Grade Poems | Examples

WOKE

When white lies plot the course 
Oscillating between trust and deception 
Kindling radical dialogue with smoking tongues 
Escalating unilateral world supremacy

PEACE BREATHES

PEACE BREATHES
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
fall day
closes
chill wraps
around
painted woods
moon
keeps watch

SUMMER'S FINAL SIGH

SUMMER'S FINAL SIGH
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
golden leaves descend
falling softly, twirling slow
summer's final sigh

Night Terrors

The shadow peers through my window every night,
I hear it before I see it,
a hush of breath against the glass.

I go to the window but it’s empty,
just the black lawns stretched
like a dark skin over the earth.

I feel at a loss to protect my daughter,
her small chest rising
with the oceanic rhythm of sleep.

Could it be—
but it isn’t—
a trick of light, a memory?

I don’t think that I should tell you,
but I am—please believe me,
I would never invent this kind of fear.

The air bends, as if something leans in,
as if it wants me to know
I am not alone.

I press my palm flat to the pane,
the cold glass,
the nothing beyond.

I remember my own mother’s silence,
the way she turned her face from me
when I told her of the man in the hall.

Now my child sleeps while I stand guard,
and the shadow keeps its vigil,
patient, endless,
hungry as night itself.

Researchers Have Identified The Gene Responsible For Aging

they’ve found it,
the little bastard,
the switch inside us all
that ticks down like a
bomb.

they call it discovery,
a holy grail
in a white lab coat.

the headlines say,
we can stop the body
from rusting,
from falling apart,
from dying.

but don’t get too happy—
it’s not for you,
or me,
or the kid coughing
on a hospital bed,
his mother counting
change in a paper cup
by the soda machine.

the poor won’t see it,
they never do.
the miracle pill,
the nano cure,
the second life—
all locked in a vault
of stock options and patents.

we’ll keep aging
in dirty apartments,
while the rich buy time
like it’s whiskey
at the corner bar.

Where The Dead Go And Why It Matters

I ask not shadows whence they come,
Nor where their silent footfalls lead;
The grave is mute, the mouth is dumb,
Yet still it speaks, above the land.

The dead are writ in flesh and stone,
In echoes cast from ice to flame;
Their march is onward, not alone—
We follow, bearing blood and name.

They go where time has lost its teeth,
Beyond the crown, beyond the rod;
Their ashes drift in winds beneath,
Their spirits rise and rest in God.

It matters not what tombs proclaim,
Nor how the mourners bow and weep;
For in our veins survives their claim,
The dead still guard the lives we live.

So let me walk, though night is vast,
Unfearing, steadfast, to the last.

Face

Fine face is a mirror,                                                                                                A good smile is its arc,                                                                                      Courage is its armour,                                                                          Emotion is its architect

Lips

Lovely to behold, the curves
Inviting to be kissed, touched
Pretty quickening my nerves
Sweet nectar when our lips clutched.

PUMPKIN KING

PUMPKIN KING 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Lo! A sight to behold, a vision wonderous,
a majestic pumpkin, round and full of grace
with skin, a masterpiece in orange, sublime.

With fingertips soft, I trace its curves,
marveling at how nature creates and serves,
for every line and curve crafted by Nature’s hand. 

This one pumpkin, oh how it spoke to me
whispering tales of fall's delight,
of warmth, comfort, and cozy nights.

I cradled it close, the pumpkin king,
a symbol of reigning abundance, seasonal delight
for within its depths, flavors rich and seeds galore.

With reverence, I carried off my find,
grateful for the magic of Nature’s simple things--
the pumpkin king, perfect in form and design.

Days grow short, and nights draw near.
On our porch pumpkin king reigns, round and true,
a symbol of seasonal change.

RISING SUN

RISING SUN
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
softly, sun rises
dances across horizon
warm and comforting

kraken bagged his first clipper ship

kraken bagged his first clipper ship on a Monday afternoon.
I love the feel of it in the bag, he told his cousin Swoon.
Swoon thought that keeping a ship in a bag was bad luck.
He asked how the creatures would breathe, but
Kraken did not give a gut

sexy alligator sue

sexy alligator Sue sat alone, nursing her drink at the bar
the umbrella in her rum turned a bit, not very far
Whispered to her you are going to find the love of our life
Along came an English man, but he was with his third wife

Sue knew she was a hottie, she played it to the max
The next fellow she saw, was carrying a super large sax
He played sorrowful blues music, which caused her to blush
Against a thin wall, you could hear a toilet flush

This is a dive, thought sexy alligator, but I dare not give up now
Next potential date brought his mother, a persnickety cow
Women who eat in bars are pathetic, she said to Sexy Alligator Sue
Pointing her hoof in a nasty way – mean lady, that cow Lou.

william wee the shy walrus

William Wee the whacky walrus from Waikiki
brought along a book, a banana and a ukelele
the book was about aliens, he was creeped out about them
the banana was rotten in places, we cut it down on a whim

the ukelele was great, and William Wee’s singing voice fine
He sang songs to us all day, I believe I counted twenty-nine
You cannot say he is not a party all by himself, my dad said.
William Wee was humble and shy; his ears promptly turned red

highland bull that headed our way

highland bull came to us on a lovely spring day
we could tell by his high kicks he was ready to play
a pink butterfly with plethora of dots futtered his way
He was not shy in giving her a “hey, hey, hey, hey!”

Wondered if he had wandered from the Meadows in Bray
Had no idea how to get him back there that day
A full schedule meant he would have to stay and play
We did give him feed, and a soft pace to lay

The pallet we made him was filled with the softest hay
Not his fault he is lost, said my cousin Lucie McKay
When we returned from work, he had meandered away
We were thrilled we had a Highland Bull for almost a day

flower faerie with striped socks

flower faerie with the striped socks is fine
We watched her bless our garden all down the line
The tulips loved her as did the daisies and the tiger lily.
Frankly said Marigold, her socks look rather silly.

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