School Free Verse Poems | Examples
These School Free Verse poems are examples of Free Verse poems about School. These are the best examples of Free Verse School poems written by international poets.
And so I will thide from you
the same old stories over and over aqain
until my library finally closes,
In the hall,
Pungent odor of books and closets
Filter into my domain
Which belongs to my inner sanctum-
When night comes rushing out
That's when my imaginary friends
and I come to hit the gloss of breeze
Waiting and reading...
The library is my school
If you tell anvone about us,
About the privacy of shelf- life
I will hunt and destroy you...
I may look like Sleeping Beauty
But I am Maleficent:
And should people ask where I've roamed
in the thick of nightfall,
Just choke in petty lies
only a few know of imagination...
its hidden flavor of fantasy-- unbidden,
A riddle of pilgrimage residing within. Hush!
She’s the only other girl in class.
She laughs at me in the hall,
pushes me, calls me names,
spreads rumors like wildfire—
everyone hears them, everyone believes them.
I want to scream.
I want to tell someone.
But I’m scared.
Scared no one will believe me,
not even the teachers.
So I swallow it all.
Every insult.
Every rumor.
Every push and shove.
I bottle it up.
I smile at school like everything’s fine,
but inside I’m shaking, breaking.
Her words stick to me like glue.
When everything is torn away from you,
when the tapestry of your life is unraveled thread by thread,
what is yours to hold?
Your name,
the one with a cultural meaning that has become heavily shadowed,
is not yours anymore.
That was one of the first things they replaced.
Your native language is not yours, either.
Seclusion and shame are now the price to pay for speaking your mother tongue.
Your clothing is not even yours,
all garments of a foreign land.
They are constricting and unfamiliar.
Your education is no longer yours,
as they've changed the school system to only serve them.
You are left with nothing and cannot hold on to anything.
The tapestry has been ripped to shreds and is thought to be beyond repair.
How could you maintain your sense of identity,
when they proclaim it's not yours anymore?
I was just a runaway,
Running from everyone who might break me,
Even the ones who have stood by my side.
I was running from every social outing,
Because I was afraid of it going awry,
My friends begged me to go out with them,
But I stayed home by myself.
I ran from every hard decision,
I was petrified of making the wrong decision,
Terrified of it hurting those around me,
So I went through it all on my own.
I was running from my own emotions,
I never talked about how I felt,
Even though I was dying inside,
Because I didn’t want people to see me differently.
I was running from my favorite person,
The blonde girl that took me under her angel wings,
Because I was afraid of hurting her,
I was afraid of her hurting me.
I was running from my mom and dad,
Because I was scared of letting them down,
I was running from my best friend,
Because I thought I wasn’t enough for her.
I was nothing more than a runaway,
But there’s one thing I’ve learned,
I couldn’t run from heartbreak,
Without running from happiness.
I fly at night, all over the cosmos, not just in our hemisphere
my husband says my soul is gone, mouth open, I look dead
there is no way to rouse me, my spirit is soaring
dreamland is graveyard city to me; I am no longer in body
my dreams are not remembered, do I have them?
there is not one sliver of a memory about them
Are they in color or black and white?
I know not, but I sometimes wake up hearing the last line of a poem.
Daydreaming is another story, I can recall each one of those.
I develop an orphanage, an animal rescue center, and a newspaper.
Two of these things might be obsolete now, but they weren’t in the sixties.
I spent most of my grade school hours daydreaming
My husband says he could never get me out if there was a fire.
If there was a flood, I might be lucky enough to float out
But until I hit my chest with a hard whomp sound, I am in dreamland
I fly at night, all over the cosmos, not just in our hemisphere.
scholars pontificate
poets write
draft eddies of dust lick
the linoleum hallways —
biting bits of sarcasm,
spitting out bunnies,
landing in their holes,
filling learning gaps
in a lecture hall 2B
someone wonders out loud —
which ceiling tile
holds the most holes.
drifting poetic dust —
forgotten, fallen from above.
in a scholar’s crucible
fiery words ignite —
lighting the lectern,
searing studious ears
seated too near.
meter and rhyme
speak from another time,
interpreted by choice,
by another voice —
the priest of prose.
odes of old,
now retold,
lean on crutches
of broken context.
aging artifacts breathe
stirring the dust
on Dewey shelves —
the Lazarus text
rises —
for those who listen.
scholars pontificate
poets write
It’s the last day of school and everyone is finally becoming friends
While we all start to understand
Old sad sentiments
I’m outside on the soccer field signing yearbooks
Name loopy
Hearts scribbled quickly
And for some reason the sun already seems to be setting
Mason and noah steal a kiss when they think no one is looking
Samantha gives her number to callie
It’s the last day of school and everyone is finally tolerating eachother
After years of longing to leave
We finally have a reason to stay
Those old sad sentiments suddenly seem cruel
And evil teachers cry while receiving hugs
The sun sets on one last day that you will all be together
The bus ride home is bittersweet
You let tears fall as my head rattles
Roughly on the window
Its my last day of school nd I hope that we will still be friends after this drive
When I move away
Call me when adages start to feel to accurate
Or when sad sentiments feel too real
I promise to always pick up the phone
Show off dance moves
Style and grace smooth
Drinking and enjoying the music
Romance faceoff
Disco Ball flow
Dancing holding on tight and don’t let go
Couples after couples
Dance Floor of encouragement of get nerve and get up and dance
Once in a lifetime moment
You may not have this chance again
Embrace the closeness
Don’t be surprised if you can a sudden kiss
That split second you will always remember that moment of that certain woman or man
Chemistry beyond the school experiment
Eye to Eye caption
Dance and love forming together
Heart on fire
The impact of desire
Boom Boom love
Explosive insight.
The moon so close,
Darkening, what I know!
It's all upto the stars,
I wish, it never fall like me.
Night on my mind,
Sharp the nightmare hits.
Me and mid 3 o'clock,
Takes me to memories.
And whatever I remembered!
A hope of morning prayer,
By school and closed notes,
It's up to your eyes,
Wherever it takes me,
I wish, takes me to memories.
Have you forgotten?
The letters carried by books,
And messages I shared.
Close enough to bring me,
From far away to you.
Now, it's all upto the star,
I wish, it takes me to memories.
It hurts me sometimes,
That now you are away.
My eyes shut by yellow,
Still all dark I see beside.
It pinch a needle in my heart,
And flow of blood takes me,
Takes me to memories.
Paris is about attitude and the art of slow living, where nothing’s urgent and everything’s fine.
But if you’re in school, that’s not true. I just began a group project (gp), and to paraphrase William Shakespeare, the storm has come again! GPs are big affairs with slow moving parts, like conceptualization and collaboration - and all that happens before any actual work is done.
Some cultures treat deadlines like casual suggestions but I get absolutely hinky in the loom of deadlines - I pace, chew fingernails and fret.
The other day, a TA (teaching assistant) asked me if I was trying to “prove something.”
The French invented ‘laze faire.’ after all, but I’m American enough to have dismissively said,
“I’d like to prove I can complete the assignment on time.”
Let’s get poet-y..
A trial comes, like a cloud, so dark it should thunder
but there’s no bromide, offer of shelter or tent to mock the storm,
it’s for us - as strangers - to return results which opinion crowns fair.
.
.
Let’s sing the blues:
O.K. I'll Play the Blues - Deanna Bogart
Emotions and Math - Margaret Glaspy
Preachin' Blues by Larkin Poe
IQ test has some serious flaws
one is blatant
the child is shown a caricature of a head
the examiner asks “what is missing?”
His body is missing
His car is missing
His phone is missing.
His freckles are missing.
The child is supposed to say his eyebrows are missing.
I give this test, and I often have to look up the correct answer on this one.
Other answers that seem a lot better are given no credit
I wish someone told me,
How hard growing up is,
How lonely high school is,
How fragile you are.
I’ve been through so much,
More than most people my age,
And there are days,
When I wonder how I survived.
There are some days,
People ask me what’s wrong,
I smile and tell them “nothing”,
When I’m actually dying inside.
Every day,
I get left out of every group,
I sit in the back and watch them laugh,
I watch them be there for each other.
People tell me they are here for me,
But I always get left out,
In a building of 1,000 people,
I’ve never felt so alone.
Bingo, my most loyal pup,
she popped up whenever my mood was down,
to mop up the grief in my silence
with a gulp of my tears seasoned with brine.
Wherever my feet led, she trotted,
night and day, she trailed my shadow.
Her lids never closed till she heard my snore
and up in a flash at my first morning yawn.
One day she followed me to school—
we both planned it without my Mum's consent,
I walked ahead, she darted in front and back of me—
and everywhere around me with joy.
First time crossing the expressway,
she roamed the yard till the watchman chased her out,
we waved goodbye—her final one—
before a car crushed her on the way back home.
Jennifer, was a kind loving soul, who gave of her life to those whom she cared deeply for, but nobody heard, seen, cared for her soul because she was born from an unholy family.
Drugs, alcohol were her toys, yelling, screaming, fighting was their free time activity. She was burn to a single mom who bore 8 kids, she grew up on the wrong side of the tracks.
She is survived by 5 brothers, one sister, two kids who grew up together to become wonderful humans. Numerous family members who didn’t bother to get to know her existence, said she was too needy, insensitive, uneducated in life’s daily struggles.
No big accomplishments to brag about, just a high school diploma all while trying to survive Hell. She was treated like a invilent, .. she wrote Amateur poetry nobody read.
She was followed in death by her mom, brother David. Please don’t stand at my grave and weep, for while I was on this earth, no invites to parties, coffee meetups did she receive, if you couldn’t love me on thus earth, please don’t cry fake tears, the time has come for you to like me, disappear..
He sets out to the river before the sun rises,
He asks the spirits to guide him before leaving his house,
Standing at the edge of the river,
He looks up at the sky praying for the blessings of the Divine.
He casts his net into the river waiting patiently,
Sometimes he sings songs of folklore,
A large catch will bring good sales,
Allowing him to support his family.
The sun pours on him,
He calls it a blessing,
He tugs on the net,
He smiles when it has done its bidding,
He pulls up the net summoning the help of the spirits.
Sometimes he goes home with a few catches,
To his chagrin,
He sits alone in front of his house,
Worried about the upkeep of his family,
Bothered about his children not being sent away from school,
He committed to paying a certain amount biweekly until their fees are cleared.
Sometimes when he’s lost in thought,
He hears his mother’s voice,
She reminds him that water is an unending gift of nature,
So also are the resources that inhabit its depth,
Today may not bring much,
But hope in tomorrow will bring abundance,
He smiles with teary eyes.
November 4, 2025.