Best School Poems | Poetry

Below are the all-time best School poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of school poems written by PoetrySoup members

Search for School poems, articles about School poems, poetry blogs, or anything else School poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.

See Also:

Poems are below...



New School Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best School poems are below this new poems list.

School shootings by Hawkins, Deshanta
Professor Of The School by Asuncion, Bernard F.
High School For Life by Elliott, Regina
School Of Wit by Adams, PAT
The Story of Miss Quilla the Barefoot School Teacher part 1 by Lee Sr., James Edward
My School My Pride by Bunglowala, Arifa
Summer School ICUMEN In by Brewer, Geoffrey
Old-School Rocker by Welch, David
Pre-School Graduation by bauer, ilene
Vagaries Of An Unknown Methacton High School by harris, matthew

View all new School Poems

The Best School Poems

Details | School Poem | Create an image from this poem.

One World

Love is not a color,
No hue, neither a race.
All of our blood is the same, 
That runs deep within our veins.

If we could lift up each other,
And know that we all care.
If we help our sisters and brothers,
There's a bond that we'll share.








©2013 Honestly JT


Copyright © Honestly J.T. | Year Posted 2013


Details | School Poem | Create an image from this poem.

hahahahaha i have no idea what to title this

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


Details | School Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Time Machine

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


Details | School Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Newton's Law

I was inattentive in Science class one day
When the teacher at random looked my way
I didn't look up, I wouldn't dare
There's no escaping that intense glare.

Asked me to explain to the class
Newton's Law of Gravity and mass
My mind was a blank, heartbeats louder
For an answer I started to flounder.

I stood before the class trembling with fear
"Gravity" I said...and then oh dear!!!
I fell off the stage on to the floor
How the class with laughter did roar.

The children tittered in great amusement
They didn't know my sad predicament
The teacher said, "You've demonstrated gravity"
"Although you did it with much levity".

At length I returned to my seat
With many applause did they greet
Now I look back upon this and ponder
I decide to listen and not let my mind wander.


Copyright © Nandita Das | Year Posted 2015


Details | School Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Letting Go

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


Details | School Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Indelible

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


Details | School Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Math

Why do we need math?
Because it puts us on a narrow path.
Even though it sometimes makes you swell up in wrath.
To most,
Math just causes you stress, 
But thats not the case.
Its a workers base,
Math is in every place.
Math doesn't have a realistic face,
But when it is used,
It leaves a remarkable trace!


Copyright © Ettie Christian | Year Posted 2014


Details | School Poem | Create an image from this poem.

LOVE at FIRST SIGHT

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


Details | School Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Johnny Had A Girl

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


Details | School Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Riding Misty

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


Details | School Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Middle School Nicknames Part 1

I am the girl with many names, 
At first when you said my name, “Madison”- it had been so crisp on your tongue, as if a leaf  of autumn had torn beneath your sneaker. As we walked out together.. on that pastoral day. 

I swooned when you said it, You spoke it, as if it were your own- as if you had picked it from the orchard of names.
You handed me the dainty ones- like, “Maddie.” so soft on your tongue, that it made me feel all warm and fuzzy, like I was cupping a peach in my palms.

Then, one day when you saw me- the true bud blossoming, 
my heart unfolding  like my floral printed skirt, draped over my tiny waist.

That is when you gave me- began to pester me..
with the cute pet names.

I've been called many names, “Cutie.” but I am not a clementine,
my personality is not round, it is curly like my sandy, golden strands of hair.

Oh, but you- You call me “Mad Dog.”

“Mad Dog,” my collar that fits upon the long nape of my neck,
You say it to my friends, and strangers who happen by, “...Oh Mad Dog...” 

Mad Dog- to you is when the apples of my cheeks go rosy, blushing in shades of primrose pink. It is when my brows arch, or my eyes touch the corners,
the edges of the room. 

This name it grows into ivy,
 then flourishes into soft spring blossoms,
of, “Mad Bunny,” “Mad Bear.’ the nurturing names to define my compassion..
and my passion for the love of Mother Earth.

You call me “Thumper,” when I tap my heels on the floor, a ballad 
for you to drum to with your pencil.

The symphony of Middle School nicknames, 
resounding thru my ears… each one following me- trailing behind me, leaving breadcrumbs of what I once was seen as,

As a Middle School girl, with lavender frames, tiny footsteps,
and sweet warbles- stumbling off her tongue.
I am the poetic one, the deep one… who can recite every verse of wisdom, I attain.


Copyright © Madison Demetros | Year Posted 2017


Details | School Poem | Create an image from this poem.

SILENCE IS BROKEN

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


Details | School Poem | Create an image from this poem.

The Mirror Of Time

I hold three magic rocks, in my hand. Rolling them over and over and over. Leaving this 
reality behind, far behind I stepped into the magic mirror and there I was back in 1959.  It 
was the same month, November.  I looked around and it was the same as I remember it had 
been then.  Mom looked so young and beautiful and said, "The school bus will be here in a 
few minutes."  I looked at the calendar and saw that it was November 25th, the day before 
Thanksgiving.  I said, "But mom, I haven't been in school in forty years."  I got this strange 
look from her but she didn't say anything.  Walking toward the door I caught a reflection of 
myself in the hall mirror.  I was so young.  My hand immediately went to my face and I 
stopped and stared at myself for a few minutes. I said, "Mom, can I stay home and be with 
you today?"  Again I got that strange look from her, then she smiled and said, "Sure, it's 
your last day before Thanksgiving anyway, why not?"  She and I sit down and talked for 
hours.  Then I said, "Do you mind if we go next door and visit with Maw Maw and Paw Paw?  
I haven't seen them in so long and I've missed them terribly!"  Again another strange look 
from mom. Next door I saw Maw Maw and Paw Paw as they had been in 1959.  I wept and 
they all looked at me so strangely.  I hugged them and kissed them all and we talked for 
hours.  Dad finally came home from work and I ran and hugged him so hard. "Dad why did 
you have to leave us in June?"  Again I got strange looks from everyone.  My tears were 
falling.  I saw Aunt Frances and Uncle Bill who lived beside Maw Maw and Paw Paw. "I've 
missed you both for so long." Strange looks again!  They didn't understand because to them, 
it was just another day in 1959.  The day grew late and I knew my time was soon ending.  I 
got near the magic mirror and mom and dad were standing there so young and healthy. I 
said, "Mom I'll see you on the other side of the mirror, but dad, I'll see you another time, 
another place."  They didn't understand.  I stepped back through and my reflection was as it 
had been before.  Mom was sitting in her chair at age 84.  I said, "Mom, do you remember 
the day before Thanksgiving, 1959, when I stayed home from school and we spent the day 
together?"  She said, "Yes, it was so strange that you could never remember anything about 
it.  It was as though you had amnesia.


Copyright © Marty Owens | Year Posted 2009


Details | School Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Middle School Nicknames Part 2

And yet, you are the charming one, with charisma bursting at the seams of your creme grey sweatshirt.. and the tender strands of your ash blonde hair...
And your gaping eyes of blue, 
that take me into an undertow of enigma
and daydreams. In which I can never escape- from those tides of blue that pour from the irises of your eyes.

You, I call “Brownie.” not only because of your soft brown hair, 
that reminds me of softened chocolate chips baked into the heart shaped cookies I gave you. But to emphasize your sweetness-
 that comes from your tone; 
Your soft syllables they make me melt… melt slowly like a marshmallow caressed by embers of a smoldering campfire.

There is much we give, to one another- I give you my eyes, the sea green swirls 
that make you step lightly into bliss- even though you trip over your own feet.. when preening yourself as I walk by.

And you…
You give me your deep blue eyes, and your long, slow motion winks; 
you share with me the palms of your hands- so soft.. when you touch me.. or stroke the back of my neck, accidentally.

For you are the portrait of Soothing.
and I am your Admirer..
As am I your gallery- and the one painting of gentle colors that you brush with your palms..

The painting:

the dark blue of wildflowers etched- compared to 
my polka dotted dress, that I curtsy in.

The ivory clouds, alike the lace of my tank top...
when you gaze at me, and all the heat flushes back into me.. 
that melts the tips of my fingers… and awakens the seed of  romanticism inside of me.

This Silly little Attraction, where our friends nudge us to touch,
to bare fruit upon the Acacia Tree in our minds… that maybe…

Just maybe we should date, and 
that “Mad Dog,” and “Brownie,” 
should once and for all, share each other's sweet offerings,
Of blissful love.


Copyright © Madison Demetros | Year Posted 2017


Details | School Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Scars Left Behind

Remembering the days of yesteryear
when family ties were held most dear,
gas lamps flickered in the back street
while most of us danced a different beat.
Tragic alleyways of smog and smut
“Live over the brush”* branded a slut,
silhouettes in fringe the darkest night
gullible back shift broke the morning light.
Adventurous nights at “Townhead Mill”
eight pints of beer the back porch thrill,
when no meant yes in rapturous skill
to fumigated music from “Nashville.”
Obnoxious libertine this bread man
bay curtain drawn delivery van,
the situation conspired indiscretion
clinical the world’s oldest profession.
Sporting gentlemen in summer bliss
caught first ball costly night on the piss,
pavilion home to moorside drover
many a chaste maiden bowled over.
Partial pilgrimage down “Bolton Road”
black and amber heroes round ball code,
liniment buoyant throughout the room
manly skills embroider the village groom.
Cardinal days steeped in “Rock ‘n’ Roll”
sire in fear of them out of control,
a colossal wedge between cultures
in shadows of decency vile vultures.
Repetitious days of school yard might
the bullies reduced one’s life to plight,
parents queried yet misunderstood
reasons for mayhem in the neighbourhood.
Lad and lasses lost in “Hide and seek”
games of “Stroke a back” every week,
by the old school grounds we all did laik**
now the street is naked for heaven sake.
Why on earth would a mind keep drifting back
this poetry constantly placing me on track,
when life was a role without fame or stars
only toil and trepidation and these scars?

© Harry J Horsman 2013   

*Living in sin
** Play


Copyright © harry horsman | Year Posted 2013


Details | School Poem | Create an image from this poem.

His Smile Awaits

He was my very first daydream
I thought about him all the time
Something about him made me beam

Seeing his face was so sublime
Making good grades in class was a breeze
It was his smile that was my motivation
Liking him came with such ease
Every thought of touching him came with hesitation

All I had was the way he looked at me
Waiting for his glances became my prize
A chance encounter filled me with glee
I wanted so much to feel the warmth of his eyes
Thinking of him is a great memory 
Smiles like his have become few and far between


Copyright © Brandee Augustus | Year Posted 2009


Details | School Poem | Create an image from this poem.

love kills

I just got to the grave today, death was given to you by my infidelity.

Along the way alive, my soul was given death.

Thy Ishq ruined my mahi like this,

Your every axis raised me up
never ask you for dream love stories

Never wanted to love such fake love.

  Did not know the consequences would be this
name of love will be murdered

You stab in the chest

And it hurts in the heart ..

Had made a spectacle in the poetic life.

The desire of the moment was made of corpse ..

Death came to love on that day, that I had made.

You were playing with heart and I was feeling love
dréams all got crushed - misunderstanding has gone away.

Dreams burn - they died

They became clean and became ashes

Who says the ashes are just human

I had seen dreams also being eroded.

The eyes that had seen love in the eyes had seen the goodness.

Why do you die every time I ask you ??

 What is your likeness?

 She said mine was my love.

She used to say "Mahi" to whom she had revealed.

Those last hopes were shattered by my breakdown.

Took the robbery in love's market.

Often what they used to say was eaten.

First of all, by making fun of it.

i always used to walk behind you.

 And you keeps the infidelity behind you ..

In sweet sweet things, the poison went away.

My grave went deeper ..

He continued to poison, I used to drink

He kept kicking and I continued to die.

That was the fact that love was done.

       Whom you called "mahi"

 


Copyright © lovely sharma | Year Posted 2018


Details | School Poem | Create an image from this poem.

A Study In Love

A Study In Love

Her expressions were delicious, her aroma intoxicating,
Her presence lovely and her conversation intriguing.
I was at a loss for words as we engaged in study, together,
The arts; that separates man from the animals.
It didn’t feel like work to me—it felt flirtatious,
And when the spark from her eye leaped into my heart,
I was emboldened to asked her, shyly;  
“Do you believe in love at first sight?”
And without hesitation she answered; “Of course!”
Placing her hand gently on mine,—the touch so warm.
Naturally, I was taken aback by the quick response,
And gazed into her face, contemplating whether to kiss her or not.
The moment seemed real, the timing perfect and she willing,
But the fool in me out of desperation looked for excuses,
Afraid to show my inner most feelings due to my upbringing
   Let go; pretending to resume our interaction in education,
   But my mind blossomed in that encounter!


Copyright © Dennis Spilchuk | Year Posted 2018


Details | School Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Tired

I'm tired
 Tired of being treated
       differently
  'cause I'm,
 well
      different

 I'm tired
Of
 being stared at
       and hiding my braces
       under the camouflage 
       of my colored 
         skinny jeans
         and
masking my
        darker self
      with mascara and
       a    rainbow 
          like 
Reading
others' faces
as they make
their judgements
without hearing
my arguments

  but they 
are futile
 and people are
impressionable
but compassion
Is expressable
But where is it?
In my dreams? 
I wouldn't know
I don't sleep
     and
I'm tired
' cause
I gotta explain

why I
 walk like
a penguin
though my
feet aren't
Happy
And why 
I wear
my braces all
the time
and I will
until I die
and I'm tired
of explaining
and so I'll stop talking
and fall asleep
and wake up 
the next day,
still
tired.






Copyright © Gabrielle Zeger | Year Posted 2013


Details | School Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Dad's Last Ball Game

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


Details | School Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Get An Education

"The boy's got a broken brain!
- Fix him for me now,
I can't do a thing with him."

     - So I hear you say,
     Though he seems intelligent enough.

After all, he's smart enough 
To know the whys and wherefores
Of every deal that goes down on his street -
Every $ passing hands in the dark,
Summed and totalled in his head.
But Math - Forget it.
And you'll never see him crack a book for study's sake.

Perhap's that's because you broke his heart,
Long ago, though his face will never show it.
Because he bleeds inside,
Though to hear him talk you'd never know it.
You tore his shadoworld apart
Just by never being there -
You broke his proud red eggshell heart
Because he knows you never cared.

Perhaps this is why Rage is his religion,
And he only values Gain,
Why Payback is his Creed,
His only currency Pain.
This then is why he wears the shirt 
That reads, "Never Forget, Never Forgive";
This why he's unafraid to kill or die,
Yet terrified to live.

So go get an education -
 Start with a hard look at yourself -
You that schooled a nation
In the politics of Greed,
Builders of the conflagration
Of burning, unmet Need
Now threatening to consume us
As it climbs into the skies,
As it whispers warnings to us
From his vacant, coldstare eyes.

You broke his heart,
A wound more deep
Than I alone can mend,
I, just one beleaguered horseman.
Cannot set it right again.

You must help put things back together,
If you want our nightmares to end.


Copyright © William Masonis | Year Posted 2008


Details | School Poem | Create an image from this poem.

School Bag

Silently junked in a dusty corner,
You ended things up in unexpected border
Used me for year and said was so loved,
Carried your things and it was well packed

I was with you walking in school,
You said that I’m so nice coz’ I was so cool
We spent many good times together!
A year of happiness is so like forever

What happen to us my beloved oh pal?
You dumped me so bad and was so emotional
You found someone better than me
Surely forget our sweet memory

Crying so loud with plenty of dusts,
I’ll die so soon until world turn to rust
I guess this is how my life should be!
A school bag won’t last till eternity  


Copyright © Lei Strauss | Year Posted 2015


Details | School Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Pins and Needles

Another song written in middle school - edited of course. ;)
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Verse 1] I'm trapped within these walls Never to leave at all I am the prisoner inside my own home My spirit is broken I do not believe I'm locked in this chamber which I cannot leave [Chorus] The needles that break the skin The anger that runs within I’m giving it all away Just to stay alive The needles that pierce my veins It will never be the same We’re on pins and needles now It’s how we survive [Verse 2] They say he’ll find me soon Got to get out of this room The blood will spill and he’ll take what he wants to I’ll never let him through GET OUT OF MY DREAM He whispers in darkness, “I’m not who I seem…” [Chorus] [Verse 3] The four walls around me They start to close in I know I’m too late now I know I can’t win So just tell me I’m crazy It’s all in my head You’re not the killer And I am not dead [Chorus] [Breakthrough] Don’t tell me it’s impossible To start it all over again Infection sinks through your pale skin You’ll curse the day that I’m dead [Chorus]


Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2011


Details | School Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Cruisin' the Drag

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


Details | School Poem | Create an image from this poem.

The Azalea City is My Hometown

I come from Valdosta, Georgia, the lovely peach state,
Where everyone uses a southern drawl to communicate.
Valdosta is known as the “Azalea City” for its gorgeous flowers.
In the spring this splendid sight has a captivating power.

I’m afraid the azaleas are forgotten by the summer,
When it gets so hot we are running for cover.
When we have a storm, I pray the electricity doesn’t go out.
In Valdosta, having the ac cranked is what it’s all about!

I grew up the daughter of a Pentecostal minister.
There are four siblings, including Barbara, my twin sister.
We went to church faithfully three times a week,
Sitting on the pew trying not to make a peep.

We may have grumbled about getting so much religion,
But down the road it has helped us all make decisions.
My Dad has now gone for his reward in Heaven.
I wish I could hear one more of his sermons God-given.

In high school my twin and I were members of a championship band.
We won so many contests, the Marching Cats was the best in the land.
The famous band director in Valdosta was the amazing Frank Butenschon.
His talent and dedication made us all winners, and we shined!

My best band competition memory was as good as it gets.
We won, and performed a half-time show for the Miami Dolphins and Jets.
The other piccolos and I marched out for a solo in front of the crowd.
That’s when they cut to commercial at home for my parents so proud! 

To move along, fresh out of college I married a man 15 years older.
I was naïve and mesmerized, he was so much bolder.
We moved to Houston, where I taught high school.
Life was exciting, and being a newlywed was so cool.

Several years later we moved to New Hampshire, his home state.
The mountains, the snow, and especially the summers were great.
We opened a business that lasted for 25 years.
I was company President while we were entrepreneurs.

In NH for 20 years I was a member of the Upper Valley Community Band,
Playing my flute and piccolo for parades and summer concerts so grand.
We also played at Faneuil Hall, Germany, Austria, and France on tour.
Carole Blake, the renowned band director, put us on the map for sure!

After thirty years being man and wife, our marriage hit the rocks.
I moved back to Valdosta, where my family is mere blocks.
In my hometown, what others think of me does not keep me up at night.
I’m enjoying my freedom, and God has me in His sights.







6/20/17





Copyright © Brenda McGrath | Year Posted 2017