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High School Poem
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help mrs. muse is gone and my mind is shooting blanks
my friend called inspiration is trying to walk the plank
motivation just married mr lazy
and confidence started acting really crazy
cousin common sense is on vacation out of town
and aunt intelligence is nowhere to be found
uncle rational is at the casino gambling his life away
and my best friend happiness never wants to stay
my neighbor opportunity doesnt knock on my door anymore
and my girlfriend love is really just a whore
my partner pride is always full of himself
and sister sympathy is busy with someone else
grandpa wisdom is smart enough not to say a word
and grandma compassion is seen but never heard
the only friends that ever come to town
is anger and disgust and they always hang around
my high school sweat heart infatuation doesnt really call
and my childhood friend imagination doesnt exist at all
Copyright © John Castro | Year Posted 2012
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High School Poem
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Their lives begin, that special day
Your hardest job, is on the way.
Walking and pacing, all night long
Knowing that one day, they’ll be strong.
Watching them crawl, then walk and run
Treasure each moment, share their fun.
They grow so fast, enjoy each day
For sometime soon, they’ll move away.
Years of school, sometimes they will drag
We’re filled with pride, we parents brag.
Teaching our kids, always be kind
Lasting friendships, many will find.
Do as I say, not as I do
We all have said, our parents too.
The truth comes out, don’t cheat or lie
Don’t try and skimp, to just get by.
Take the right path, we try to guide
Sometimes they don’t, we let it slide.
Knowing they must, find their own way
Life is tough, on track they must stay.
Bumps in the road, many will hit
We as parents, just have to sit.
Learn from mistakes, it takes its’ toll
Their independence, that’s our goal.
The hardest part, is yet to come
When high school years, are said and done.
We’ve done our jobs, as best we could
We must let go, or so we should.
Give them their wings, and let them fly
As we sit back, and often cry.
Turning the page, is hard to do
Wondering if, they listened to you.
Reach for the stars, follow your dreams
It takes time, forever it seems.
Your heart will break, can’t let it show
It’s so difficult, letting go.
Copyright © Kelly Zakerski | Year Posted 2009
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I was seventeen, had one year left of high school and a boyfriend I didn't even love. It was the end of summer, and I was on the verge of a night indelible
because it was incredible for me.
If "tall, dark, and handsome" had a face, it belonged to one who walked
into the store I worked at nightly all alone. He brought with him a smile just for me -
beautiful, magical, seducing. Were he music, he'd have been the warmest song
to ever touch my soul. Perhaps it was the moon, lunacy-inducing, that made me crave
his visits more and more, for he'd come each night into the store,
his ritual to tease me with his glances; then stand in line with just one purchase,
engaging me with words deliciously belying that he spoke my native tongue.
Did he know I fairly worshiped him?
And where was Aphrodite to let her dear Adonis wander free?
I learned eventually he was staying with a brother and soon would be returning to Quebec. I do not know, but I can now infer the moon waxed full by the time he asked me out, for I had waxed complete in my audacity. Knowing it was his last night in town, I closed the store up early and fled with my Prince Charming.
The stuff of poetry that night transpired. . .fodder for the several poems of romance I've since penned.
Sitting in his car in front of my own house, late at night, into the early morning. . .
The way he gazed into my eyes, teaching me of butterfly kisses and his breathing his sweet breath along my ear lobes, the way our fingers interlaced, the way he caressed the small of my back. . . He taught me how small things can be just as sensuous as that act of love that virgins do not know, and he branded me with a yearning for a sweet romantic love I'd never felt so strongly, nor would I ever know again as wonderfully as I was shown that night, for others in my life I've kissed, yet I have never missed them.
My dream love wrote me postcards from Quebec. Then it all died out.
I married. A few years passed; then I got a call from him, completely unexpected!
Somehow he'd tracked me down to my new home. I took the call, as I held my firstborn baby daughter in one arm. Heart in my throat, I told him it was nice to hear from him, but I was married now. So though I'll never know what "may have been," I'm still left with the memory I chose to make with him that one day of my life, my very best, because for just one night, I was Cinderella. A prince still holds my slipper, and infinite romance lives on inside my poems.
For Frank Herrera's First Love Poetry Contest
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2010
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Ride with me on my time machine to a different time and place
Return with me and let me see if I can put a smile upon your face
To the days of AM radio and the TV was black and white
To lying in a grassy field and counting stars at night
Popcorn and soda in the balcony at a Saturday matinee
Parades led by the High School Band on Decoration Day
Dressing up and going door to door on the night of Halloween
Cigarettes rolled in your shirt, pretending to be James Dean
Pep rallies before the football games, everybody stand and cheer
Going in the woods with your friends at night, sharing a quart of beer
That feeling inside, turning red, when she smiled at you at the dance
Wanting to kiss her goodnight, but you were afraid to take a chance
Playing chase tag at night in the neighborhood, hiding behind a tree
Holding hands with your first steady, so all your friends could see
Medicine Show at the end of town in a giant canvas tent
Saving pennies for a rainy day, fasting on candy for Lent
Going for a Sunday ride with Mom and Dad in the family car
Playing in the yard at night, putting lightning bugs in a jar
Drag racing on that long stretch of road, Chevy was hard to beat
Stealing peaches from a neighbor’s tree, always seemed so sweet
Riding bikes all over town, never knowing the meaning of fear
Identifying cars by their tail lights, make and model and year
News and Stooges at the theatre before the movie starts
Valentine’s day I love you written on tiny candy hearts
Easter bonnets and picking flowers for Mom on Mother’s Day
Opening day at the community pool the last weekend in May
Sock hop in the auditorium, collar up, trying to play it cool
Meeting friends at the usual place, everyday after school
Six for a quarter on the juke box, music that would move your soul
Return with me now to those glory days and the birth of rock and roll.
Copyright © Vince Suzadail Jr. | Year Posted 2009
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Love was in the air when he laid eyes on her.
Childhood; elementary and even high school with her.
Walking towards her, he greeted her.
Anxiety spiraled as he hugged her.
Conversation grew deeper as he sat with her.
Wanting to get closer because he was falling for her.
Another woman called pausing the time he was having with her.
Knowing he had to answer; he stepped away and spoke to her.
She stated that something wasn't quite right with her.
She said that her stomach had been bothering her.
Now he's thinking back if he came inside her.
Thinking if she lied to him about her tubes being tied within her.
Does he blame himself for listening to her?
Knowing right from wrong and yet he can't blame her.
Does he blame the devil for allowing him to be intimate with her?
Is he not a human that makes mistakes just like her?
Begging God to make a way for him and her.
Asking God to forgive him for committing the sin with her.
God said, "relax my son, you were only dreaming of her."
Copyright © Pace INK-U-SCRIPT | Year Posted 2012
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Johnny was my best friend through our early teenage years;
Wherever one of us went the other could always be found near;
Until he found a girlfriend who soon supplanted me,
But because he was my best friend, for Johnny I was happy;
Johnny had a girl
He had a girl
Johnny had a girl
She rocked his world
Johnny had a girl.
Throughout four years of high school I was always the third wheel;
Going off often by myself, leaving Johnny with his girl;
They learned about biology outside the class room walls;
Johnny always had plans with her every time I would call;
Johnny had a girl
He had a girl
Johnny had a girl
Oh, what a thrill
Johnny had a girl.
One week before graduation, coming home from a date,
Johnny never saw the drunk driver until it was too late.
For three months in a coma, I sat by Johnny’s side;
I knew that when he woke up, someone had to tell him she’s not alive;
Johnny had a girl
He had a girl.
I took him to the gravesite so he could see it with his own eyes;
We stayed there for hours so Johnny could say his goodbyes.
Johnny got in his car that day and started heading west;
Nobody has seen Johnny since, I wish him the very best.
I’ve taken care of her graveside for thirty years and more;
If Johnny ever comes home again, we’ll be friends just like before;
Johnny had a girl
He had a girl
Johnny had a girl.
Copyright © Joe Flach | Year Posted 2010
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Though Santa never responded to pleas
There was just one gift on my list each year
A horse that could run at the speed of light
A bold little gal; I never had fear
With two high school friends I visited a ranch
To ride in 103-degree heat
Through the bramble bushes and prickly pears
Upon little “Misty” I took my seat
The Mustang Adoption Program’s success
Sparked ranchers from Tucson, Arizona
To give a home to a rust-colored mare
Many miles from my home near Daytona
Cryptic white markings graced Misty’s neck
Looked like words in Native American code
“She’s so small,” I whined, seeking to ride fast
But no matter, to the desert we rode
Even the roadrunners were envious
When Misty gained speed and hit her full stride
Warp speed! I clung to the saddle horn
As Misty passed larger horses with pride
My hat fell on a cactus, sweat filled my eyes
My life flashed before me, quite a surprise
It seemed like she had wings as we flew
Don’t be quick to judge a horse by its size
I thank Misty often for the ride she gave me
She fulfilled my dream and gave me a thrill
But on the news today a reporter said
Wild horses would now be rounded up and killed
I’m so grateful I had the chance to ride
A wild horse with spirit and awesome speed
But what will become of her ancestors
Misty’s now part of a vanishing breed
*For Frank's "One Standout Day" contest
by Carolyn Devonshire
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2010
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I stand at the front of the exam hall, which is in total silence.
Grey desks stretch out in neat rows -
they remind me of gravestones in the local cemetery,
with white faced students their unwilling occupants.
The only sounds that can be heard are the pages being turned over
and the scrawling of pens on the paper.
Exam invigilators creep around the room like mice,
their hawk like eyes ensure no one is cheating.
Suddenly a booming fart breaks the silence -
it sounds like a machine gun that has been fired in short staccato blasts.
We can clearly see the perpetrator as his face is as red as a raspberry!
Muffled giggles are stifled and silence is once again restored.
A true story!
Noise Contest
Sponsored by Shadow Hamilton
03~09~17
Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2017
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High School Poem
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Being the shortest in my high school gym class
Attempts to play basketball brought no success
Broke my finger while trying to catch a pass
Leaping to take balls from tall girls? What a mess!
Always loved football, baseball and soccer too
But in basketball I succumbed to defeat
Just couldn’t get into it, that is true
Till Dad took me to see the Miami Heat
Startled he was, watching me jump up and down
Although my enthusiasm was contrived
The cheers of other fans my loud voice did drown
This was the last time I saw my Dad alive
I’m so thankful now that I went to that game
Dad was so grateful for these moments we shared
When I watch basketball now, it’s not the same
It was Dad and not the sport for which I cared
*Entry for Deb’s “Play Ball” contest
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2011
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Sipping cherry limeade, driving in the car parade,
we're cruising in the Lone Star state.
Didn't want a bucket seat; the thing it couldn't beat,
was sitting up close to your date.
One hand on the wheel of daddy’s Oldsmobile,
my arm around my brown-eyed girl,
feeling pretty sporty, radio on Top Forty,
I was cooler than the Duke of Earl.
The lady of the cruise had her penny loafer shoes;
her bobby socks were turned down twice.
With a little eyeliner, she couldn't be much finer,
too much and it wouldn't be nice.
There’d be no wild oats under those petticoats;
she’d never go all the way...
just a perfect flip-up 'do and cute look number two
practiced in the mirror all day.
Hear those tires squeal when I make the rubber peel
for the fly-boys waiting on the bus,
to take them to the base where they don't feel out of place,
not cruising like the rest of us.
I was the drag's head honcho as we pulled across the Concho
and we saw the lights along the riverside.
We'd had quite a lark there at Neff's amusement park,
playing Putt-Putt and going on a ride.
The cheerleader squad rode a killer hot rod
with a spinner on every rim,
a perfect tuck and pleat on every single seat,
courtesy of Wanda's Auto Trim.
Candy apple red, it would really knock you dead;
it was a drop-top Pontiac.
One was there to steer and three were in the rear
posing up on the back.
Those football beauty queens in their skin-tight Levi jeans
were followed by their biggest fan.
Checking out those lasses in his Buddy Holly glasses
was the nerdy little Aqua Velva man.
In his stainless steel braces he grinned up at their faces;
they iced him with a haughty air.
He never would forget it; they would later on regret it
when he became a multi-millionaire.
A four girl bevy in a big finned Chevy
were riding west on Sherwood Way,
four guys right behind in a pick-up state of mind,
all ready to make their play.
Thought they were the smartest cruising pick-up artists,
but those gals were pretty astute.
When they stopped and the guys started telling all their lies,
the chicks started putting on the cute.
We turned the car around and headed back downtown,
cruising down the boulevard.
Stay cool daddio, bear right at El Patio,
and take it down Beauregard.
There were lots of pleated skirts and those button-down shirts.
The flattops were everywhere galore.
From a Lincoln Continental, we heard an instrumental,
Mister Acker Bilk's “Stranger on the Shore”.
We slowly pulled through BJ’s, listening to the deejay’s
announcement of the next hit song.
Leaning on their doors with their Brylcreem pompadours,
two hoods were playing Mr. Wrong.
Completing their disguise, they slouched with narrowed eyes
and did their best at looking mean.
With a twist of his pelvis, one was doing Elvis.
The other did a fine James Dean.
Like a sweet potato vine, the bride of Frankenstein
was entwined around the Marlboro man.
With the passion of their make out, they should have gotten takeout
and opted for a bigger floor plan.
With her black beehive hair and his fancy western wear,
they were putting on quite an awesome scene.
I had to give a chuckle at his huge silver buckle,
but those M.L. Leddy boots looked mighty keen.
I pulled the Olds on through, and we bid BJ’s adieu,
and I put us back onto the street.
With those four whitewall tires, we made for McIntire's
to get ourselves a bite to eat.
We stopped for some fuel, over near the school,
in those days they came right out to you.
Best place on Earth, ‘cause with a dollar’s worth,
they’d check your oil and clean your window too.
The drive-in, painted green, was quite the social scene
with people mingling car to car.
Everyone was caring; the drinks were all for sharing,
(especially when in a mason jar).
She ate a big banana split, and then left me for a bit
to comfort an old friend not feeling right.
A moment more to linger with that final steak finger,
then I took her home and called that one a night.
That was many years ago, but some things you don’t outgrow,
and I think back to when I was a teen.
When doors were left unlocked, and children safely flocked,
unchaperoned at night on Halloween.
And sometimes at night, when the stars are big and bright,
and I’m deep in a Texas state of mind,
I think of that lass who was in my high school class,
And I wonder if she thinks of me in kind.
August 10, 2012
Copyright © Roy Jerden | Year Posted 2012
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There's a bench at the high school where I graduated
The wood is cracked, chipped and all weather faded
But in its prime, there each morning faces smiled hello greetings
And was always the agreed upon place, for after school meetings
Many then, lovers initials are carved upon her wood
Though young love didn't last like we thought it could
Also, many peace signs and let's stop Vietnam
Even, one I love John Denver and a, I rule at pac man
Under her bottom is petrified gum of every flavor
Stuck there, because gum in class was considered bad behavior
Like some people need but one name to be known
The Bench, was like a city of its very own....
©Donna Jones
Originally posted 3-19-2013, On A Bench Contest
Copyright © Donna Jones | Year Posted 2013
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When my son was small he and his friends loved to play marines
A brown eyed soldier dressed up in his helmet and his jeans
I asked him why he always died whenever they would play
He just said “I saved my friends, ‘cause that’s the soldier’s way”
As he grew up his Mom and I always wondered what he’d be
When he reached high school he enrolled in their ROTC
Once he had finished high school he enlisted without delay
I should have known it all along, ‘cause that’s the soldier’s way
When he had finished training and became a full marine
I was the proudest father that anyone had ever seen
A brown eyed soldier in full dress not a thread in disarray
Stood proudly there before me, ‘cause that’s the soldier’s way
He eventually got married to a beautiful young wife
And I asked if she was ready for a military life
She just smiled and hugged me tight as she fondly did convey
That nothing could make her prouder, ‘cause that’s the soldier’s way
One day he told us he must leave for a war had broken out
He wasn’t sure what started it or what it was about
His mother asked if there was any way that he could stay
He told her “Mom, it’s my duty”, ‘cause that’s the soldier’s way
She said “Son, it’s very dangerous, you could be killed you know”
He said “Mom, if we all stayed home there’d be no one left to go”
“Dad,” he said “If this war is right it’s not for me to say”
But I have to follow orders, ‘cause that’s the soldier’s way
Just recently his wife received a visit and a letter
Our son had died in combat and that there was not a better
Leader in all their company, and that on that fateful day
He’d bravely saved all of his friends, ‘cause that’s the soldier’s way
He left behind a sweet young wife and beautiful little son
We all are very proud of him and everything he’s done
My son did his duty and he is coming home today
In a flag draped wooden coffin, ‘cause that’s the soldier’s way
Some have asked if I’m angry that my only son had to die
I simply smile and shake my head and here is my reply
My friend take a look at all you have around you here this day
You have all of these lovely things, ‘cause that’s the soldier’s way
My grandson looks just like his Dad in his helmet and his jeans
As he plays out with his buddies, pretending they’re marines
And when he falls and pretends to die, then I know right away
That he has just saved all his friends, ‘cause that’s the soldier’s way
For William J. Holder
In memory of Jon R. "Sonny" Holder
Died during the Vietnam conflict
Copyright © Stephen Washam | Year Posted 2010
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Slow is the sun knowing that I am already awake...
Unwilling are these eyes to search that which has already been seen
Now, time waits upon my hands to make something unknown
Does anyone know how long it's been?
All my life has turn a shame
Years are passing without a gain...
Moments becomes hours for me, when I see the others smile in minutes
Old is my mouth; for not having strength for such movements
Now, time waits upon my hands to make something unknown
Does anyone know how long it's been?
All my life has turn a shame
Years are passing without a gain...
This mind, beats so much more than this heart
Unwilling are these eyes to search that which has already been seen
Easy is the wind to those that welcome its flirty touch
Soft are the sounds of the leafs being crushed
Dazing is the street light, when watched throughout the night
Animals pass and smell my sent; small acquaintances if you might
Yonder noises: added ingredients, to help imagination take a flight
Watching children play
Eying women walk
Dim; the lights will say
Nothing seems to stop
Everyone's alive
Sadly, so am I
Death's a friend to each one of us
All of us will cry
Yelling out: Come friend, tears will not shed mine
This mind, beats so much more than this heart
How heavy is the rain on a wet coat longed?
Undisturbed is the playing of my high school song
Rusty is my skin, but I not worry for it to be touched
Sounds of other voices keep me hushed
Dealing with myself so long
Aging is my only grown
Yield please earth, been so still, I feel you spin
Friday games I never win
Reaching out to grab myself
Inside me, there is no help
Does anyone know how long it's been?
All my life has turn a shame
Years are passing without a gain...
Slow is the sun knowing that I am already awake
Awake to feel the air up above me
Tumbling down in quakes
Until I cry: NO MORE SHALL I TAKE
Riding upon hopelessness
Dying upon wait
Alone with my heart inside
Yearning for her to stay...
Copyright © Jessica Arteaga | Year Posted 2010
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For 15 years I have tolerated,
calculated, anticipated, sublimated workplace degradations, derisions,
subversions towards my character,
not today, no more,
yes, my pride has become livid, swollen like a bad bruise on the heart
and I apologize not for my self defense & righteous roil,
I will address you as the mean spirited scoundrels that you are,
no more 'boss - employee' boundry, just one human to another,
No fascade & title to prance behind, no longer above reproach from the lesser,
you are now entering the shock of the 'dead-fall' ,
buck you and your low wages, buck you and your perfect policies,
buck you and your work ethic 'mumbo jumbo',
buck you and the lame insults and false criticisms perpetrated
against my innocence and motivation,
buck you with your attempts to undermine my positive leadership,
buck you and your inconsistent hours
making a God damn yoyo out of me, buck you and your bonuses,
buck you and your preposterous training videos and ridiculous high school uniforms,
buck you and the belittling psychological questionniares connected to your applications,
buck you and your little managerial conclaves
which produce absurd machinations targeting the hourly employees
that make the place profitable,
wipe your cracks with your silly 'write ups' and legal circumspection bull-slit,
I am not your 'bro.' or 'buddy' , and I sure as shout am not your 'honey' ,
not today, not anymore
I will not allow you to treat me as a tool for your benefit,
I will no longer work faster so that you can save money & leave earlier,
you will no longer be permitted to laugh at me without redress,
you are now dealing with a Man, not just another employee number,
don't worry 'boss', I'll continue to work, I'm not gonna 'quit' ,
but I will not work for you, I am going to work with you,
today is a New Day -
J.A.B. Dedicated to all hard working Men and Women -
Copyright © Justin Bordner | Year Posted 2013
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The day I learned,
you were in love with
her,
I cried.
The day I learned,
none of it was real,
I cried for weeks.
The day I learned,
you never loved me,
I wanted to die.
There must be an iota of feelings,
or you wouldn't have said I love you,
at least on the outside.
Copyright © Isabella Lenniro | Year Posted 2016
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MORNING DELIGHT
In one clasps of our hands
Suddenly the murmurings
Are becoming warm and intense
As boldness left behind dumbness
As together now we sing melodious
Songs, caressing. kissing, and playfully dance
Till the wee hours which greatly inspired us.
Even the dawning sun it seems
It was kept at bay
And the stars twinkling and clapping
Witnessing how sweet we have shared
A blissful contrast of a newlyweds honeymooning
A balikbayan to waiting gentle hand
Though jittery they stood together to a
morning glory!
Now, shall we let it go
Vis a vis the doldrums
Of yesteryears which we didn't denied
After the high school years
Autographs, roses and chocolates
Were fads of the late 60's yet to a funny fan
Bestows to a man's erudite love for poetry.
The more it comes straight from the hearts
The constancy of exchange writings of messages and poems
Have become part of life's spontaneity
Even at the middle of the night, we are awaken
Laptops connected, phone conversation
Every little sweet words reverberating through!
Term: balikbayan: Overseas Filipino Worker
Dalila Agtani
4/23/11
Copyright © Dalila Agtani | Year Posted 2011
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Miles in a coaster, a day and hours elapsed,
Felt the utmost relief when the whirling wheels halted;
So weary and dizzy, even a smile seemed so hideous
But an in peace slumber I desperately craved for;
Eyes wide-opened at the chirping of euphonious birds,
Stirred myself with hankering for the glimpse of exquisite village,
But still a dawn blanketed in frosty mist, sight diminished,
I’d only steal the blurry scene of Tang valley;
An hour after, when the glorious sun showed its perky visage,
Outside I stood relishing the splendor of the hamlet
And savoring the icy breeze wafting underneath my nose
With succulent aroma from the Mother Nature;
Amidst undulating hills and mountains down lay a quiet place,
So called Tang enclosed by rich vegetation and iridescent river
That embellishes the heavenly place superfluously picturesque,
Enticing all man into the blissful homeland of Tang Valley;
Houses clustered and down beneath the farmyard,
Divine school stands with its pride upheld
And hallowed veneration anyone would esteem,
It is so-called Tang Central School elevated of late;
Established in 1965, primary to middle since last year,
Now shines the school proud and gratified of its new recognition
As the central school bestowed with prerogatives and autonomy,
And concurringly, rejoicing its Golden Jubilee in eons;
Postures upright like inert figurines in a park,
Crescendo of unripe singsong voices spring at eight and thirty,
Crooning the sincere words of praise and homage to Tsa-Wa-Sum
That infuses the all hearts with never like joie de vivre;
A trickle of erudite whizzes and astute greenhorns
Gathered deep delved into a bond of kinship with no antipathy,
But an unremitting fondness amongst solicitous brethren-
A purveyor of ecstasy as its depiction I call for the beautiful home.
Copyright © Karma Dorji | Year Posted 2015
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"I never travel without my diary - One should have something sensational to read"
...Oscar Wilde, 1891
30 May 48: I graduated from high school today now thank God I'm free!
No more doggone homework, perplexing algebra or teachers bugging me!
7 Jul 48: Enlisted in the Air Force today! Good Lord! What have I done!
The sarge said, "Forget Mom, Dad and Susie Q! You're now mine, my son!"
21 Oct 48: Finished basic training today with about a hundred other guys.
I thought it'd be more like a Boy Scout Camp! Boy, was I in for a surprise!
15 Feb 49: Graduated tech school at Fort Warren and sent to the Bermuda Isles.
Quite a change for a country boy! Water, water everywhere for miles and miles!
12 Oct 52: Was married tonight at Perrin AFB with Vera as my beautiful bride!
She was very pert and calm, but diary, I was somewhat nervous I must confide!
23 Aug 54: Our family grew by one today! Leanna, a little girl, my fondest wish!
She was measured by a nurse holding her by the heels! Just like measuring a fish!
15 Aug 55: Boarded a crowded troopship in New York and set sail for Morocco.
Was beset with a bit of mal de mer since the ship was wallowing to and fro!
17 Oct 57: Our little 'arab' Leslie was born today near Casablanca! What a dolly!
She has a hearty set of lungs, but that's OK, she's a healthy little dude, by golly!
11 Jan 68: Son Mark was born at the Air Force Academy and seemed a healthy tot!
9 Apr 68: Alas, we buried Mark today at Evergreen. Boy, do we miss him a lot!
24 Jun 71: My family and I arrived in Tokyo, Japan, to begin our three-year tour!
Japanese is foreign! For "good morning" do I say, "ohio gazamus" or "bon jour?"
1 May 74: Chaplain Porter notified me that I had been promoted to Chief!
Happy day, dear diary! I've reached the highest rank! What a blessed relief!
1 Aug 78: I retired today at Offutt AFB, after 30 wonderful years of service!
After wearing the 'blue suit' all those years, wearing civvies makes me nervous!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 3 in Constance La France's "The Diary" Contest - April 2011
Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw | Year Posted 2011
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High School Poem
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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.
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2011
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High School Poem
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Something About Nothing
(2007)
It seems as if I’m giving my everything for nothing.
This conflict really means something to me,
Because my everything are all of my hopes and dreams
To become anything that want to be.
My talents are all that I own: Poetry, Art, My life’s song…
But nothing is never where it supposed to belong.
Nothing begins a lie of Truth or Dare.
Creating millions of pieces of my heart without care.
Nothing is making something; a fool out of me…
Bringing along anything that causes misery.
It drifts me away from actuality.
Who I am now, I am not destined to be!
Yet nothing can tell me - “Everything will be ok”
But if something goes wrong “Nothing.” is all I’m left to say.
I have fought for nothing!
Stood up for nothing!
Gave up Everything for NOTHING!
And this conflict really means something, you see….
Because you are Nothing and Everything is me!
Copyright © Tyanna Thompson | Year Posted 2016
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High School Poem
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Our elbows collided,
'cause my desk is wrong-sided.
Made for a lefty,
When I write
with my right.
Copyright © Kennedy Lea | Year Posted 2013
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High School Poem
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Of course on this night we are supposed to be asleep so Santa
could come, but we hadn't been home from Midnight Mass very long, and the
invigorating cold was not conducive to sleep. Even the hot chocolate did not do
much to help sedate the excitement.
We were hoping for sleds that year. The snow was perfect for
sledding especially like we did it. We tied out sleds on behind the car or pick up
and were pulled through the hills. We got our sleds. My dad and my uncle made
them for us.
No television and only in the late years were we allowed to use the
radio. Batteries were to expensive for frivolous use. We spent many hours
playing cards or games.
I took time out and went to high school and college and got my
teaching certificate.
My aunt taught there only one year after the Federal Government
turned the schools over to the local government.
The last time I was back there the out buildings had been moved and
Indian families were living in them. The school was dirty and unkept.
Now the school is gone. The ancestors who once walked these
dusty plains are gone. The Indians who were there when I was a child are gone.
They are Ghosts. Ghosts whose faces can be seen in the clouds.
Ghosts who still chop wood on those sub zero nights. And the drums we heard
in the middle of the nights are still beating. They beat as strongly as the heart
beats in a healthy body. The laughter of the children still echoes under the
bridge.
The life blood of a culture, of a nation grows thin. The Battle of
Wounded Knee was the last battle to be fought between the white man and the
Indian on the northern plains. It's cries still echo across the land.
My foot prints in the creek did not last any longer than those they left
in the dust. But in my memories, this mile and a half by three quarter mile haven
still lives. And will live forever as a piece of unrecorded history.
Copyright © Marycile Beer | Year Posted 2007
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High School Poem
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A Poem Time Forgot II
Sponsor: Silent One
I saw heaven once again in your eyes,
and felt it in your arms when wrapped
all around me...
Intertwined like barbed wire on a fence,
the comfortable warmth all came rushing
back to me again...
like grandma and her childhood
memories of when her mother would
bake cookies...and
~You are a beautiful man.
That old familiar scent of breath
came stumbling down my neck,
and I recalled the time you held me
making sure I would remember that feeling
when I am alone.
Whenever away from your strong arms,
I recall it to my mind,
and all seems so new,
like the first day of my life
I am reborn, and...
~You are a beautiful man.
You came to me in friendship,
now the keeper of my heart.
Funny how I never thought we would
end up together.
Guess that's how love works sometimes.
You always see it happen
on those old movies and wonder
if it can really happen that way, and..
~You are a beautiful man.
Thank you for being so real,
true and individualistic,
so full of smiles, laughter and love.
How can there not be any love
in you sweetheart?
A heart without love is like
an ocean without water..
it does not exist.
When in deep discussion,
feeling lucky enough
to listen to you,
or simply sitting in silence,
you show me a love like no other.
So, in return I love you, for...
~You are my beautiful man.
World Literature Class
12-7-1996
Copyright © Laura Loo | Year Posted 2015
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High School Poem
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In Chibok,
An IED finds it way
Into the mind of a savage sect
And made good use of the emptiness.
In helplessness,
Some school girls are bundled up
From their school compound;
Taken for a noisy ride into Sambisa;
From where they will forget
Their mothers’ voices.
On the tube,
There is a very loud lady
Anathematising the “sharing” of blood
In Borno.
When she is done,
The media is awash with the sound of
‘Na only you waka come?’
As if it is a joke
To snatch young Nigerian girls
From the four walls of their classroom
Into the coldness of the wilderness
To dwell amongst wild beasts.
To learn new lessons;
Weird lessons.
In bed at night,
My wife talks of
Church bombings;
Internally displaced persons;
Slaughtering of citizens
And the role of government in all of these
And the security of our country
And I pulled at the hairs
From around her second mouth
To make her change the topic
And she falls for it and changes the topic.
The white bearded Mallam
On the rickety bus to Yola
Fixes his eyes on me
Like some foreigner
And I feel the fire
All through the trip
And I burn and burn and burn
Like the victims of Nyanya motor park blast
It feels good though to know
What it takes to
Be burned into countless degrees.
But after three weeks
I am back to normal again
I can feel again
My senses are back again
Working optimally
And I can hear again
As the presidential pit-bull
And the black parrot
The one that used to be
In the fourth estate of the realm
Begin to met and dole out
Slippery speeches, speeches you can’t hold
That comes upon our ears
To push out every substance
From our heads
Everything except this load of hopelessness
This bitter bite in our mouth
This unwanted fetus
That no one would claim
And then the hash tags;
The media craze;
The count down
The women in red
And the men that joined
The bring back our girls
The Michelle Obama
The celebrities from across
The noise, the sweat, the blood
The bloody thighs of those girls
Their torn underwear
Their wails, their sobs, their pains
To say the least
The echo, the deafening echo
And how we wave them all aside
And look the other way.
Like it did not happen at all
Like it was just a movie
Directed by a director
That must be a sadist
We sweep it under the carpet
Like our other numerous
National issues
But I won’t write another story on betrayal
I won’t write another poem
On how a nation
Could forsake her innocent children
Instead I would write of a country
Stealing, stealing, growing
Growing resilient to emotion;
Becoming many times dead
To any feeling
Tearing its tissues to pieces
And building new ones
That will be senseless
Lifeless
Bloodless.
And the noise
And the noise
And the noise.
Copyright © Divine Friday Idiong | Year Posted 2016
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High School Poem
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It was 1999
Shotgun rider
2000 green mustang
My sis, always beside her
Landed the same job
Only Mexican restaurant in town
Put gas in our car
Kept our wheels going round
All dolled up
Kissed our parents goodnight
Pretend to go to bed
Cruising feeling right
Idiots with wheels
License to drive
Dr. Pepper and cigarettes
Never felt so alive
Introduced to Mary Jane
She was a silly lady
Laying on the hood of our car
Listening to Slim Shady
Hungry for boys
Just a tease
Looking fly in our prime
The birds and the bees
The dawning of 2000
Life as we knew it, about to end
Eyes met at 12:01
We both began to grin
Cheers to a good year
Twice as old as I was then
Thinking of my sis today
Missing my best friend
Copyright © Anna Hopper | Year Posted 2015
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