Best Schoolboys Poems
October blows a symphony of sighs
with blustry gusts that presage winter's bleak
arrival as I shuffle through the park,
kaleidoscope of leaves a welcome prize.
Swings unswung on, roundabouts without
the rush of children stutter to a halt.
October blood suffuses to the hilt
my heavy heart, and calms a soul in doubt.
Images, bright images that have no
need of language, the pictures tell the tale,
a gang of schoolboys, picnic-packed, hale
and hearty, hoping for a hint of snow,
their teacher, raven-black, with no command.
Oaks stand guard, ramrod-straight like sentries,
rhododendrons, strong and sprawling bushes,
a place to smoke illicit contraband!
The dial at sunlight's pleasure points to time,
the weather vane makes plain the wind's direction,
no need of clock or any vain contraption
to guage the day, its reason or its rhyme.
The stillness of the morning and the day-glow,
and meadow grasses blessing me with softness,
the rippled waters thrilling me with sweetness,
what other measures do I need to know?
October blows a symphony of sighs,
of spells and incantations for the wise,
who, weather-worn and beaten, seek the skies
or haunt the woodlands for a siren's eyes;
for nature is the most compelling teacher,
companion to my father and my mother,
she cavils, then is kind, just like a brother,
and binds our earthly tapestry together.
Categories:
schoolboys, nature, me,
Form:
Verse
I now declare war on your regime
Round up your Chicago schoolboys
Who believed in free markets
At the hand of the gun
I'll bring billions
Of people whose
Values died
For your
Game
Categories:
schoolboys, angst
Form:
Nonet
...inspired by 'Especially When The October Wind' by Dylan Thomas
October blows a symphony of sighs
with blustry gusts that presage winter's bleak
arrival as I shuffle through the park,
kaleidoscope of leaves a welcome prize.
Swings unswung on, roundabouts without
the rush of children stutter to a halt.
October blood suffuses to the hilt
my heavy heart, and calms a soul in doubt.
Images, bright images that have no
need of language, the pictures tell the tale,
a gang of schoolboys, picnic-packed, hale
and hearty, hoping for a hint of snow,
their teacher, raven-black, with no command.
Oaks stand guard, ramrod-straight like sentries,
rhododendrons, strong and sprawling bushes,
a place to smoke illicit contraband!
The dial at sunlight's pleasure points to time,
the weather vane makes plain the wind's direction,
no need of clock or any vain contraption
to guage the day, its reason or its rhyme.
The stillness of the morning and the day-glow,
and meadow grasses blessing me with softness,
the rippled waters thrilling me with sweetness,
what other measures do I need to know?
October blows a symphony of sighs,
of spells and incantations for the wise,
who, weather-worn and beaten, seek the skies
or haunt the woodlands for a siren's eyes;
for nature is the most compelling teacher,
companion to my father and my mother,
she cavils, then is kind, just like a brother,
and binds our earthly tapestry together.
Categories:
schoolboys, on writing and words,
Form:
Verse
He stands there, stripped bare, shameless, nameless, voiceless
Standing there, choice-less
No dignity, no vanity, no pity
No integrity
No eyeballs so no stare, no flesh and no hair
And no underwear
No contract, no guarantee, no warranty
No appearance fee
He stands there, stripped bare, shameless, nameless, voiceless
Sudden schoolboys-less
Museum... noiseless
Categories:
schoolboys, history, science,
Form:
Rhyme
October blows a symphony of sighs
with blustry gusts that presage winter's bleak
arrival as I shuffle through the park,
kaleidoscope of leaves a welcome prize.
Swings unswung on, roundabouts without
the rush of children stutter to a halt.
October blood suffuses to the hilt
my heavy heart, and calms a soul in doubt.
Images, bright images that have no
need of language, the pictures tell the tale,
a gang of schoolboys, picnic-packed, hale
and hearty, hoping for a hint of snow,
their teacher, raven-black, with no command.
Oaks stand guard, ramrod-straight like sentries,
rhododendrons, strong and sprawling bushes,
a place to smoke illicit contraband.
The dial at sunlight's pleasure points to time,
the weather vane makes plain the wind's direction,
no need of clock or any vain contraption
to gauge the day, its reason or its rhyme.
The stillness of the morning and the day-glow,
and meadow grasses blessing me with softness,
the rippled waters thrilling me with sweetness,
what other measures do I need to know?
October blows a symphony of sighs,
of spells and incantations for the wise,
who, weather-worn and beaten, seek the skies
or haunt the woodlands for a siren's eyes,
for nature is the most compelling teacher,
companion to my father and my mother,
she cavils, then is kind, just like a brother,
and binds our earthly tapestry together.
Categories:
schoolboys, writing,
Form:
Verse
“Cowboys” , big John Wayne starred.
Cowhands abandon him.
Call, joining the Goldrush.
Could greenhorn kids succeed.
Camp cook and chuck wagon,
Complete the trail crew drive.
Cow punching green schoolboys
Called on to claim their jobs.
Cimarron, the oldest,
Capricious, turned away.
Cow punching, green schoolboys
Combating bucking horse,
Caught on to rope, brand, herd
Cattle, and cow-horses.
Cattle drive is ready.
Cimarron follows close.
Cattle-rustlers kill Will,
Corralling all his herd.
Cow punching green schoolboys
Caught and killed the rustlers.
Complete the cattle-drive.
Cattle sold, gravestone bought.
Carved, “ Beloved Husband and Father”
8/22/2016
Not for contest:
Pleiades C
22 lines, 6 syllable each line
17th line 9 syllables
The Cowboys is a 1972 American western film starring John Wayne,
John Wayne nickname Duke
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Cowboys
using;
http://www.howmanysyllables.com/poem_syllable_counter_workshop/index
Categories:
schoolboys, bereavement, children, teen, ,
Form:
Pleiades
ravages of war
not about heroism. . .
through eyes of schoolboys
Copyright © 2018 by Mark Toney. All rights reserved.
First published 2018 in Hollywood Haiku via wattpad.com
Categories:
schoolboys, film, war, , western,
Form:
Haiku
Brave hearts beat
Hidden in silent men
Boots hide exhausted feet
Yet no complaints tumble with their tears
Brave hearts beat
Chasing death on foreign soil
Targets placed on dusty streets
Hollow death parched days on end
Brave hearts beat
Dodging dead eyed schoolboys' guns
Nightmares of red defeat
Yet waking to go back again.
V Anderson Throop
Nov 2014 ©
Categories:
schoolboys, life, soldier, war,
Form:
Rhyme
It is just a dog, a common cur
The scabs, the sore upon the eye.
O the rattled temper
And the garbage bins tottering
Under the mischief of its paws.
It is just a dog, a common cur
And more method to it madness
Than man's dumb logic can ressurect.
Life has chewed on its pedigree
Like leather.
It searches, but never eats. Yet ribs stick out
Like bones suck white against the cruel teeth.
He marks each bin with seminal promptness
As if weaving from his heart some memory
Some hope to find again the heated *****
Among the refuse and waste of man's discard
But the rescue mission tears him hard
He finds no trail in the empty sniffs,
Nothing recognizable
Like the joy of her sullen bark
Teasing him to mark the turf anew.
He use to bark at the moon
For always the shadow on the rock of light
Reminded his loneliness
Of the dog catchers coming.
The firs time they came
The truck moving like a hearse at edge of day
His father went without farewell.
The man wore collar and leash
Symbols tyrranical to freedom.
His mother wore none,
Her penury almost left her naked,
Howled at by wind, spat at by rain
She kept her freedom close to her vein.
The dog catchers came again
And his misery is not abated yet;
The pound swallowed up his son
And mother in almost one breath.
The ***** was analgesic afterwards
For pain that dogged a dog.
With her the future had neither chiarscurro
Nor sulking shadows for schoolboys stones
She was tied to the past
Yesterday's joys is tomorrow's anesthetics
Though he had only known today,
Barren now like an empty house
And dreams withering
Shrivelled raisins of hope
Hard as day against the palate.
This dog has no more gate
To wait. Mongrels are not prized.
Perhaps the flies got her,
He heard them singing in his ears
Wingless words. He bit on time
Took a good dose of it,
Anesthetics or analgesics,
The difference is irrelevant now.
Pedigree is nothing without honour,
Love is poison without trust,
A dog's heart
Turns to its master's whip like a child.
Categories:
schoolboys, allegory, animals, dog, dog,
Form:
Free verse
I stare at all the people, their different shapes and build, thinking to myself, it takes all types to make a world.
A tall man sweeping footpaths, there's a big man in a car, a lonely looking soul, propped up at a bar
A redhead window shopping, looking at a dress, rummaging for credit cards, and getting in a mess.
Two drunks passing, swaying, holding one another up, a country type with greyhound dogs, one looks like a pup.
Two schoolboys mock fighting, until an elbow goes astray, now the fightings real, it didn't start this way.
A traffic warden smiling, giving tickets out with ease, the vehicle owners coming back, I don't think he'll be pleased.
A blonde girl wearing glasses with stilettos on her feet, struggling to stay upright as she crossed the cobbled street.
I look at all the people and I look at them again, life would be so boring, if everybody were the same.
Categories:
schoolboys, loss,
Form:
Narrative
(The UK Queen's Platinum Jubilee was in June 2022)
You're at Trooping the Colour now, Dominic.
Were we not friends when we were schoolboys?
You look so smart now, Dominic, guardsman,
wrapped in the shining redness of that costume
under your tall, beautiful bearskin cap.
Recall that friendship, Dominic,
those distant days at school?
I saw your show on stage -
those school plays, musicals, but mainly ballet.
Such standards, almost worthy of a jubilee.
And here you are on our TV.
A performance, Dominic, seen by our Queen,
and millions, oh millions, of viewers.
You're at that Platinum Jubilee,
a concert full of marching men,
a march that is a parade,
a parade that is a ballet -
performing people, of course.
Would you wish to know me, Dominic,
now you're in your very posh world?
(June 2022)
(You may wish to see also "Obsequies for a Queen" of September 2022 and "Coronation for a King" of May 2003)
Categories:
schoolboys, color, dance, memorial day,
Form:
Free verse
A Tear for Don
I still shed a tear over you, Don,
I wish you were still here, alive.
Remember the day we first met, Don,
A pair of young schoolboys aged five?
Remember how we were like brothers, Don?
The way we were always together.
We seemed to be joined at the hip, Don.
Our bond an unbreakable tether.
I think of our time as Cadets, Don,
Playing at soldiers in green.
And then you did it for real, Don,
At the fresh, youthful age of fifteen.
I didn’t much like all that serge, Don,
The khaki like wire, and sore.
So I chose to wear Navy Blue, Don,
And you laughed when that scratched even more!
You served in many campaigns, Don,
As I, in my Unit, did too.
We understood each other’s thoughts, Don.
Each knew what the other went through.
Then as our later years passed, Don,
Our friendship grew stronger and stronger.
I wish you’d been able to stay, Don,
Been my brother a little bit longer.
I still shed a tear over you, Don,
And although some may see it as strange,
My sadness and heartbreak are true, Don.
Can’t see how those feelings will change.
You’ve reached the Final RV, Don,
But I remain, soldiering on.
I’ll keep your memory safe in my heart,
Till we meet again, my brother Don.
Categories:
schoolboys, emotions, friendship, grief, remember,
Form:
Rhyme
Preface: A poem written to my youngest step-son, whom along with his brother, I raised and
consider my very own sons. I presented this to him on his graduation from college.
Flesh & Blood
One cold and snowy winter day,
a man met two young brothers.
Man fell in love with both those boys,
man then fell for their mother.
A silent promise whispered,
vowed to love both as his own,
man set sail just like Columbus,
to places foreign and unknown.
Man worked on science projects,
and he helped with book reports,
he took the boys for haircuts,
and signed them up for sports.
For boyhood rites of passage,
man gave Swiss-Army knives,
boys carved away some hours
of the best days of their lives.
Man sent the boys to private schools,
because he knew it would be best,
especially for the oldest boy,
who wasn’t the least bit studious.
The younger boy more scholarly,
never swayed by fad or crowd,
both schoolboys very different,
both made man very proud.
Man seldom missed the brother’s games
for he was their proudest fan,
but concealed amongst the hockey bags,
was the gift they gave the man.
Being important to a child
was worth more than a priceless Monet,
being dependable as dark skies each night
and high tide every day.
Like a ship that lost it’s mooring,
man lost track of where he’d been,
but was saved from likely wreckage,
by the gift they gave to him.
The boys made the man responsible,
and the surprising reality,
is what brings out the worst in some men,
brought the best man out of me.
Of my flesh, you may not be,
you may not share my blood,
but deep inside my heart and soul,
burns a father’s sacred love.
Winning a million dollars,
would dwarf in comparison,
to the treasures you’ve bestowed on me
since you became my son.
c Copyright 2006
Categories:
schoolboys, father, sonlost, graduation, lost,
Form:
Rhyme
Standing in a garden on the edge of a ridge
Pissing out of the wine of the night
The sea below looks to be grumbling
But the party is still louder than that
The Heavens above may be burning
Yet she's back there holding my hat
If she saw me here in my manhood
There would be two dances more to be had
But she's too busy with a mild maiden
Judging my shadow, my words, and this song
I wish I had a memory to cling onto
Instead of my wit which is decidedly gone
There's a roundabout of gentlemen wild
Drinking all in sight that's left to be sunk
My lady stands glimmering below light-bulbs
Strung lower than my standards tonight
Though luck has made me a winner
Tonight I can't bare to get into this fight
It would be me, myself and an umpire
Judging my swings against my blows
Now I'd usually have myself done for
But her skin has arrested my fists
And opened they hold out my heaviness
Like schoolboys caught, or tramps to the blind
I could shoot myself here by the bandstand
And sit dying in a pool of my piss and blood
I ain't ready for love and its yelling
Its burning sensations and welcoming arms
No give me a chance at the brutal
Give me another go at the dolls
Don't hold out this angel and torture
Don't make me a martyr tonight
My reputable repertoire of near misses
Is staked though the fix in the game
She dealt me a night of clean aces
But I've been fishing and soon lose it all
She eyes me like land from open sea
But this old crow want to nest and forget
My black feathers they aught to be stretching
Flying east to dawn with a dove
That I could steal from her beak some olives
And make a crown of peace to depart
My last drink I drink has me spilling
All my needs the length of a woman
Let this fool be wrapped in her wiles
My glass shatters to diamonds and shards
Best cut your feet in this garden of Eden
And step hard to forget her somehow
Categories:
schoolboys, angst, confusion, fear, love,
Form:
Free verse
I remember way back when,
And my first schoolboys crush
When just to look at Linda
Was like being hit with a sugar rush
I remember when she said
“I really like your shirt by the way”
Well I was so in love with her
That I wore that shirt every day
Categories:
schoolboys, love
Form: