Best Schoolhouse Poems
In so many shades of black and white, I find you after all these years;
leaning against that old weathered clapboard schoolhouse,
high on the hill overlooking the Fundy Bay,
and again, I inhale the fragrance of those wild sea salt roses
and feel the ocean mist upon my face, as I look out at those
sunbeams dancing on the tops of those rolling waves.
There you are, in your hand-me-down dress,
with socks pooling around the tops of your shoes.
There, third row to the far left, sporting a home made bowl haircut,
and a smile of utter joy.
After all years, in so many shades of black and white,
I find that little lost girl, and I am a kid again.
In so many shades of black white, I find the true colors that are me.
~~~
Author: Elaine Cecelia George
Categories:
schoolhouse, childhood, introspection,
Form:
Free verse
The Empty Academy Schoolhouse
It stands on a vast green lot,
No trees to shelter it from heavy, gray clouds
on the rolling foothill horizon.
Its thin coat of white paint peels,
revealing bare, dry-rotted wood.
The rickety porch boards,
once sturdy under children’s energetic steps,
look about to collapse at the slightest wind gust.
What’s it like inside?
Puddles of water from the last rain?
Rat’s nest in the woodstove?
Any desks or yellowed books, pencils,
love notes left behind?
A soiled ribbon slid off some girl’s braid?
A chalkboard with spelling words
or arithmetic problems still on it?
What songs, prayers, or memorized poems
still echo off faded, white-washed walls?
When was the first day of school?
When was the last?
What became of all the children,
who once ran around laughing
all over this green meadow?
What happened to ball players,
clover-chain weavers,
kids who picked lupines and fiddlenecks
for their teacher?
Did they leave Academy,
or do they lie in the cemetery on a nearby hill?
Published in Song of the San Joaquin, Spring 2021 Issue
This old school house is in the tiny pioneer town of Academy, just outside of Fresno, California, near the Sierra Nevada foothills. Some of the descendants of the pioneer families still remain in the area.
Categories:
schoolhouse, history, nostalgia, school,
Form:
Free verse
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
Categories:
schoolhouse, nostalgia, school, school, me,
Form:
Rhyme
I remember you holding me in your arms
Rocking me gently while singing lullabies
I remember when you lived a short walk away
Relatives were local and get-togethers were the norm
I remember your amazing purple mohair sweater
You knit exquisitely and wore so gracefully
I remember your scented creams and signature ring
I never grew tired of holding your hand
And telling you how much I loved you
I remember watching in awe your bedtime routine
As you meticulously undid your braided coif
Dropping your soft wavy hair to your waist
I remember you never missed Sunday mass
And held on to that glow throughout the week
You knew about plants with their healing powers
Neighbors came to you for answers and advice
I remember how you would scrape savings for travel
Always working in visits to friends who had moved away
I remember the aroma of the pies you baked
After tireless hours of quilting, sewing, weaving
Embroidery, knitting, crocheting, and whatever else
I remember there was nothing you couldn’t do
You started tutoring me when I was three
And probably earlier as I was eager to learn
It was my favorite form of play
I remember hearing your schoolhouse stories
I’d picture a little house in a field and your teacher attire
Your turn-of-the-century class full of kids
Then I’d let you continue teaching me to read, write and count
Though I wasn’t yet of school age
I remember being uprooted and moving to the country
Leaving city life and you behind
I remember how good life was when I had you
To turn to for support and guidance
Or just for your warm bountiful embrace
I remember getting that gut wrenching feeling
That bitter call in the middle of the day
As I was told the crushing news
I would never again see, touch or hold you
How can I not remember
The inconsolable devastation that never dimmed
Published in my 24-page photo/anthology ~ALWAYS WITH ME~ 2020
AP: 1st place 2020
Submitted on September 26, 2017 for contest LOVE FOR MOVIE SCREEN sponsored by SILENT ONE - RANKED 2ND
Categories:
schoolhouse, first love, grandmother, i
Form:
Free verse
A canopy of innocence, invisible to me
hung over playful joy shielding all that would come to be.
The world was mud and grass and trees, oh, puddles,swings and bikes
shrieking, shouting, rampant running anywhere we liked.
A watchful eye as we ran by from neighbours way back when
our life we weaved in make-believe, way back when I was ten.
Fights and tears did not last long if anyone fell out
back to being friends next day, the rift forgot about.
We romped and larked, new friendships sparked wherever we would hang
our open door to rich and poor within our merry gang.
No hatred spite or bigotry existed in us then
for that was what the grown-ups did, way back when I was ten.
I'd often wander by myself for hours through the fields
and check the schoolhouse orchard, help myself to what it yields.
Blindly unafraid, there were no barriers to me
'till twilight fell, exploring everything that I could see.
No warnings from our elders about talking to strange men
the world seemed a much safer place way back when I was ten.
Just like my photo album, everything seemed black and white,
a mother's touch could heal the world, make everything alright.
Dad put food on table, Mum made sure our stomach's full
safe in our family unit we all felt invincible.
Sometimes I look around and think how nice to go again
back to that summer bubble where I lived when I was ten.
For contest 'Way back when I was ten', sponsor Kelly Deschler
Categories:
schoolhouse, childhood,
Form:
Rhyme
Something is happening there now
I know it, I can hear the lane full
Of children's voices, the lowing cow
Tramples on the peanut hull,
But not that, not that common routine
And not the buckets sitting still
On the kottas, nor Lawford in the ravine
And his cart rumbling up the hill
Not the blowing horn of the coming bus
And children running from far away
To reach the schoolhouse through the dust
Before the bus passes them in delay
Something is happening there, I know
I can hear the dogs barking now
And there among them my Benbow
Midst sticks supplied by the wounded bough
The mongoose will not escape today
Melbourne is putting fire in the pingwing patch
And I am here so far away
Now that my hens can lay and hatch
O deep in my blood, Jamaica is calling
Her golden breast foams in the mouth of the sea
And blue her mountains rise in the morning
Deep in her arms I long to be.
Categories:
schoolhouse, nature, places, uplifting
Form:
Rhyme
She never knew she had them
that the basket had been placed
upon her past and future
by the color of her face
He gazed upon the sunrise
at the shadows walking thin
entering the schoolhouse
but they wouldn’t let him in
She had no shoes – no fancy dress
could not read the hymnals prayers
sat outside as music played
a welcome to soothsayers
He wore a ring of ever-dirt
from which he sought release
razor eyes forever searching
bringing hunger to the feast
Their talents were the seeds that fell
upon harsh and bitter ground
gifts that withered on the vine
a talents loss forever bound
contest - The Parable of the Talents
sponsor – Holly Hippocampus
©10/5/2018
Categories:
schoolhouse, allegory,
Form:
Rhyme
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
Categories:
schoolhouse, imagination, inspirational, introspection, winter,
Form:
Free verse
Children in the schoolhouse
Chant a structured, uneasy song
“Risseldy-rosseldy
Mow-mow-mow"
Monkey Bars behind a bench...
She nervously lights a cigarette
Something is about to happen
A single crow lands.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ydLJtKlVVZw
Categories:
schoolhouse, bird, horror,
Form:
Verse
Not safe in God’s House
In trouble at the Schoolhouse
In danger at the White House
Especially, in our own house
We’re hunted like the old time
Prosecuted
And persecuted
Like breathing was a crime.
Too much racial hatred
This is a new, new apartheid
They want our blood, our sweat
For nothing, for pennies
They want us on our knees
Begging like a cheap pet
Like we have no self-worth
But we rather see early death
In lieu of losing our dignity
Our pride and our humanity.
Another sick and senseless massacre
Another day of mourning
Another day of torture
Our People are tired of suffering
Our safety is in jeopardy
No place to hide our heart, our soul
We can simply pray for a better journey
For better opportunities and a happier role.
We shall overcome
We are not afraid to fight
Until the last beat of the heart
Until the last bell of the bout
We will get Home
When we hear the last words
Of the amazing grace
We belong in this place
And this place belongs to us
We want Peace
But Justice first
We’re angry, hungry and athirst
To see the day when this nonsense
Will stop, will cease
Eating away our sense
Of Happiness
And Fairness
Like a Parisian cheese.
We shall overcome
Not safe in God’s Home
This is another day of sadness
Another journey of unhappiness.
Hebert Logerie
Copyright@June 2015, Hebert Logerie ,All Rights Reserved
Categories:
schoolhouse, america, black african american,
Form:
Rhyme
I.
Higgledy piggledy
Roger de Coverley
Fonder of hoofing it
Than of romance
Found himself typified
Characteristically
King of the Reels and the
Lord of the Dance.
II.
Willety wallety
William the Conqueror
Wanted his subjects to
Quail at his power,
Crowing to Londoners
Hyperdespotically,
“Look, everybody, I’ve
Built me a tower!”
III.
Rickety tickety
Wolfram von Eschenbach
Sought for a subject to
Fashion a tale;
Tiring of writing so
Eschatologically,
Rather, he turned to the
Quest of the Grail.
NB. The nonsense opening of a Double Dactyl was originally, and is still most frequently, "higgledy-piggledy", but it can be any alliterative pair of dactyls. Here, the opening of the second is from the adapted version of the Scots folksong "Wee Cooper o' Fife" in the schoolhouse sequence of Alfred Hitchcock's The Birds-- though some postings online mishear it as "willaby wallaby" or "willicky wallicky". The nonsense opening of the third is from Tom Lehrer's "The Irish Ballad".
Categories:
schoolhouse, dance, history, humorous, nonsense,
Form:
Double Dactyl
As I set here just remenessing
I thank God for his large blessing
I think of bygone days and the present
I remember living on this mountain as a small boy
It seemed my days were filled with much joy
From age of seven, eight and nine
I thought life was just fine
I would stay on this mountain for three more years
Then came shocking news, I was full of fears
My family moved, it seemed to me, to a distant land
I was confused and sad, and did not understand
From a very small one room schoolhouse
I went to a much larger one, and was quiet as a mouse
Then I realized I had started my long journey of a lifetime
But with my persistence, and Gods help, I would do just fine
And now as I start my twilight years
God has taught me "don't have those many fears"
And now God lets me temporarily enjoy
This very mountain I enjoyed as a boy
He says don't worry about tomorrow
You may not even have one sorrow
By Buzzie'
Oct 2001
Categories:
schoolhouse, childhood, inspirational, places, god,
Form:
I’ve hidden behind dumpsters, in alleys,
And under the schoolhouse steps
But Mr. Ted always finds me
And puts his hands up my dress,
While squeeze-squeezing my breasts
I would tell, but I want to live
And I’m afraid Sue Ellen’s dead
He used to give her his “gift”
Before he took me instead
And made me lick-lick his head
As I get older I’m pushing blades
Into my scarred up wrist
Somehow it makes the reality fade -
Cleanse- cleansing the dirtiness
Of his eyes, his words, his fists…
With a little more bleeding, I could be free
And sailing towards the sky
Never to see or feel his need
Poke-poking me against my thigh -
Thighs of steel are a lie
Would anyone miss me if I died?
Would anyone care besides Ted?
Would Mommy finally acknowledge the lies
Bleed-bleeding the water bright red?
Or would she again, bury her head?
7/19/12
Categories:
schoolhouse, angst, depression, me, me,
Form:
Quintain (English)
Born in the gullah cypress shade
of South Carolina
Dirt poor
Rich coffee bean skin
Teardrop-shaped pearl eyes ...
midnight black forest feminine
Uneducated and illiterate ...
Living swamp school books
was her God-given natural wit
Wisdom which breathed from the dark soil
Trampled upon by educated elephants
with lazy literary tusks,
whom never once had to truly toil
Pay the peons in euro peanuts
was the turn-of-the-century attitude
Race the stallions and mares
without benefit of schoolhouse shoes
Granny love
how often was
the horse buggy whip laid upon you
Uneducated and illiterate ...
opposites were u and i
Born of the same branch,
my soul extend to her an olive leaf sigh
Uneducated and illiterate
was you,
but papa swore
it would never be I
Granny you were the wisest woman
I ever knew
for twenty four years til the day you died
Categories:
schoolhouse, grandmother, loss, love,
Form:
Bio
Inside
the dead schoolhouse
an old pump-organ plays itself
at dusk.
Categories:
schoolhouse, music, nostalgia, places,
Form:
Cinquain