has to be a place for the poorest
The entire world is built up from the same level of dirt
each soul is born without knowledge to cause hurt
Humanity teaches us what a human's life is worth, by money and glory
I am to believe all lives are priceless, every soul fit's to tell Earth's story
The luckiest to be born, is that of a poor man
he learn's the treasures, of everything he can
Those born into all riches, have no true understanding of richness
seeing us not as human's, but those living in poverty as an illness
Love start's from the soul, and from there it is taught to grow
the rich find another kind of love, one only brought with dough
Love, trust, compassion and grace defining the difference in richest and wealth
t'is the beggar off the street, who climbs the toughest road to earn his wealth
He is the most blessed man, he is rewarded with the most valuable key
for his wealth is humanly uncountable, for only God know's the value of he...
Fifty-year class reunions are stricken with sadness:
Former classmates falling apart before my eyes.
Jane uses a walker, and Stan exhibits madness.
Wages of age foreshadow classmates’ demise.
In youth’s green age I could not fathom this,
A time when peers would be withered and worn.
How I wonder could life have gone so amiss?
Surveying the scene, my heart is heavy, torn.
I give proud thanks that I’m not like the others,
Having been spared of time’s toxic touches.
“But what has befallen my sisters and brothers?”
I ponder the question as I reach for my crutches.
THE MAD SECRETARY
Hunched over the computer, I am mystical,
With mental white gloves and a karate belt -
A daylight cursor, but on my bicycle,
A word and energy transformer, a flickering Celt.
Such metaphysics I can make into sensation,
Turned into binary formulae by the boss,
My passion is for punctuation-
But the lingua franca doesn’t give a toss.
I see the point. I accommodate the pause.
I rinse the cups and make the coffee sweet,
I am saving myself for this man of laws,
Of Brehon provenance, who will entreat
Me to be his love, his partner and co-genitor,
Of a life graph, where he can trust the monitor.
(c) Rosemarie Rowley
From IN MEMORY OF HER (2008)
One. Latino boys like Buffalo Wild Wings. It isn't clear why, but it's definitely emerging as a pattern.
Two. Latino boys are persistent. When he asks to kiss you for the first time, say no. Why? Because you've known him for a matter of weeks and he is not your boyfriend yet. Don't worry... he will continue to ask every week until you say yes.
Three. Latino boys are really good kissers.
Four. Latino boys love their family. His cousins are best friends, so you probably already know several of them. If any of his cousins also like you, you might think this is problematic. Your boyfriend will tell you that it's normal, and it's just because they're jealous, and not to worry about it. You will probably worry about it anyway. Sometimes it's better to let things go.
Five. Latino boys are romantic. He will tell you how he loves you in two languages and struggle to find an apt metaphor which he can pronounce in the English language. Since his English isn't perfect, he uses his hands to compensate when he speaks, uses a tilt of his head, a shift in his voice; he says most with his eyes, when he isn't speaking at all.
Six. Notice how he lights up when he smiles at you, like the sunrise... remember that the word for smile in Spanish is sonrisa.
Seven. When he offers to teach you the meringue, say yes. When you trip over each other's feet, laugh. When his face moves close to yours... kiss him.
Eight. When your racist father starts talking about socioeconomic classes, remind him that unlike your brother's American friends, your friends are sober. (Well, more sober. Do not bring up tequila. They're not potheads, at least.) Besides, your Spanish teacher is thrilled with your miraculous improvement in spoken Spanish.
Nine. When you go bowling with him and his cousins and he whispers in your ear that people are staring at us, tell him it's just because they're jealous that I have a boyfriend that will dance with me in public.
Ten. "Te amo" is a phrase that sounds prettiest when whispered.
I've never been one to nosey but
Looking through my net curtains
I just happened to have a pair of binoculars in my hand
I'm a curious kinda man
Ooh you wouldn't believe the things I've seen
Not being a gossip of course
It's so posh around here the mail is personally
Delivered by the Queen
And across my vast sprawling country estate
Someone's skinny dipping in my lake
I think I'll choose a masserati today
And wave at the peasants on my way.
There goes Dietrich on her penny farthing
Listening to some Hank Marvin
Toqyen is drunk again
Casarah is walking her lama
Tim has just worked out at the gym
And Jan is looking nice and Trim
Peter and Vera
are in the garden
Singing Shakira
Poet destroyer is cutting the grass
Ooh she has a lovely fast
Mower that lass.
There goes Mary Jo on her pogo stick
She doesn't look too well hope she's not sick
Over there prince Harry is having a party again
A fancy dress
And he's dressed as hen
Well folks Think I'll get in my hot tub full of champagne
And wait until tomorrow
When I can spy again.
Peter Dome. copyright. 2014. Sept.
footsteps aimlessly
walking on their trails
beaten down and broken
shiny as the rails
the rails of the train
over used and rusted
crumbling ignored
the system that you trusted
the silence of conformity
the quiet crying song
of people lost in apathy
monotony so long
the old man remembered
the booming days of old
and tried to warn the youngster
with stories he had told
the young man in the t shirt
can hear no warning cries
television cataracts
covering his eyes
commoners injected
with complacent misdemeanors
fed intravenously
from mass media feeders
the heretics will scream
with no one to hear their call
the working slaves will perish
society will fall
in the pulpit yelling
mystifying lies
sweating like a demon
with fire in his eyes
passing round a dish
to collect the workers' wage
saving souls ain't easy
so he sets a stage
profiting from fear
preparing them for death
comfort is a business
says his liquor breath
on the front row fanning
the woman says amen
waiting for the bell
so she can live in sin
forgiveness is a blessing
that god will give to few
surely she'll be one
when her life is through
the child in the classroom
with the curious mind
will be beaten and conditioned
until she too is blind
"trust in the system"
is the motto that they teach
"question nothing,
so higher you can reach"
the land of the free
the home of the brave
only for those of us
content with being slaves
some will stand on street corners
holding big white signs
telling of injustice
held beneath our sights
but those who throw the bombs
which burn society down
those will be the shakers
for true freedom to be found
but the sheep still continue
to justify their life
ignoring others torment
blind to their strife
perpetuating failure
selling bankers souls
to keep on consuming
to get the best remote control
to build themselves a shield
what kind of life is this
numbness is a virtue
and ignorance is bliss
A Touch Of Class
A touch of class, I wish I had, but what is that?
To some people - it means to be rich. Others just
say, they have class for reasons that only they know.
If you got money - you got class. If you don't - you
are considered trash, or so they say. Class" I think
comes in different forms.
Some people marry into class. Some people gain class
and some people are born with class. To have class is to
never brag about your exploits. Let other people do it
for you.
A touch of class is - like a touch of Mink. You see it, but you
can't catch it. To have class is - to respect others and respect
yourself. That is what I think is class...
Copyright:
Written by Lucilla M. Carrillo
Me....,
a shy ..,
and
bashful guy
always kept me.,
confined to last bench..
down my head,
huddled heart ,
blenched my breathes and
arms always clenched..
Staring with a thief eye
to each one
around me
but confrontation
was not my forte .,
this fragility always
kept me away
from my very interest
and invariably
was a thwart ..
New day in the class,
New teachers and
Classmates too.,
but for me
each day was new
and each one., who?
Newly painted class
curtained each side .,
The Teacher announces
our new class guide...
In actual fact
I wasn't a beauty gaper .,
but this time
she forced me too sharper...
hardly I lavished my time
in any admiration..,
but this would give,
drive to my contemplation..,
breaking the ice to her
difficult and caffeine beauty
eyes were clear and watered ,
lips were glossy and frooty..
Tallest and
her collar in the same way.,
I stared alot but
kept her eye away..
walk like breeze
silent and cool
smile like blooming lily.,
none of her company
can stand by her
she was the perfect dilly..
Crowd would stop
while she starts
mostly buring in vex.,
she wants pin drop silence
in the class .,otherwise,
bitter pills to suspects..
The same rain
I got whole year .,
Whole year
I got ,
teacher will start ,
we all will set ,
and I will get lost .,
The last day of
this beautiful phase
I was loosing carelessly.,
No courage,
No rescue ,
The day cutting readily ..
God miracle or
some boon ,
when she came ,
in her black shoon..,
shrinking and shy
asked me a favour.,
Reaching to the seventh heaven
I started quiver..
Yea....Yea ....
I did it
and then asked my will...
Very courageous.,
honestly it was
to utter such word.,
but......,I knew
It was the
last chance
and never again for
me.....,
such a coward..
So....I did
did it fast.
listening it....,
she got locked.
'No Words'
she said
but I .....,
I did it.
did it.
Yea...,
I do.
by-Shagun
Weird Carolyn
The other cheerleaders didn’t like football
Basketball was much easier to follow
But I got bored watching them dribble the ball
My response was hard for others to swallow
Growing up I didn’t have too many toys
So I had to find my own entertainment
I became a master of animal noise
When I “croaked” on the bleachers strange looks were sent
My frog impersonations left them aghast
When I did my seagull, the team stopped playing
They stared at me oddly as though I’d passed gas
They couldn’t relate to talents displaying
This was the first thing that led to my nickname
But once in class I was asked to give a speech
The teacher was writing, so bold I became
Her attention I was trying to beseech
Being a contortionist since childhood days
Locked one leg and arm, looked like a flamingo
I perched on one foot for each eloquent phrase
The teacher looked up and called me a weirdo
The class agreed and “weird Carolyn” was born
Frequently called upon to put on a show
Much laughter I bestowed, accolades adorned
Never understood why I didn’t have a beau
*Entry for Francine’s “Tell us something we didn’t know” contest. Okay, the secret's
out and I'm ready for my punishment. At high school reunions I'm still called upon to
perform.