Best Scholastic Poems
Like Harry Potter, the sorting hat (my mom)
has placed me in a bloody, crimson colored school.
It’s disorienting, as I go about, the logos are wack.
Poor little rich girl
no beachside lovers
this interminable, scorching summer.
I’m swept up by scholastic spirit.
Can you hear it? Cause it’s deafening me,
on this cool, dry, Boston orientation day.
As we finished our morning 8k jog,
the sunrise blossomed, painting hot lava clouds
with hues of yellow, orange and pink.
We’re traipsing unfamiliar paths,
It’s not what we’re used to, the roads are uneven
and the architecture’s all boxy and wrong.
.
.
Songs for this:
New Toy by Lene Lovich
Better After All by Jonatha Brooke
Now At Last by Feist
I was newly thirteen when the seventies took me underwing,
then married and grown when they creased inside time’s fold.
I was not attracted to those scholastic or athletic,
but to those lacking labels and considered rebels.
Moving yearly filled my army-brat life with sad good-byes
that swerved my teenage years thru countless, deep cries.
When the decade first began, I had paper and pen in hand
to secretly write the poetry holding my heart slams.
At thirteen, poems first bubbled in me to be pen-freed.
I still have most as lost girl written within my teen season.
In the seventies I fell in love with love, astrology, spirituality,
Kahlil Gibran, Thoreau, individuality as resonated in me
from Ann Rand’s, “The Fountainhead”, and lyrics on which I fed.
The Who, Moody Blues, Pink Floyd, Neil Young and Elton John
sang lines that thrilled me and I fantasized were mine, all mine,
as did Carole King, CCR, Eagles and Beatles when they sang.
Rock n Roll beats and crying guitars inebriated my limits,
such music moved me in defiance of compliance to physics.
Thru rock’s depths and denim, I was a seventies thoroughbred
who has poetically wept since first the decade's innocence bled.
I get a kick outta the writes I see,
So intellectual, how can that be?
I skipped two grades,
Was forced to take IQ tests again,
Cause no one as dumb as me,
Could possibly produce such a score, you see
Got 100% on regents exams,
Passed college entrance tests
Half drunk and dirty of dress
Cause I was up with friends
drinkin' and carousing like the rest,
And, Lord knows how, but I assure,
I aced the test, and even more,
To what was then considered
"The Poor-Man's Harvard"
I cruised through that as well,
No one was gona stop this Bell
But IQ tests, and scholastic grade,
Never has one, of a man be made
I still do get confused,
About how to wear two shoes,
My brain may be book-smart,
But comin' from the heart,
I've trusted when I really shouldn't
Was skeptical when imprudent
So here's this IQ wiz,
Don't know just who he is,
And street smart as a cat,
Caught in Dr. Zeuss's hat.
So teach your children well,
don't grow up to be like Tom Bell
Flava flav, Run DMC,
Digital Underground.
The early 90's I found hip hop.
I found poetry..
Langston Hughes, led to
Tupac Shakur.
Do you remember "Jada"
and "When ure hero falls"
Flamboyant, charismatic,
scholastic,
a ghetto philosopher..
"Thug Life", "2Pacolipse"
I heard you, I felt your pain,
your struggles...
"All Eyes on me"
and my favorite,
Makaveli...
You inspired me.
many have lost resolve to me,
by your collaboration with Jodeci.
"Me and my Girlfriend"
A masterpiece...
Tupac and Biggie,
friends turned vicious enemies.
Five shots,
an attempted murder plot
brought conflict and
a Bill Boards top ten spot...
interactions with Faith,
enhanced Biggies rage
"West coast, East coast"
beef took center stage....
Yet through all of your controversy
you would shock and amaze.
God has judged you my friend!!
I see you in white, sharp
with a glass of "Thug Passion".
When I meet my fate,
I'll see you with Nas
chillin',
in "Thugs Mansion"
I love you Pac!!
This poem is dedicated to one of the greatest artists of all time.
Tupac Shakur will never be forgotten, his message inspired many
before and after his death.... The name Tupac Shakur will always live on..
June 16th 1971--- September 13, 1996
RIP, we miss you Pac!!!
Jared Pickett
6/10/2010
Asavvy1
This poem has been written for Raul Moreno's Tupac Shakur contest.....
Enjoy my friend!!!!!
Majored in Social Anthropology -
Healdtown a significant influence
in his life .Not only was Mafeje an
influential academic, he was a man
of brilliance, intellect and insight.
His trials and tribulations were many. For example,
Archibald addressed a crowd which was ‘illegally gathered’,
and for that reason he was arrested. He did not despair.
A force in the fight against injustices and marginalisation.
A custodian of African heritage, awareness and identity.
A protector of the African identity, of African roots and rights;
Mafeje contributed to South Africa and its nationals. An ‘intellectual
pathfinder’ who played his role in enhancing the people of Africa’s
knowledge and self –worth. That which he bestowed, both on the scholarly
and political spheres was no mean feat. He shone in both scholastic and
insightful ways. A man of brilliance, intellect and insight. A focused pathfinder.
He laid the foundation for future African scholars embarking on a similar path of study. He also raised the benchmark in his field of study. A fountain of
knowledge and an author and researcher of repute.A focused pathfinder.
Please allow me to introduce,
Without any pardon or excuse,
A man who needs no introduction,
To those he’s given instruction,
A man who has always helped me,
To understand extreme fallacy,
Through guidance and edification,
He spreads his extreme education,
Now he never reserves his lessons,
And always leaves his impressions,
Upon those he teaches his schtick,
For he is our scholastic mechanic,
Always he tinkers under the hood,
To find the best of what is good,
And now without further adieu,
I am proud to present to you,
A man who’s mind always races,
And affords us other head cases,
A view most definitely skewed,
By great wisdom and high I.Q.,
A man whom I proudly call my brother,
Who’s humble wit makes him tougher,
Than my boastful wages however manic,
…Our G-Man the scholastic mechanic!
The Boy from the Tail End of the Goldhawk Road
1.
The Boy from the Tail End of the Goldhawk Road
I was born Carl Robert Halling at the tail end of the Goldhawk Road which runs through Shepherds Bush in west London and which in the mid 1960s served as one of the great centres of the Mod movement, whose dandified acolytes were infamous for their vanity and hedonism.
I was raised in nearby Bedford Park, a comparatively genteel district close to the largely working class area of South Acton.
My first school was the Lycee Francais du Kensington du Sud, and by the time I was 4 years old, I was already bilingual.
I wasted little time at the Lycee in establishing a reputation as a troublemaker, a popular one admittedly, but a troublemaker nonetheless, constantly in trouble.
I was popular, that much is certain, not just with girls but boys too and blessed with a vivid imagination but I was a near impossible pupil which caused my poor mother a good deal of heartache, and on at least one occasion she drove me home in tears.
I seemed born to controversy, being impatient, disobedient, mischievous, remorselessly attention-seeking, a true imp of a child, on which the full force of the innate depravity of Man appeared to have landed.
At the same time, I was friendly, sincere and open, a good friend, and well-liked.
My Judo teacher at the Budokan in Hammersmith once told someone no doubt with a sickly feeling in the pit of his stomach that whenever he heard me he always knew it was Saturday.
I was no less a trial in the quaint little back streets of suburban west London.
My roughness could hardly have been helped by the popular music of the times.
By the time it came for me to leave the Lycee my scholastic standing had improved a little, and after some months spent at Davies Preparatory School, I received the most glittering school report of my entire young life; and was actually declared an excellent pupil.
Kissing her gently a dayspring, Daphne, in streams of light....
Chromatic chiffon curtains; their greating be this dawn ? Ornamental
Stitchery time's storybook soft, lashes fluttering while she dreams so, lovely
Tranquillity greeting his dawn silk cocoons; baroque, love's palette panacea's brush
A picture's window framing these strokes oscilloscope, paschal tides ? Scholastic waves
Embracing her shores palatial's mistress; free verse chrysanthemums, with gossamer wings
Belles-lettres, this beautiful damsel ? Novem she sleeps cascading locks a prophetess; silverish hues.
If nowadays we have become so wise
And are proud achievers
Who have explored the world from our cradle;
If these days men would hear with their eyes
And men would speak by their actions
And would prefer to reason with their flesh;
If today you see chicken gnaw bones
And billy hunt and prey on rodents,
Do not stand to stare or wonder,
For these are the last days!
When a day's old child would stare,
When teens have now become bachelors;
When at twelve you have known
Men and women and fulfil God's injunction
To procreate and litter the earth with waifs.
If at twenty six your name goes
With the scholastic print of Ph. D.
And when at thirty sitting at your verandah
Having coloured teeth from tobacco and kola.
What else are you waiting for my friend?
Do not wait on what the earth has to offer,
Prepare your bed and die,
For these are the last days!
If nowadays we have become so wise,
If today we are proud achievers,
We are like the young child, Umu,
Who sighted a ripe mango amidst dozens
Of unripe mangoes up in the tree.
He detest the burden of climbing
And would never think of waiting
For the mango to fall to the ground.
In his excitement, he pulled up the young stalk
Of a healthy peer tree and
Threw it up at the mango tree.
He threw it up again and again and before
He could struck down the one ripe mango,
He had plucked and emptied dozens
Of unripe mangoes to the earth.
He picked the one ripe mango
Among the others and left in triumph!
If nowadays we have become so wise,
If today we are proud achievers,
When an infant would reject
His mother's breast because he has no time,
Do not stand to ask why or wonder,
For these are the last days
That shall give birth to a new era!
written months ago commemorating
the graduation from a vaunted charter school
in Bend, Oregon of thy lovely youngest,
this papa could not attend -
geographical distance constituting the primary determinant.
* * * * * *
Soundcloud springboard no matter
what destiny each young man or woman
decides to pursue. Though accolades dedicated
genuinely (just my outlying participation)
special veneration x2c accorded beautiful
radiant daughter ecstatic gloating honestly jubilant
kindred made noble perseverance reaching
the ultimate write x zit that will usher her
onward toward opportunities sustained
by confidence gained thru academic ambition,
dynamic dedication, and gigantic germination
of maturation, whose individual future
* * * * * *
trajectory predicated with the rubric of essential
scholastic tools essential to gain positive
further education and thence employment endeavors.
So Punim (whom this papa does
love and miss) attempted to let the words
tumble upon the display screen communicating
in my patois, (a gallimaufry of mumbo jumbo
shrimp limp ping missive) at your success
attaining a laudable momentous occasion per
rejoicing, no matter the message possibly
lost amidst this cobbled gobbledygook,
which attempts to pass as acclaimed literary
endeavor. Okay, I experience tears of euphoria
and misgiving at lack of finances to share
in person how this dada daubs dribbling
tears ducts. Congratulations thy beloved Shana.
A Matriculation Poem to Welcome Freshers at the University of Makeni
Welcome to an academic home of excellence,
Where hunters hunt love in excess
And fishers fish knowledge and accumulate providence.
An academic place above;
Where we build a civilization of love with no curve.
UniMak has nurtured her seed in civilized love and education of quality.
Her breed is scattered all over, serving society
While her students are victimized by Government gratuity.
Are we not children of Mama Salone?
That we should be left to wander in this journey alone!
We build a civilization of love
As we believe in the Holy Cross as a dove.
We are but benefiting under the nomenclature of Fatima’s love.
A kind and lovely mother,
She edifies us on how to build a civilization of love without borders.
We are the Genesis of love in this countryside,
And the orthodox of scholastic civilization as our pride.
We are on an academic ride;
A journey to love all and to transform society
Oh, mother! Help us now, as we build a civilization of love in purity.
Kissing her gently a dayspring, Daphne, in streams of light....
Chromatic chiffon curtains; their greating be this dawn ? Ornamental
Stitchery time's storybook soft, lashes fluttering while she dreams so, lovely
Tranquillity greeting his dawn silk cocoons; baroque, love's palette panacea's brush
A picture's window framing these strokes oscilloscope, paschal tides ? Scholastic waves
Embracing her shores palatial's mistress; free verse chrysanthemums, with gossamer wings
Belles-lettres, this beautiful damsel ? Novem she sleeps cascading locks a prophetess; silverish hues.
Because this here is your passing
out parade doth your cap and gown
This here I don't know if you if you are
aware or know it yet
But also the end of what was once
your student life I hope you kissed
it a fond farewell and goodbye
As your days spent on scholastic
dissertation theoretical drunken debate
expressing your altruistic views putting
the world's wrongs to right in some or
other cheap backstreet pub
And pack away your monogrammed
slogan t-shirts and swap your long hair
and man-bun for a short back and side's
Because you my friend I am sorry
to inform have finally just crossed over
to the dark side
Welcome to the big wide world we have
been expecting you
And though you now have in your possession
a certificate denoting you are university
standard educated and have letters
to accompany your name as proof
Nothing you learned or where taught
be that even higher level education
would or could possibly have prepared
you for the harsh reality life has in-store
And unlike school which eventually
runs and has a predetermined course
over a precise timeline
Life means life and the remainder of
your's has just begun starting now
The time has come for you to put your
degree to some use find a job buy
a car and a house somewhere to rent
or buy
And oh did I forget to mention most
importantly of all
Start paying back whatever student loans
you took out compounding interest that
got you where you stand today
Until your 10 year graduation reunion
comes around and is the 1 and only
topic of discussion that everyone
still have left in common
Same old people as before now
just all grown up replaced with
long drawn faces
That once sparkled with aspiration
instilled with dream's of changing
the world and making it a better place
Who now wish for nothing more than
to be able to put food on the table and
go to sleep without the fear of the power
being cut off
Not the 3rd degree or lecture
I see that I've detected
some words that were neglected
By noted “lexicologist” to Suess
I'm sure some how in time
they'll create more words that rhyme
But for now, I'll put the ones, I found to use
For example, there's "Galactic"
and I hate to sound "Didactic"
But, have YOU tried to rhyme this word before ?
So, l'll find a different Tactic
less ridged more Elastic
That I'm sure everyone, will just adore
I've been writing till I'm Spastic
like a nervous Geriatric
But there's only two words, that will do
I'll seek some Chiropractic
And work on my Gymnastic
In time I'm sure I'll feel as good as new
I don't mean to sound Sarcastic
But what kind of word's Bombastic
It's the craziest word I ever heard
Who made up Pleonastic
And thought himself Scholastic
I'm sure he must of been some loony bird
How can I write with Lactic ?
Or practic, prophylactic
To make a poem filled with poise and grace
If IT'S to be climatic and regarded as fantastic
I've got to do what's Drastic,
I rest my case
Perhaps like a lightning
bolt of clear out of the blue
rigor mortis (tenon and
three decades hence)
two thousand fifty nine if you
count from January 13th 2019, adieu
attest that day 9 months I did brew
in wound (of the late Harriet Harris),
now finds me loved ones
crying boo hoo,
after this stiff mortal
Earthling bid toodle loo
with symbolic casket
(carrying cremated urn of ashes)
remembrance attended
by gentile and Jew
sharing positive memories purportedly
about this nondescript
fellow they knew
mainly indirectly, poignantly,
and wickedly shot thru
with his insightful humorous scribblings,
plus magnus opus titled
"How do ye do,"
an informal rambling missive bereft
of any subject and
devoid with little clue,
the purpose of said hefty tome
out weighing The Federalist circa: knew
lee after American independence
Papers, written by true
purrs under the pseudonym "Publius"
but great (as a great doorstop), or
alight as tinder for barbeque
since many admirers never
read his text written in Hebrew,
fluency acquired spending
final years he grew
old, since automatic citizenship
granted based on genetic goo
plus Mediterranean climate helped promote
longevity to century his health did hew
thus naturally pronounced philosophy,
where he drew
quite a wide web asper the many
claims Matthew Scott did eschew
to maintain longevity (more
quackery than science), but who
could dispute glorious
principles, not to poo poo
analogous to placebo effect
harmless fervent coping methods,
whether to cure ague
interestingly enough he cited ack hue
puncture for a gamut of physical ills
as well he did advocate chew
wing food (after taking small bites)
until mouthful became pulpy slew
(proponent of Fletcherism), this to
exercise dentures in addition
to maximize stew
pen diss experience of simple
routine eating view
wing thoroughly good (by George)
said quotidian activity grew
tubby spiritual, similarly basic
functions in general did get skew
ward whereby meditation on intrinsic,
metabolic and scholastic
processes to name a few
added a dimension of enhancement prior to
exiting life into frontier mortals can only rue.