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The Best Class Poems

Details | Class Poem |

My African Sister

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.

Details | Class Poem |

POVERTY DEFINES TRUE WEALTH



 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...

Details | Class Poem |

over and over agin

sometimes i talk to myself, 
my mind is racing,
i dont know what to do...
so hard to explain.
depression isn't a stage
or a faze some kids go through
it shatters you...
i saw it all. 
she cried silent in her bed,
blood stains covered her favorite jeans,
her every shirt,
long sleeve ofcourse...
she suffered through it all with few people to call friend
and more to call enemy
even more to say where quite dissappointed....
FAT
her first name in school,
not started by a bully
or a mean rival,
but by her sister, 
and it echoed through her soul,
repeating in her mind... over and over again,
like the ripples of still water
when a pebble is dropped
flash frozen in time
repeating,
over and over again...
It was the first name they gave her,
millions where created over the years,
some unique
some repeating again, just as the first had..
gothic they called her,
emo, fat, ugly....worse things.
but in her mind, things where worse.
everything was repeating,
over and over again,
finally she believed it. 
she asked for help, from everyone
tried to explain to parents she wasnt well,
got called a psycho for asking to see a theripist,
not from a teacher,
not from a class mate,
but from her own father, who wouldn't, couldn't,
believe there could possibly be a thing wrong....
finally, crying, she confessed her bloody secret to a teacher.
rather then giving her time,
she is sent back to class crying her eyes out, as if she wherent going through enough...
she is sent to the principals office a few minutes later, after breaking down in class...
the princlipal says she needs help,
sends her and her dad for a risk evaluation,
her dads crying as she shows him her cuts...
they walk into a hospital room, 
it smells of chemicals and hand sanitizer,
the lady at the desk gives her a smile.
then she goes into a room with a lady,
her cheeks are sunken in and shes wearing way too much makeup,
the girl is gaging on her perfume,
and she looks really intimidating....
her dark brown hair looks dead and flat
even though its a bit wavy, 
and she wears somewhat of a mocking frown.
asks her all these questions,
is mommy beating her?
no
is daddy raping her?
no
is she doing drugs?
not alot
is anyone beating her?
pass...
did anyone molest her? 
pass....
oxcarbezapine, trazadone, citalipran, clinazapam, colonipan,
valium, lithium, more.......
and thats what they gave her,
more... 
some numbed the pain
some brought it out
tearing through her organs,
she became an addict by the time she was fourteen....
over dose after over dose
some for pleasure
some for pain,
gashes on her legs getting deeper,
this time she didnt tell a soul,
not even those she had come to call friends....
wakeup she screamed in her head over and over again
as she dropped weight like it was nothing....
you cant controll it she argued as things became worse. 
at age fourteen she attempted suicide,
she didnt quite succeed.
the medication took away her aappitite....
she liked it
she hated her body
hated herself
felt out of controll
found a new way to cope
as she shoved tooth brush after toothbrush down her throat
to keep her body from nuitrients...
as she whent weeks and weeks spitting food into napkins and making excuses 
I ate at my friends house....
spoken as a whisper
heard like a sentance
echoing in her mind over and over again,
along with that word, all the words,
FAT!!!!!!
ugy, anoying, stupid, fake, worthless, nothing...
one bite she would say
rocking back and forth
craving nothing but food
her body racked with hunger pain
one bite and there she was again
FAT!
over and over and over again
back to a toothbrush
this time she sees blood
she saw her ribs
she saw her bones,
it wasnt good enough,
she almost died, again....
choking on this deep dissappointment in herself,
gaging on everything they where pushing down her throat, 
their words, and their insults, their criticism.... their drugs
all shoved down her throat like candy
and just as she was was trained to do she swallowed despite the bad taste
or the hurt
or the fact that at the rate she was going she would be dead soon...
and you know why? 
because daddy yelled 
and couldnt accept what was happening
not because he wanted to hurt her
but because it hurt him,
and she let him believe,
because she could take the hurt if it meant he didnt have too.
because mommy didnt want to sit in her room all day
smoking weed
doing nothing,
practically having us raise ourselves,
she didnt mean to take anger, or frustration or hurt out on her daughter
she suffered everyday in her solitary confinement,
and from a young age she accepted her bedroom was the cage
 her mother had created for herself.
because sister didnt want to effect her the way she did
she was just frustrated
fed up with the way things where
scared, she needed someone to take her cruelty
and to help heal her pain...
because people in school
who where so cruel
had to have learned from somewhere
and she wasnt going to play into their games,
and they knew she was an easy target
because she would never attack someone so weak
and she accepted her suffering was a sacrafice
to help all these people....
to help her dad,
her mom,
her sister,
every person who was beaten abused or hurt
 and felt so weak at home they wanted to feel strong in the one safe place they had.
because depite the fact she had died inside,
and almost passed away on the out,
it was a saccrafice she was willing to make
so that no one else would have to feel that kind of pain,
and they all inflicted it and broke her down'untill there was nothing left but a shell
of somthing that could have been
and never had the chance
and why? 
because she would take it and wouldnt strike back,
because sometimes "just taking it"
isnt so much about the weakness not to do anything
but about the strangth not to hurt others the way they hurt you...

Details | Class Poem |

The Color Missing

The Color Missing
Red, black, and blue are the colors of our work pens. Red is the color of the blood we spill on other people’s mistakes.  Blue is the color of the songs we sing on tax forms or pay stubs- every page has a secret melody. Black is the color of the streets we fear most. Black is the color of our signature of approval. Black is the color of our death.

‘But what about the Green pens?’ I ask. They say ‘the ink is too hard to see.’

Details | Class Poem |

trust the system

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

Details | Class Poem |

A Touch Of Class


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

Details | Class Poem |

I'm not nosey but

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.

Details | Class Poem |

On Maydays Day


I turn to my girl highlighting Mayday is near
A day of spectacle that the whole village views
There's Jesters of folly and Knights without fear
Witnessing lances and jokes, always going askew

To view such we can venture along different ways
We can stroll by the river listening to many sounds
In awe as we walk amidst most wondrous displays
That on any given day beautiful vistas abound

Decisions, decisions, as we contemplate which way
It's such a special day wondering what to wear
Beauty personified will my Olive be on this day
Knights or Royal Princes, all they can do is stare

So tomorrow we've decided to be our chosen route
Two hearts in decision, declaring what's their suit

<*>

Mayday morn now greets as I turn next to me
She my guiding light as beautiful as the dawn
Excitement illuminates for into her eyes I see
Onto my back I lie, that feel she's now upon

Into this day we go heading along the river
Crystal clear translucent such serenity in it's flow
Under greened canopies cooled shaded deliver
Wafting leaved dress in delightful fanned throw

We sense the clearings near for scents we sense
Sporadic clusters in capture of welcoming eyes
Mayday games have started, distant heard suspense
Knights on horseback mounted, now in espy

Now we're in amidst encapsulated we now are
She's here to cheer, her Sir James, soon to spar

<*>

Balcony she now awaits, white steed he's now astride
Blinkered pairings gallop towards intended foe
To win this Mayday he, to fight for her his bride
Eliminate his enemy, witness his crimson flow

His lance in now connect, thrown metal disperses
Petals of beauty hurled of rainbows selected
Images of we, now thinking marital rehearses 
To know on this day, her intended she's elected

Moments of their previous now in recent past
Knowing they're now free in kaleidoscopic stream
Spectrum of feelings now in view full cast
In colourful extremes, fight for your dreams



.

Details | Class Poem |

WE ARE SOUND

We are sound.  Of mind and soul. 
We are sound of earth and gold
We are sound.

We are sound, of constant grind 
Fire and coal we are sound.

If GOD BE told, we are sound
Of strife and right  
We are sound, of toil and might 
Of fist  and fight 
We are sound

Of listless days and  raging nights 
We are sound.  

Of blood and mud 
We are sound

Of tattered shares and ragtag flair
We are sound.
Of guts and fury we are sound
Of grave yard fears, we are sound

This is the song of the renowned 
Pound the ground we are sound.

Details | Class Poem |

Weird Carolyn

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.

Details | Class Poem |

The 80's

This is a decade that many wonderful things happened; 
I was born, the reign of hard rock began, 
Michael Jackson began to moonwalk, Cars became smoother 
on the road, Cold War reigned, and also a time that soul music 
massaged our souls and emotions.
This is a decade that never dies. People who were born 
and lived in the 80s still live, the music still exists in hard-drives, 
teenagers have immortalized the fashion sense, and
my yellowing birth certificate still lives on, with one piece.

Details | Class Poem |

To Whom It May Concern

I walk with a silence to my step,
as if in reality they never took place.
A shadow cast upon what has been done,
evidence misplaced.
Seconds merge into minutes, minutes which remain endless.
Days stand without weeks moments reign endless.
Does the mind play tricks, or do the thoughts stay mine.
Without word spoken, whispered from lips to allowing ears,
lies the moments experienced within the years.

Details | Class Poem |

Love for someone,

Sorrow is my companion now,
Why do you tears your drowsy?
The happiness you have received,
The realization of the world of sorrow.

Life has listened to me,
Why do you co-exit?
Love you all,
We all hate hatred.

Sorrow is my companion now,
Why do you tears your drowsy?


Everyone broken my heart,
Why do you do me love?
Why do you want us everything?
We have given everything to us only punishment.

Sorrow is my companion now,
Why do you tears your drowsy?
The happiness you have received,
The realization of the world of sorrow.

Details | Class Poem |

The law and the low

The low suffer most the blow of the law 
And no better do they fare with its flow:
From injustice to injustice it carries them
But none ever calls this a flaw.
For like that, perhaps, she can’t help to be,
Born of the mighty as she is.

Once, though, every eternity the cords of 
patience snap:
Justice is demanded and swiftly she comes.
It's time for revolution, the clash unto ash 
between the classes.
By saw and seesaw there'll be newness abroad:
The old system teeters as its sinews are severed
And from cakes of blood springs another;
That long denied by law is now seized by claw,
And from star to tar the mighty tumble
As their thrones are lowered for dwarfs to 
mount.
Upwards go the erstwhile low 
To be class dwarfs no more 
But the mighty of the land.

Amidst this newness, though, an old song 
soon intrudes:
In voices faint and mournful we hear it sung
By those from star to lowly tar fallen.
In fields and taverns, at work and at play,
It dwells on lips bright and sullen;
But up above behind stately walls where
stands the palace 
None but the children dare sing it—
The song they once heard old papa sing,
Which loosened his lips like a wicked brew
But now binds them shut like a glue. 
When from frolics they break
In their playfields green
And in palace parlors
At once warm chants from their breasts erupt
Which with glee and charm they long sustain
Till every soul feel their lips beguiled
To render accompaniment in a whistled melody.

Then swirls the music about every ear, and all can 
hear the palace ring: 
“The low suffer most the blow of the law 
And no better do they fare with its flow:
From injustice to injustice it carries them
But none ever calls this a flaw.
For like that, perhaps, she can’t help to be,
Born of the mighty as she is.”

Details | Class Poem |

A Touch Of Class


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 that they have class, for reasons that only 
they know.

If you have 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 others 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 to respect yourself. That's what I think 
is CLASS...

02/03/2013
Written by Lucilla M. Carrillo

Details | Class Poem |

Sad truth Inside reality bites sincerity

No one lives in a democracy opening word lie 
Let's be frank for a moment we are all slaves 
unto a taxpaying system none the less true 

Graded by our salary in class distinction fact 
poor lawless order is the ruling bodies ignorance 
that takes under the table deals which turn tricks 

Hidden from view by corruption shady characters 
our role models to carry into the future light 
Power generates a hungry source unyielding 

That lusts with the endless need for more 
constantly envying others happiness 
chaos will follow unmoral government bodies 

They who should be prosecuted where justice dwells 
under high treason against the state and her children 
I believe in truth and honestly not falsehoods

Details | Class Poem |

Dancing set her spirit free



She was a shy girl
Few words spoken from her
When out in the world.
She was unsure of who she was
Living in her shell
Not unlike that of a prison cell.


Refrain

But dancing set her spirit free
Gone was her fear
Whether in class or on stage
Gone was her cage
The beauty inside unfurled
A smart, happy, controlled girl emerged.



Afraid to say something wrong
Afraid to do something wrong
She did not wish to upset anyone
She was not so smart
So her mother said many times
Often cross with her she didn’t know why.


Refrain

But dancing set her spirit free
Gone was her fear
Whether in class or on stage
Gone was her cage
The beauty inside unfurled
A smart, happy, controlled girl emerged.


When she was back in the world
Where shattered had been her trust
The shy, unsure girl returned
She wanted to be liked
She knew there was much to give inside
Few people knew the real person inside.



Refrain

But dancing set her spirit free
Gone was her fear
Whether in class or on stage
Gone was her cage
The beauty inside her unfurled
A smart, happy, controlled girl emerged.


She had a smile that could light up a room
She was  kind and had compassion for others
She knew how to listen to others
Why didn’t she feel free
To express her mind
Why couldn’t she shine?


Refrain

But dancing set her spirit free
Gone was her fear
Whether in class or on stage
Gone was her cage
The beauty inside her unfurled
A smart, happy, controlled girl emerged.


One day she left her home
And made her own
She made many friends
And her work was commended
Others listened to her words
She found she made a difference.


Refrain

Dancing had set her spirit free
Gone was her fear
Whether in class or on stage
Gone was her cage
The beauty inside her unfurled
A smart, happy, controlled girl emerged.

By CarolineCécile
© April 6, 2006.

Details | Class Poem |

Wilderness is a Crowded street

Wilderness is a crowded street.

Silence stings the ears of the hearer,
Cacophony of sound, unheard.
Loneliness turns to solitude,
Converse without a word.

Wilderness is a crowded street.
A passer-by nobody sees.
Togetherness now disjointed,
Run! I feel their disease.

Money is their mind set
Full wallet yet they're poor.
A heart of gold inside me,
Theirs, an open sore!

Some own the World, yet are bankrupt,
Emotionally discharged black-holes.
Shiny shoes that point to nowhere,
Prices, still on their soles.

All the broken people,
Nobody tells me why.
Orphaned, divorced, mistaken,
I'll not lay down to die.

To roll over and just take it,
Is what they'd like us to do.
So let's all speak out, be counted,
Not be part, of the Zoo!

Details | Class Poem |

The Devil and The POET

The devil in a moment of weakness did challenge a poet to a battle of words.

I HEAR YOU ARE AT THE TOP OF YOUR GAME
Said the devil to the poet.

NEVER HAVE TO WEAR A SWORD
Said the poet to the devil

CHALLENGERS' RULES I BELIEVE
Said the devil to the poet

AS LONG AS WORDS ARE OUR ONLY WEAPONS
Said the poet

THEN FOLLOW THESE RULES
Said the devil - "every bad word I use you must turn into good or negate it with another."
"You can use a two syllable word to link your word to mine if you need to."
"If your word trumps mine I will then try to turn your good words into bad"

AGREED Said the poet.

ONE MORE THING Said the devil
I HAVE TAKEN THE WORD LOVE OUT OF THE GAME - WILL YOU STILL AGREE

THAT STILL LEAVES ME WITH FAITH Said the poet
BUT WAIT, WHAT PRIZE ARE WE PLAYING FOR Said the poet

WE WILL JUST BE PLAYING FOR LOVE Said the devil giving a wink that
gave credit to his evil status.

I WILL SEND YOU PACKING BEFORE DAYLIGHT SO YOU CAN GET YOUR BEAUTY SLEEP Said the poet.

The devil placed his first word which was - UNFORGIVING.
The poet promptly trumped it with FORGIVING

Now it was the poets turn to start using the word - HEAVEN.
The devil responding took back his turn with HELL.

Neck and neck they raced on through the night.
Good matching bad and bad matching good.

With dawn fast approaching the devil took his last gamble.
BEAT THIS WORD AND THE PRIZE IS YOURS. Said he with glee.
Putting down the word which was INEVITABLE.
HA HA HA HE HE HE the devil cackled
I WILL SO ENJOY WATCHING LOVE DISAPPEAR FROM YOUR JUICY LITTLE HEART.

The poet gave a gentle bow as these two words he uttered
NOTHING IS

NOTHING IS WHAT barked back the devil

NOTHING IS INEVITABLE replied the poet as he picked up love and placed it close to his heart.
Whereupon the devil disappeared into a fog of fire and brimstone,
Wisely staying away from poets forever - just in case one should ever challenge him to take EVIL out of his game.

Details | Class Poem |

To My Super Souper Friends

Alot of you folks have been able to say what you feel this holyday season with exquisite 
wording and beautiful sentiments. I can't do that. Maybe if I tell you a story about a 
little kid who was raised and worked on a farm. A farm boy in a class of city kids is ridiculed 
for some reason and beat up alot cause that proves to city kids that they're strong when 
they beat up a farmer kid. So I did the best I could with my sense of humor, got beat up 
when challenged and avoided other confrontations by learning to run real fast! When they 
picked teams for basketball, I was odd kid out. Too little. I found it hard to fit in anywhere.
    One fine day our 7th grade teacher gave us a homework assignment to write a poem 
which we would read aloud in class the next day.The stipulation was that, on your honor, you 
could have no help whatsoever. A solo project.
   After chores that night, I did as she said and was surprised at how easy it was. The 
next day, when it was my turn, I timidly read aloud to the class the first poem I ever wrote.  
When I finished, I awaited the verdict . All was quiet. The teacher told me to sit down. I did. 
She then admonished me for cheating on my assignment and getting help. Of course I did 
not. I still vividly remember how it felt to have all my peers watching me as our teacher 
dismissed me for a cheater with a look of disdain on her face. I was speechless, devastated 
and embarrassed by what others thought.
   The experience pushed me deeper into myself than I had ever been.. It's amazing to me 
how these feelings are resurfacing en force as I write about it. I've written poetry on and off 
since then but never taken it seriously. It was just some force that reared itself once in a 
while until it was subdued by writing one.
    Now, in the autumn of my life, something very strange and wonderful is happening. I 
have been introduced to you, my poetry soup friends. The injustice done to my poetic soul is 
every day being identified by myself, rectified and healed by your loving support. I'm no 
longer throwing my poems away. You have given me in two months what has been missing 
since the 7th grade. You have given me courage, confidence, encouragement and the 
companionship to take up where I was left off. Because of all of you, I can grow again. I was 
at a stalemate in alot of things and then this. Coincidence? More like Christ incidence. Get it? 
YOU are my Christmas gift from Love come down! This is my card to you.  
 GOD BLESS YOU ALL.- ROBERT

Details | Class Poem |

No Fear

                                              
   Where is hope, where is faith? You are all alone,
 No more tears, stop crying, be strong and pray.

 Look within your soul, you will find enduring spirit.
  Don’t panic, take control of your inner self,
Pay less attention on your feelings.

 Listen to your heart; paint the picture of your future on your mind.
 Find the strength to defeat your fears in life.

 Don’t make loud noises, stop talking and listen to your inner self.
  Don’t worry about things you cannot change, move on from your past

  Listen you possessed Great Spirit, 
  You are far more powerful than you will ever know
Stop asking question and be the answer to your own worries in life

Details | Class Poem |

Why Won't You Play With Me

He and I went to the same school,
we were in the same class.

He never studied with me
or played with me.

He was too cool for me
and I didn't know how.

When we each went our separate ways,
back to our homes,
he had help with his studies,
while sometimes I found supper.

He got to sleep with just a blanket,
feeling warm and toasty,
while I slept with just a blanket, too, feeling cold as if I was outside,
perhaps I was.

I never wished I was him,
why would I?
why would I want to be someone,
someone who wouldn't want to play with me?

He never got the higher grade.
Now as he receives his paycheck from me,
he asks me how.
How did I?

I paused and smiled,
you never played with me,
no one did,
so I kept myself busy.

He said thank you for his bonus,
I said, no!
Thank you for not playing with me.

Details | Class Poem |

Hard Times

So many sad faces
To many broken hearts
All these familiar faces
Without any facial expressions
They anguish and depression
Has me asking questions
Is money and greed
Mankind greatest obsession
Aggression and oppression
Is giving a bad impression
All these parliament sessions and still no confession
In reading and hearing about these conversations
All I can say, we are heading into great recession.

Best Class Poems | Poetry

The Best Class Poems

Stars and those with Stripes

Humor is my inspiration

My African Sister

POVERTY DEFINES TRUE WEALTH

over and over agin

The Color Missing

trust the system

A Touch Of Class

I'm not nosey but

On Maydays Day

WE ARE SOUND

Weird Carolyn

The 80's

To Whom It May Concern

Love for someone,

The law and the low

A Touch Of Class

Sad truth Inside reality bites sincerity

Dancing set her spirit free

Wilderness is a Crowded street

The Devil and The POET

To My Super Souper Friends

No Fear

Why Won't You Play With Me

Hard Times