SAVOUR THIS, MY CHILD
Nothing reflects reality
Like God’s supreme beauty.
Look into the mirror, child,
And see His greatest reward:
Savour it in thanksgiving, for a while:-
No matter how many times you do,
You’ll always see God’s precious beauty
Looking back at you: this will always be true:-
Know that your beauty has its fragility, needing
To be anchored and solidified before it can be
Sanctified utility: codifying its glorifying liberty:-
Bobby still remembers his High School Sophomore year
Rarely do his other memories still ring so clear
But he also recalls letters to Christine (his girl at the time)
They are so vivid he can quote every line
Sometimes they skipped their classes just to talk for a while,
He adored that girl to madness,
her brilliance and style
That year was precious,that year was a bit wild
He's not living with any regrets,
That year and that girl left impressions he'll never forget
By: J.N.R Dutton
Parang kailan lang,
ako'y takot pumasok sa paaralan.
Ewan ko, 'di ko maintindihan
kung bakit ganito
ang aking nararamdaman.
Sa kay habang panahon
na iginugol ko sa paaralan,
ako'y nasa ika-labindalawa na nabaitang.
Oo, minsan ako'y napapagod na rin,
pero ako'y magtitiis pa rin.
Ilang buwan na lang,
ako'y magtatapos na sa sekondarya.
Ang daming memorya
ang bumabalik sa akin.
Nagkaroon ng maraming kaibigan
na hindi ko talaga malilimutan.
Dahil sa paaralan,
mas nakilala ko ang aking katauhan.
Malungkot mang isipin,
ito ay isa sa mga susi na magdadala sa akin
sa buhay na aking nais marating.
Johnny grew up hard,
where the streets were mean
His wits were usually sharp,
and his eyes were keen
Gigi was bright,
and a high school beauty queen,
John thought they were worlds apart
Not just different leagues,
and even though she made his soul sing
He thought:
"No way she'd ever go for a guy like me"
But turned out he was wrong, so pleasantly
Twenty years on and the life they've built
Couldn't be more amazing
By: J.N.R Dutton
Three thousand chairs are crammed across the field,
A sea of cheap black gowns and melting ice.
We’re sitting trapped without a sunlit shield,
While sweat drips down my neck to mock me twice.
The principal yells names at breakneck pace,
A steady roar from "Aaron" down to "Zane."
I’m stuck somewhere around the middle space,
My rear is numb, my brain feels like pure pain.
By letter M, the afternoon turns harsh,
Lost in a sea of gowns forevermore.
Are we graduating or trapped in a marsh?
The kid beside me starts to nod and snore.
Three thousand names read off without a pause—
I only stayed because my mom said I had to!
I experienced early on the block
Don't respect a rebel
So I etched my own lane, created
On truth,
And battled every day just to
Earn my come-up
' Cause the streets only fear a real rebel
One who won't fold, won't flex from the truth.
Some twilights I bled for the cost of truth
But discomfort never immobilized my
Hierarchy rise,
It only amplified the fire in a rebel.
Rebel, truth, rise; the lore I transmit through
The shadows
WHEN SPRING CAME
With spring, pollen came;
With pollen, the achoo came:
Juicy fruits came too:-
dancing in the wind
like a queen on prom night
tiara slanted
old friends with spouses
and new lives
long lost communications
people moved away
gathered in one room
brought together by one thing
"high school reunion"
we talk about old times
nothing seems to have changed that much
just our age and looks
our memories stayed the same
we exchange numbers and addresses
promises of keeping in touch
losing track ago
for another five years
There once was a girl of young age
Who wanted so much to engage
Her boyfriend's attention
I wanted to mention
This is not a room, but a stage
Someone who will
Treasure my work.
Someone who will value my work.
Someone who will be
Interested in my work,
And every word and alphabet
On each pages,
Is out there.
My worst mistake
Was to ever think
You would appreciate a piece of paper.
how I wish you had,
That piece of paper
had every word I wanted to say to you,
Every adoration and thanks
I wanted to say but I couldn't.
But ,It over
It all in the bin.
It all seems worthless to someone,
Because it just a piece of paper.
But that same paper
Is the only one that listens
To me and never judges me.
That piece of paper is
What is healing me.
What helps me tell the truth,
And act as my therapist.
That piece of paper
is the only true friend I have,
And yet it befitting place was the bin.
But my pen
will never stop dancing
on my one true friend.
Because no one ,
dictate to the drum,
When to stop sounding,
Except it's drummer.
My desk is a graveyard of unsent letters,
each addressed to you,
sealed with the weight of words unspoken.
Maybe someday, when you’re far away enough
that your eyes can’t search mine for the truth,
I’ll send you every word you once inspired…
perhaps when “Mirza Ghalib’s” city lights
take you far from here.
So you’ll finally know you were
the poem I never posted but always kept.
~Nilashree
In the quiet creases of your wallet,
Among bills and borrowed time
you carry a moment of me
A photograph turned talisman
Tucked away with ur metro card....
folded between everyday storms
and small sunlit errands.
I wonder, if he knows
Those pictures arent just paper to me,
it is a relic of our almost-forever,
A forever that brushed past us and kept going
Like I am the bookmark
in the unfinished novel of us,
I wonder…
when he pays for tea
does the shopkeeper notice
how his fingers lingers a second longer
And he pauses for a heartbeat
Right over the pocket
Where my picture lives
And though the photograph is still,
the story is breathing
paused, yet not ended
waiting for the day
he no longer needs ink and paper
to remember
how much I mean to him.
~Nilashree
Music's for the Mind, Closure's for the Soul
When we were young and back in school,
Our parents thought we played the fool.
With country, rock, and rolling tunes,
We danced away the afternoons.
We grooved until the day was through,
When there was nothing else to do.
Turned up loud with ears blown out,
We'd lose ourselves and scream and shout.
With heavy metal on display,
The driving beat took us away.
Through love songs, ballads, stadium rock,
We thought the music wouldn't stop.
At high school dances, lovers bloomed,
Our minds wrapped up, our hearts would swoon.
But here we are, past fifty years,
And time has shifted all the gears.
Instead of Walkmans, we hold phones,
Bluetooth speakers, and headphones.
The songs still play to help us cope,
To fill our rushing thoughts with hope.
We still need rhythms to unwind,
Because the music's for the mind.
But looking back across the days,
Beyond the fading, youthful haze,
We finally find what makes us whole—
For closure's only for the soul.
OMNISCIENT OMISSION
My poem forcibly removed from the
text book by a higher authority.
Like a deleted scene cut from of a
film reel of an old movie.
To be lost and never found again.
The themes of the anthology no
longer being fully explored or
understood.
How history can repeat itself.
Comparable to the Nazis.
All copies must be destroyed.
The words I spoke
and the words I wrote.
Torn from the pages.
Torn from my hand.
Torn from the student’s minds.
Ironic how English teachers do not
understand the English of my work,
yet they teach the violent tragedies of Shakespeare…
“How shall I murder him, Iago?”
“Romeo must not live.”
“Macbeth does murder sleep."
Now, all that Remains is a page as
blank as closed minds…
“This page is left intentionally blank.”
High School Categories
Definition | What is High School in Poetry?
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.