Best Old School Poems
Today, meandering through the clutter of the local antique store,
I almost tripped and fell over an object partially hidden on the floor!
My hands came to rest on an old-fashioned school desk sitting there.
It reminded me of the one I occupied in my school days, I do declare!
My thoughts drifted back through the misty past to reminisce and ponder.
As I caressed its oaken surface with my fingers, I began to wonder.
Did it once grace a simple one-room prairie schoolhouse in Indiana?
Might it have come from a rustic schoolroom in the state of Montana?
The slanting top of the old desk was scratched and with ink was stained.
I saw faint initials carved by an idle lad whose attention span had waned!
The varnish was worn off the folding seat by many a squirming kid.
Wads of chewing gum still adorned the underside of the folding lid!
I recalled sitting at one of those uncomfortable desks trying to stay awake!
As Miss Ruth droned on and on, all I could think of was the recess break!
The room reeked of oranges and fried egg sandwiches we'd bring to munch.
Kids of means paid a dime to eat finer fare in the lunchroom for their lunch!
I recalled the thwack on my knuckles of Miss Ruth's ruler to get my attention,
And what awaited me at home for misbehavior with growing apprehension!
(A clerk noting my glazed eyes asked, "May I help you sir? Is anything amiss?"
"Nah", I replied. "If you please, I'd like to stand here awhile and reminisce!")
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Under her guidance, we stood at attention
Like a row of young soldiers, reciting the anthem
"Oh Say, Can You See?".. was a warbled contusion,
that could shatter your glasses, disturb other classes
out of tune, out of rhythm, but with avid enthusiasm
it could rattle the rafters of our little school
And with childish delusions, we thought we were cool!
As we stood in the room
she would move down the line
with a frown in the depth
of her leathery brow. She would bow
till her ear matched our voice
and her hand would be poised
with two fingers that cued,
keeping time with the tune.
She would grit all her teeth
bite the inside of cheeks
Such a serious task!
it was all that she asked
that we please.."DO YOUR BEST!"
When we mastered, at last
She would gasp, then exclaim
as we sang each refrain,
mixed with tears, she would clap
I remember it now...
Here I stand in this row
with my hand on my heart
as the first strain imparts
Yes, I know those old words...
they'll remain part of me
'til the day that I die
"O Say, Can You See?"...still familiar to me
But no..............I can't see....
with fresh tears in my eyes...
_________________________________________________
I remember those days when just a kid,
the old ten shilling note, and the odd quid.*
Teddy boys in their drain pipes, fur collars
smelling of nicotine, street wise scholars.
Conkers,* glass alleys* and comics as well,
bow and arrows, gat* to ring the school bell.
Electric tram, trolley bus and steam train
holidays in Blackpool, not yet in Spain.
Left over stew, dripping dispersed on bread,
a choice of marg or jam, not both was spread.
Roly-poly pud with custard, oh yes
school dinners, oh the ridicule the stress.
Journey in to space radio drama,
while bathing in a tin bath pure karma.
Medicals at school and nit nurses too
combing for the eggs, washing with shampoo.
No drugs, only cigs in small packs of five,
fifty fifty dance halls, old and new thrive.
Outside loo, oh them freezing winter nights
oil lamps, a candle to enhance one’s lights.
High street fish and chip shop charging nine pence,
potato crisps, tab* of salt to dispense.
Tanners,* hape’ny’s* and those threp’ny* bits,
meccano sets, clockwork trains came in kits.
Motorbikes, British pride on just two wheels,
Triumph, BSA, a nation reveals.
Alas long gone these balmy days of laze,
happy to have played a part in this phase!
*Quid:::: A one pound note (UK)
*Conkers:;;; Game played with the fruit of the horse chest nut tree.
*Glass Alleys::::: A type of Marble for the game of marbles.
*Gat::::: A catapult, or slingshot..
*Tab::: One brand of crisps in the UK, place a small blue pack of salt in each packet
*Tanners:::: A sixpenny coin
*Hape’ny’s::: A halfpenny coin
*Threp’ny bit::::: A Threepenny 12 sided coin, also called Thrupence depending where one resided in the North of England
.
© Harry J Horsman 2012
I can turn up that street any time I wish;
I pass that post box frequently enough,
But there is no returning, that’s the twist,
Time’s poker faced, you cannot call his bluff.
The deepest yearning only meets rebuff,
These houses do not greet me, I’m not missed
And the old school where I seldom did enough
To satisfy my teachers has forgot
The bully and the joker and the swot
The cigarettes, the Three Card Brag, the fights,
The wondering how to talk to girls, and what
Might be waiting round the corner out of sight.
To come so far and barely move at all;
To not escape the gravity of things beyond recall.
Should it be the year three-thousand seventeen,
I shall still write as an 'old' wizard,
forgotten it seems for the charlatans,
and modernists who have forgotten their roots,
and fail to understand that good art is timeless;
like the rappers who have forsaken Jimmy Hendrix ---
and real black music like jazz and blues ---
they have done so because they don't care about art,
but the glitter of gold and plastic-fame;
but fifty years hence,
will someone put their face on the Statue of Liberty?
85 th class reunion...
plenty of
parking
If I could go back,
and knew what I know,
I’d change a few things,
and shake up the flow.
I might go to class,
be where I should be,
Say and wear what I wish,
And only be me.
Ignore the ignorant,
hold dearest friends close,
Respect authority,
never stick up my nose.
Have love and compassion,
a watchful mind,
Keep ears wide open,
and always be kind.
Harbor a strong heart,
let others be shared,
Make sure I remind them,
that I always cared.
So, if I could go back,
and knew what I know,
I might change a few things,
and see where it goes.
Children's laughter during
recess, Jungle Gym, monkey bars,
kick ball, all happened long ago
on the old school yard.
Playing marbles for keeps
on our knees was a treat
i looked foward to each time
that old school bell would ring.
Those class mates of ages past,
wondering just now, as I hear
children laughing at a near by
school, where they are now,
did they move on, or are they
wondering about me the same way,
will never know.
Written 6-3-11
My love do you remember when we met?
At the Rubandikarya corner near the gigantic cypress tree,
An old sport known for romance,
Where lovers used to meet evening hours?
And they would do their romantic chanting?
That was the epitome of our dates.
My Love do you remember the letters we used to send each other?
The letters we could scribble on dirty papers,
Because our parents complained of how books were expensive,
Though the spellings used to confuse our thoughts,
But our hearts would understand the lines and smile,
Then the funny images of us we would draw at the end of the letter,
Though they looked funny but symbolized our true love.
My Love do you remember the crazy games we used to play?
Hide and seek, kalongolongo, baba na mama etc.
They made us look stronger in our love than today,
They made us smile even when tears were forcing their way into our love,
They made us see love not as the world sees it today,
They made us be called love drunkards.
My Love, that love, where has it gone?
That love that every one used to gossip about,
That love that made us be called idiots,
That love that made us nicknamed Romeo and Juliet,
That love that wiped off our tears when pain sprouted,
That love that made even dogs be jealous of us,
It’s that love that I need.
My Love I need the love we had before evolution,
The love that always overlooked the boundaries,
The love that never hid behind shame of nature,
Love that never used to shout in public,
But would whisper into our ears soft music,
That glued our hearts together.
That love that carried us within the harsh whispers of the wind,
Moved us through the claws of the storm,
Shielded us from the terror of darkness,
Sheltered us from the tears of the sky,
Gave us a shade when the sun scorched,
That love my Love, is all I need.
My Love, that love they call old school love,
Is the love that will prosper us,
It’s the love that will crown us amongst mighty Kings,
It’s the Love that will raise us above the turmoil of the world,
Pass us through the devils traps,
And set us on our predestined throne of Eternal Joy.
Old School Love!
Problems many of which are not getting solved
not because I'm not resolved but because I delay
to savor the day, the moon and the season
which is why I'm a non-person under the eye of eternity.
Except for my unpaid bills. And iambic pentameter.
Aaron fails English. Is there summer school?
What an *******! I want to slug him, but also
his teacher, Mr. Fisher, who's probably
a nice guy, just doing his job and raising a family.
Then there's the catheter from my last surgery
I was so sick I thought I was dying. The out of network
pathologist and radiologist have declined my insurance
and charged me to the hilt. Like I had a choice
face up in the emergency room. Facing doom, you don't ask questions.
Now that I've rejoined the living I've got to raise a million bucks
to save organic farms and endangered species I'll never see.
Perhaps none of this matters and chanting's the answer, Buddhist
precepts,
or as Dad would say This too shall pass.
Life is a back and forth game but baseball is zen meditation,
you're in right field, nothing's happening, nothing's gonna happen,
but you can't let your attention wander for one second.
I should clean and oil my trumpet for Saturday's gig
or the valves will stick. And leave early enough
not to get stuck in traffic. Other lives, other quilts.
A guy who takes the subway to a dead metal desk
and the boss who fires him with the cold hard eyes
of one who accepts the rules entirely. Actually
we're fortunate to have rules because otherwise
child soldiers armed with AK-47s would be shooting up
the village and setting fire to our thatched roofs.
Instead, under the rule of law, when snow falls
even old roofs look like problems with proofs.
A walk to school out of the backdoor, through the homemade back gate, through a narrow alley,
Cars parked on the curb, guarded by paraffin lamps, no garages, no parking area,
Walking down my road, past the bully's house, all is very, very quiet, careful
Then the front door opens, a big kid comes running and chases me down the road.
Near the end of my street was a large piece of wasteland, called "the logs"
Huge logs cut down hundreds of years ago, grey, split, tall trees chopped down,
Stinging nettles in large clumps, cars abandoned, a play ground for children,
Into a road full of bungalows, the posh side, people looking through curtains.
About a mile down this road, there was more wasteland, with a muddy shortcut,
Shoes covered in mud, trying to clean them with an old bit of paper, no good,
Out of the wooded shortcut, past the entrance of a railway, through a tunnel,
On the other side, up steps was a sweet shop, looked through window, no money.
Past the bank on to a main road, told many times to look left and right, careful,
Walking up another street, then a short cut through, an old mansion falling apart,
Down the coke covered road, into a road where huge flats were being built, ugly flats.
The into my school play ground, seeing class mates, queuing up to go into the school.
Sitting staring out the window for my sister to return
An overwhelming sadness, my stomach in a churn.
She a half day at school and I have not yet started
I thought the fates were cruel that we were even parted
The sun glinting off the puddles, maybe we'll play outside
Or maybe play barbies or color if she wanted to stay inside.
From school she returns and asks mom can she go outside to play
I ask can I go and she replies "no, they're my friends and you're a baby anyway"
Two 5 year old girls waiting on the porch, am I losing my best friend?
I hide my disappointment for if I cry I will hear about it to no end
Mom tells her to wear rubber boots and change out of her school dress
It was in that moment I hatched a plan that was spiteful, I confess.
She stripped down to her underwear and began to gather up her stuff
When she couldn't find one of the boots she got herself in a huff
My sister has a temper and a full blown tantrum fully erupted
She began to yell, and started throwing things, until my dad interrupted
"This will cool you down", as he put her out on the porch and locked the door
Standing outside in underwear, tears streaming, now with something to cry for.
Her friends look upon her, their faces register shock
If there was only a way that I could turn back the clock.
I stare again out the window, but this time at my beloved sister
My heart in so much pain that I'm sure it will certainly blister
I felt so bad, so dreadful, my stomach tied in one huge guilty knot
I slowly walk to the hamper to retrieve the boot from it's hiding spot.
*True story, vivid memory for a 3 yr old I know, but this affected me deeply.
I told her I hid the boot when we were teenagers, we had a great laugh.
For contest: "A Childhood Memory''
Some people are of the belief, that teacher come from one place
From a school or university, with degrees all over the wall
Know great big fancy words, recites Shakespeare
With IQ's a mile high, that would put most to a disgrace
When in reality, have no common sense at all
Have read all the books and can pass any test that might appear
Which is all fine and good, but there is a limit to everything
Like a preacher needs to practice what he preaches after a sermon
Like a teacher, should be able to use what he teaches in the field
If they cannot, all that knowledge doesn't mean a thing
Or he did not learn from his lesson
Therefore not much in his overall yield
I have been to a university and have a degree
It is just a piece of paper, not sure where the diploma is at
Vietnam War was going on and seemed like a good thing at the time
It was BS and so was the degree
Their version of ranching did not fit under my cowboy hat
But were ever so happy to take every nickel and dime
My best teacher have been old hobos and old cowboys
The ones that rode the rails and have been on a bronc or two
Knowing quitting time is when the job is done, not punching time clocks
Not saying a word for days at a time of making Saturday night noise
Working with what they had and doing what they had to do
THE REAL PROFFESSORS OF THE SCHOOL OR HARD KNOCKS
Form:
I still write my poems
On unlined sheets of paper
Using fountain pen
© 2011 Kevin Stock
A pool table lined with blue felt
sports a lively, raucous game,
ivory cracks, the men drink,
shoot the bull while they play.
A humidor lined in fine wood
stocked with Cuban cigars,
a smoking lounge grandiose,
ceiling painted like the stars.
A bar right out of the Wild West
serves beer and old whiskey,
an insurance guy loosing at darts
to a bookworm with a PhD.
A library stocked with real books,
no paperbacks or e-books there,
classics vaunted alongside the
spy novels and western fare.
Gym in the basement, no windows,
where everyone toils and sweats,
a sauna large, and no member
has grown tired of a steam yet.
Upstairs is the banquet hall,
used once a month for feasts,
where steak is served bleeding red,
no concoctions of soy or yeast.
On the third floor, rooms to crash
if you’re visiting from out of town,
or if you’ve drank a bit much,
relax, and lay down you head.
Fixtures in brass and mahogany,
reminders of more elegant times,
side rooms for talking business,
a cellar filled with fine wines...
This is our place, our shelter,
when the world rears and ugly head,
yet at least once a month feminists
show up outside and wish us dead.
They like to shout and chant a lot,
with their one word, ‘patriarchy,’
never seeming to realize
their protests are pure malarkey.
This world had lady-only gyms,
and female-only hair salons,
they never decry that as sexism,
they just go along to get along.
Turn-about must be fair play,
so we made ourselves this place,
what really bothers them about us
is the mere existence of male space.
But this club is a private affair,
so they’re wasting their powers,
they have places where men don’t tread,
so this place, this is ours.