Best Schoolchildren Poems
Good morning, good morning, girls and boys
I hope you brought your Disney toys
Gather round in a circle close
Lets sing about the ones we love the most
Mickey, Mickey, your so cute and small
We love you the best of all
Donald Duck with his ducklings three
Dressed the same are his family
Children, children wave your hands
Close you eyes we're in Disney Land
Pluto, Pluto your silly and daft
You sure do make us laugh
It's time to count, lets have some fun
The Seven Dwarfs, seven back to one
Children, children wave your hands
Close you eyes we're in Disney Land
Dumbo flaps his ears and flies
Pinocchio's nose grows telling silly lies
Let all skip to Wonderland
Holding Alice's hands, going hand in hand
Children, children wave your hands
Close you eyes we're in Disney Land
Children, children wave your hands
Close you eyes we're in Disney Land
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/childrens.php
.. continued
Flag-lowering is a daily observance at the Wagah Border, open to the public this day.
On our view of the gate:
l --- Bharat ------------------------------------------------- India --- l
A crowd gathers on either side - Eleven thousand are provided seats.
Not unlike a cricket match, except everyone leaves satisfied.
(Communalism - it caused two parts of a whole to drift apart.
Seven decades later and to this day, sweets are exchanged across the frontiers.)
With measured steps they neatly stride, a silver blade in hand upright.
Handmade badges turned to gallantry ribbons..
a soldier’s uniform is always lined.
revered fabric
draped across two sturdy palms
nation in his arms
~Late Evening TV Coverage of the morning’s events - The Prime Minister’s speech~
A crew stands on nine years of sandstone - A bird’s view from afar.
Hailed by music
he walked into a constellation of schoolchildren
‘Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high’.
Acceptance is the first step towards change:
Violence in the name of faith is unacceptable.
"In the New India, the biggest strength is democracy.
But we cannot reduce ours to mere ballot boxes. Our resolve is to have a democracy where people are not driven by the system, but the system by the people."
I watch the proceedings
many states away
nation in our hopes
--------------------------------------------------------------------
Jai Hind
Tricolour lighting in my city:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=herkuupDnAo
Internationally:
www.ndtv.com/offbeat/independence-day-2017-indian-embassies-light-up-in-colours-of-the-tricolour-see-pics-1737756
Cupped-hands blessed the first winter snow –
That tasted like peppermint wind
The pines and aspens share secrets,
As they whisper what they know
Then, they giggled like schoolchildren
In the snowy playground – with the red
Brick schoolhouse off in the distance
Their cold faces blinked and blushed
Like a basket full of wild freckled strawberries
Suddenly, fresh pine cones fall to the ground;
They chuckle, laugh and then roll over,
Exposing their innocent souls to a fresh blue sky,
This all appeared in the first winter snow
This, I am sure and still are
Practically nothing is known about you in your time.
You were in the wrong place, a victim of a crime.
Provoked British soldiers opened fire on a crowd.
They had been taunted and jeered with insults quite loud.
This was an event in pre-revolution Boston town.
Five citizens were murdered in the name of the Crown.
You were a victim whose blood was spilled that day.
Outraged Bostonians demanded the soldiers pay.
Revolution grew from those dastardly deeds.
This infamous event planted the seeds.
Your martyrdom brought you historical fame.
Today, many schoolchildren know you by name.
The innocent souls. The little angels flown away. The dedicated. Perished.
Agonising. Touching. Demanding answers. A town held in the grip of
unfathomable mourning. A world shell-shocked. What next?
Some serious soul-searching .A real newness . Country. Community.
Newtown, there has to be new paradigm shift. There has to
be a new beginning . A dawn of non-violence. An end to a cycle
of mass shooting tragedies. A new chapter. A secure future.
The sights, the sounds, the terror, the grief. Should people live
in fear? Feel helpless , weightless and exposed? No. Innocent deaths
of 28 people that touched the hearts of many across the world
because we are all the citizens of this world. We therefore demand a
world that is safe, habitable , just and peaceful. A world in which the
sanctity of life is of paramount importance. Let us contain the emotions
and find lasting solutions .
Let us find solace in that it is possible to arrest the situation. A newness
of love, security and peace must be collectively and individually ushered in.
Though you walk through the valley of the shadow of death you WILL not
fear no evil. Death you have been defeated.
To the parents, teachers, schoolchildren, the community, and the
country, the world mourns with you. It shares your grief. Be strong.
Be comforted. Our hearts are with you. We offer our prayers.
There are too many times when my eyes open and it’s still dark.
It’s useless to think that I’ll go back to sleep, and it’s no good at all to lay in bed and watch the passing parade of worries that comes marching down the Main Street of my mind. When I do that, the entertainment seems to take on its own life. The parade grows longer, more spectacular, with the noise of marching bands, my thoughts, growing louder. Clowns scurry ahead of the band leader, throwing red balls in the air. There are too many balls to count.
The best thing I can do for myself is to rise from my bed. But there are days when it seems too much to bear being home before the rest of the world rises. There’s just too much emptiness in my small house.
I leave, escaping to DD's, where I sit and sip my coffee over a newspaper. Sometimes there are others sitting waiting for the light to come, too–like the woman who gives an animated “Hello” to everyone she meets, staring too long into our eyes. She takes out her cell phone to call a friend about the rashes on her legs. Something is biting her during the night. Raj and the other DD workers snicker, and I am drawn to–but at the same time repelled by–her morbid troubles.
Sometimes, in the winter, it seems as if the time I spend in the dark before the light comes is endless. I don’t think it’s normal for darkness to last so long; it’s probably one of the punishments for eating the apple in Eden.
I much prefer the early light of June and July, when the morning allows the gentle unfolding of life around me. Somehow, when the sun is in the sky at 6:30 a.m., a passing gasoline truck rattling my windows does not sound so lonely. Nor do I mind the sun revealing the stains from spring rains on my windows … or the birds loudly announcing their presence in the trees. Their manic chirping awakens schoolchildren eagerly counting down the days til summer.
When the darkness is especially long, and I have already sought out the comfort of others who cannot sleep, I will sometimes return home and do what I am so reluctant to do — sit still. I take up my position in a special chair near a window that looks out onto the street. I close my eyes and listen to the heated rhythms that only my body can make. My breath … my ins and outs.
But I wonder; why is it so hard to be still? Especially in the dark before the light.
Football how safe is it to play?
By Stanley Russell Harris
The new mad author
& A Poetry Soup honourably mentioned poet
The following poem was inspired by news recently that schoolchildren and even professional footballers could become injured when heading the football in the so named sport , not only on the field of play, but also later on in life
Football how safe is it to play?
With football shoes instead of boots!
Tackling is dodgy on your human roots.
By human roots I mean your feet.
As that’s where opponent’s feet you meet.
When you miss the ball that’s at their feet!
Then there is hand ball.
When you are too slow!
To move your hand away,
from where the football does go!
A nasty sting might be left there you know.
Now a clash of heads is not fun.
And in heading the football, could harm be begun?
Players should now be dressed in armour suits.
In different colours each team should be.
Not only safer on the field of sport they would be.
But revitalise the Iron and Steel industry.
Of course, to righten fallen players in the game.
One might need an overhead crane.
And while all this is being done.
Officials can oil the other ones.
Although it might not make them sleek!
At least when they move!
Their joints won’t squeak.
The goalkeepers mounted must be.
On fine charging horses you see.
And both armed with a magnetic pole.
To keep that cannon football out of their goal.
Of course if you had no crane there.
The team with most players left standing there.
At end of play if all is a draw.
Will be claimed the winners.
And for now that is all.
Oh! I forgot the referee’s.
High above in drones they’ll be.
I mean why not use technology.
As move fast in armour they could not you see.
Nor could the players, he, he, he, he.
And that is the lot now here from me.
Old Glory’s at half-mast today.
I wonder who just passed away?
Was it a hero from some battles past?
A dead leader whose influence lasts?
Were servicemen killed overseas,
Or humanitarians died fighting a disease?
Seems most of the time I don’t know why
The Colors only at half-mast fly.
More and more it seems to be
The flag’s mourning some local tragedy:
A lunatic shooter with a gun or rifle
Killed innocents for some reprisal;
Or people contemplating suicides
Go out committing multiple homicides.
I think the worst is killing schoolchildren.
Will this obscene madness never end?!
Shimmering in a chilly mist,
skyscrapers overlooking NYC.
August left into September's cooler mornings,
schoolchildren dressed in plaid and Hush Puppies.
In Central Park the leaves are a green-yellow,
squirrels scurry to store acorns.
Pretzel vendors appear as joggers feel
relieved from humidity,
in autumnal New York.
Driving headed north,
Upstate farms yield cider,
and the Catskills and Adirondack mountains
are banners of emerging colors.
Deer gather from the edge of the woodland
to drink from a pond as the fading moon sails,
in autumnal New York.
Years ago my siblings and I in our Long Island
suburban yard,
leapt into golden and red maple leaf piles,
and ate candy apples-
How much simpler and joyful our lives
were then,
in autumnal New York,
I wish I were still in,
autumnal New York. ~
i read and hear online the words
from the other side of the world,
the bearded angst and deeply rutted face
of a soul with far, far too much
sorrow to carry.
my eyes well, as i
cannot help but too,
share in the sorrow
of the loss born by
farmer Muhammad Wazir
Muhammad, from Panjwai district lost:
his mother, Shakarina,
his wife, Zahra,
his four daughters,
Massoma, Farida, Palwasha and Bibya
two of his sons,
Ismatullah and Faizullah,
a brother, Akhtar,
a nephew and
a sister-in-law
Only the youngest son
Habib Shah is still alive
How can a father, a husband,
a son, a brother, bare it?
"I loved them all like
they were parts of my body,...
All my dreams are buried
under a pile of dust now"
Wazir states. "My little boy,
Habib Shah, is the only one
left alive, and I love him
very much" says Wazir.
I have a hard time
with the concept that it
must be God's will
to condemn anyone to this
Did Staff Sgt. Robert Bales
snap like a twig in the
wanton disregard to sanctity
of children and mothers...
civilians. Who can forgive?
...Who can stand it?
Bales' wife Karilyn sends
"condolences to all the people
of the Panjawai District ...
especially to the parents,
brothers, sisters and grandparents
of the children who perished"
Though heartfelt to be sure
she must realize that Bob
is beyond "normal" forgiveness
A strength like the Amish
is needed to look into
enraged hate filled eyes
with tearful forgiveness
What good...what good can
we possibly squeeze from
such tragic carnage?
Maybe God knows that answer.
I can only feel the sorrow.
meanwhile in Toulouse, France
Mr. Mohammed Merah,
a Frenchman of Algerian decent
knows in his heart that
retribution is necessary
and three French paratroopers,
of North African descent,
as well as a Rabbi and
three Jewish schoolchildren,
pay with their lives
the Rabbi, and his two daughters
might have been aware of their
responsibility for the Panjwai
tragedy, perhaps not,
....{continued in 2of2}
© Goode Guy 2012-03-21
A fallow tree stump
ritualized by the empty
Bath of Salvation
creeping painfully as if
thrown by the wayside
The retort of schoolchildren
smoothed by the evenness
of taken innocence
Arisen from a fruitless slumber
Clamoring for the germane
but destined to be wholly
irrelevant
Rainy Daze
sitting quietly I watch as the
raindrops reassemble in the
puddle
schoolchildren at recess
awaiting the forming of lines
holding raindrop hands
humming sweetly on the
steaming pavement
erasing schoolyard blacktop
shape changing the oily
rainbow of the bus stop
bottle caps setting sail
in surging gutter streams
umbrellas lifting on a
cloudy breeze.
raindrops, skydivers from
a distant sea, teasing the
garden locked landlubber’s
with tales of travel and
of history, of gardens
drenched in mystery
sitting in my rainy daze
sharing cool moist now
with then
John G. Lawless
9/10/2014
High heels
By Stanley Russell Harris
The new mad author
& A Poetry Soup honourably mentioned poet
Why do women wear high heeled shoes?
I really do not know.
That’s because I am a man.
And my shoe heels are low.
Is it so when they are shopping?
In the supermarket’s where they do go.
They can reach the top shelf.
That one I never can you know,
Is it so they feel 10 feet high.
Look down on us men as they pass by.
Or is it so we look up to them?
I mean, us flat shoed little men.
If businesses have a dress code.
They should supply all with clothes.
Like schoolchildren all could look the same.
Uniform and in flat shoes again.
I thought long and hard about high heels and wondered if I could write a poem. I have posted this on BBC News Facebook page where I do share a few on my creations mentioning Poetry Soup of course lol. No offence ladies if you like wearing high heeled shoes.
pig >This poem was written on 4 July 2016 in a new notebook. I purchased from a charity shop. It’s bright pink in colour. Not exactly my shade. lol. This title might be a little misleading.
It’s American Independence Day
It’s American Independence Day.
Meanwhile, here across the pond.
In Ipswich in the UK.
We have other things to ponder.
It’s not the referendum.
Although the government is in a mess.
No, Ipswich has more important things.
In the UK. I must confess.
Pigs
Yes that’s right, pigs is right.
All over town. They came in one night.
Today’s schoolchildren screamed with delight.
As I saw them writing down alright.
About two pigs that were in sight.
I was on my way to the Co-op bank.
There was no smell, pigs did not rank.
As they were made of fibreglass.
So that made hygene swell.
As no flies were spotted on them.
Gaily painted, they were as well.
One advertised Trotters Independent traders!
Have they come to Ipswich town as well?
Drew wife’s money out of the bank.
Refreshed myself as well.
Paid as I ordered, as memory, is not to swell.
Took wife’s money to the garage.
To pay for her car as well.
Now she has got another one.
I mean a car you see.
She can now go, where she wants.
Without involving me.
And according to her.
Will make her very happy.
And as this page draws to the end.
There is no more space for me to say.
I hope she can tell herself what to do.
As she does to me every day.
Only when I’m driving. I really meant to say.
The proceeds form the pig event, and there are some 80 odd scattered about town to find. (There is a map) are going towards the local Hospice. <
George Washington could not tell a lie
"Honest Abe" was too honest to die
Donald Trump ad-libs
Incredible fibs
Leaving schoolchildren to wonder why
Our POTUS is really a jerk
His tweets are a childish smug smirk
To Trump's lasting shame
His management's lame
Its teamwork that makes the team work!