Long Diplomas Poems
Long Diplomas Poems. Below are the most popular long Diplomas by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Diplomas poems by poem length and keyword.
Half-dead people, hearts turned cold,
Conceived in shadows, in theft enrolled;
Born in crime, in darkness fed,
On stolen wealth their spirits bred.
In a land where corruption wears a crown,
And broken laws are written down—
Where disorder sits in power’s seat…
Who will save this nation from defeat?
Murder and impurity—tradition’s disguise,
Justice crushed before our eyes.
War and killing shape the norm,
Violence taught in every form.
Cruelty carves the human mind,
Greed has left no soul behind.
A war for self, no truth, no light…
Who will rise to end this plight?
Success achieved by fleeing class,
False diplomas made to pass.
Degrees bought with flesh and gold,
Silent scandals, never told.
Wisdom buried under lust,
Education turned to dust.
Truth is sold and conscience chained…
Who will break what binds this land?
Jobs are granted through a name,
Not through merit, skill, or aim.
Power passes hand to hand,
While idle youth across the land
Watch their dreams dissolve in air,
Choked by silence and despair.
Hope grows faint, ambition dies…
Who will hear the young ones’ cries?
Blessings preached for selfish gain,
False prophets feast on others’ pain.
They fleece the flock they claim to guide,
While truth and justice are denied.
The sheep are lost, devoured instead,
Far from green pastures once they led.
Sacred trust is torn apart—
Even the cross now bears a wounded heart…
Who will save this nation from the dark?
Yet hope still breathes beneath the pain,
A quiet spark, a rising flame.
Not kings nor gold will make us free,
But hearts awake to dignity.
When truth is lived and courage stands,
And justice walks across these lands—
The light will rise, the dark will fall…
For we, together, shall save us all.
Well, well"aint seen nothin like me"?
No one is shocked a person of darker pigment can pass a football or do anything they set out to dream with heart in hard work. I think you better stick with a spork, instead of hotknifing that herb, rubbing that lambp of piper sheeptoslaughter jerk.
Catch more bees with honey, plus you can use that plastic spoon to dig your way out of the backstabbery,
but Hollywood Idols love their trophys
especially silver spooned ones, Campbell's Chunky for coddled athletes, who got nothin else to do
but compete for biggest cat in a cradle,
Golden icons on the silver screen.
"bet they never considered me"???
Is there anybody else? I ask you, seriously?
Now I'm with you at the oscars those old Satanic, "Elites" only give awards
Like diplomas in the schools of mystery it apparently seems,
as Necromancers of the record industry getalongs and benedict prostitutes, keeping an ear to the breeze,
you don't want to be in that number,
the Saints ain't no kind of football team. The game is on, we need team leaders, not divides of conquering.
It's better to have a little humility, better to have your soul than to have to whole world at your feet in servitude, for athletic ability?
I don't want some black child to feel left out, underdeveloped, overlooked, that's my little brother, my little sister.......C!?
anyone can clearly see from watching Nickelodeon that people like Ms. Downs are underbooked, a stage of perceived demographic,
it happens like a fairy tale, till their claws tithe Capt. Hook.
Commodities we are, playing a part, innocense took,
trafficking, tracking pings, by Disney, by English Queens, blood exploited by achy hearts in the ritual bloodletting, usually on set, when the Mother goes missing.
Queue, in my nation, is a customary circumstance,
Women, each day, stand in queues for municipal water;
Young and old, before government ration stores, stand in trance,
Youths, with diplomas, stand in queues for the imprimatur...!
Banks have long queues and the A.T.M counters have no less,
One could find, in front of Public Washrooms, the longest queues;
Sure, one could read on the faces of those in queues, big stress,
Yet, in a system where there is no system, can one choose...?
As queue has become part of our life we seldom anguish,
We have accepted and resigned to this fate, merrily;
We make friends with the one near us and, hence, never languish,
We take, hence, our physical and psychic aches airily...!
Though an imminent evil, queue teaches me endurance,
This, in turn, molds me and brings to life a vast difference...!!!
Classmates — Back in Time
by Kevin Davis 2024
Just the other day, I paused at dusk,
Sifting through a box marked “school.”
Inside lay yearbooks — creases worn,
Smiles frozen in time’s gentle pull.
Teachers and classmates, familiar as breath,
Once roamed those locker-lined halls —
Four fleeting years of chatter and change,
Echoes caught in cinder block walls.
So where did friends go, where do they live,
What do they do with their time?
Are they happy, are they content,
Are they satisfied with how they use their mind?
Some leapt toward campuses lush and wide,
Chasing knowledge like a breeze —
Dorm-room debates and midnight oil,
Midterms rustling autumn leaves.
They became the dreams their parents spoke,
Diplomas framed in quiet pride,
Following maps of purpose and chance,
To futures they shaped and amplified.
So where did friends go, where do they live,
What do they do with their time?
Are they happy, are they content,
Are they satisfied with how they use their mind?
Others stepped into workday rhythms,
Brimming with resolve —
Steel-toed boots or office chairs,
They let their talents evolve.
Paychecks turned into baby shoes,
Mortgages, and Friday night grills —
Love found early, steady and bright,
Blooming in everyday thrills.
So where did friends go, where do they live,
What do they do with their time?
Are they happy, are they content,
Are they satisfied with how they use their mind?
Some answered a greater call to serve,
In boots, fatigues, and creed —
Letters sent from foreign lands,
Written in dust and dignity’s seed.
Whether drafted or drawn by honor’s flame,
They bore both pride and pain —
Many came home with deeper truths,
And stars stitched into their name.
So where did they all go, where do they live,
What do they do with their time?
Are they happy, are they content,
Are they satisfied with how they use their mind?
Then I closed that yearbook gently,
Its pages worn like a friend’s old coat,
And reached for voices I once knew,
Chasing echoes their hearts still wrote.
We met again beneath summer skies,
Where laughter healed the space between —
And found that though we’d wandered far,
The roots of us remained unseen.
Now we know where we went, where we live,
And what we do with our time —
Most seem happy and content,
And satisfied with how we use our mind.
The Band Concert
It was not a typical musical concert on an indoor stage,
but a marching band concert—and a very special one to me.
I sat with family on bleachers that sunny day as
the glorious band’s thunderous sounds filled my ears,
and my chest vibrated wildly with the powerful music
from brass, woodwinds, percussion, and resounding drums.
As my heart beat in sync with the strong pounding rhythm,
such deep patriotic emotion fully engulfed me, and I
could feel my heart fill up with pride as it beat with
the thrill of that music and with the vision of those great
young men and women in huge formations, marching
on their way to receive diplomas and off to serve our country.
Then I saw him, our dear son, marching within that "Long Gray Line",
stepping in unison with fellow classmates to that awesome music.
The wondrous relentless rhythm from those drums and horns,
together with the artistic and intricate merging formations,
engulfed my whole being as tears filled my eyes with pride and joy—
on that special day—at that one-time special event—in May 1981...
Sandra M. Haight
~2nd Place~
Contest: Any Poem Written in 2015
Sponsor: Laura Loo
Judged: 07/16/2016
~Honorable Mention~
Contest: The Concert
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
Judged: 06/10/2015
Humanity
The pagan pilgrimage, sun-worshippers frequently make
Latter-day phenomenon, take off on a Bronze Age break
Constellations change position, solstices realign
Tropic of Capricorn peaks, Cancer starts its slow decline
Astrologers reassure us, the end is not bespoke
Astronomers can’t sleep, has a supernova awoke?
Healthy cells deconstruct inexorably from their core
Runaway chain reactions, laying waste forever more
Be that as it must, cosmic cataclysms generate thrust
Comets are slightly nudged, on a collision course with us?
Ancients believed them omens, wraiths of impending slaughter
Those billion ton tailed curveballs, catalysed Earth with water
Modern man searches for answers, drowning in misnomers
Melding PhD honours, with chatbot E-diplomas
Teleporting entangled particles, throws back a hack
Time travelling marvel, rewinds the real Bronze Age back?
Absurdness seems lame, yet concomitantly germane
Hawking conserved energy, by merely using his brain
Newton had a bachelors, kept him celibate stable
He’d balls of steel for sure, alas no bearings on that cradle?
Information cannot be destroyed, only zeitgeists can
Synthesised is truth, in the malleable hands of man
Life’s more delicate, gravitas hidden behind a smile
Like tales that flightless birds, buried heads in denial
Ostriches evolved kick-ass legs, and win the biped race
They dig shallow pits in sand, not complex black holes in space
One squawked this revelation before zooming off to die:
“Humankind’s the sole species, with good reason to ask why”?
Our caps flew like confetti.
Thank god I customized mine.
I'll keep it as a memento of all-nighters,
friendships formed in the academic trenches,
dismissive professors and group-project-tortures.
This isn’t another ‘drunk girl’ holiday, despite obvious similarities.
Our parents, sisters, brothers, and grandmothers are here.
We came in doe-eyed, holding overpriced planners,
and enough provisions for two year Mars missions.
We hoped to discover friends, decent Wi-Fi signals
and perhaps our adult selves.
Now we're holding diplomas, those future-proofing talismans.
Mine’s in molecular biophysics and biochemistry.
Which is wry, because when I was in high school,
my sister accused me of not knowing how to boil water.
I've been asked "What’s next?" a thousand times In the last month.
I have plans—but I was dying to shrug and say, “that’s tomorrow’s problem,” like I’ve spent major duckets, degree wise, but remain a ditzy blonde.
The standard graduate answer, I’ve heard, is "I dunno."
(though honestly, it’s a great answer).
Congratulations, all of you graduating overachievers out there—everywhere.
Go forth, be fabulous and find that next big dream.
Can you believe we actually did this?
Argh! I gotta go, someone wants another picture.
.
.
Songs for this:
What Dreams Are Made Of by Evann McIntosh
Summer Wind by Robert Mosci
Tomorrow by Wings
The Return of the Prodigal Poet
When the crystal bell rang I entered the classroom of dreams,
they sat in their desks like wax statues breathing slowly,
the rest had vanished into the fog of time they looked at me like an apparition,
they inscribed me with moon ink in the magic catalog of absences.
What are you staring at I said in my voice that trembled slightly,
I was absent traveling through worlds I will remain here floating,
I was in the north where the sky danced in vivid multicolored auroras,
then in the south I plunged into a forest of white perfumed jasmine.
Like a silk sheet I floated freely in the arms of warm wind,
I even have the glowing photograph with a girl on the golden sand beach,
I was valedictorian lighting up the room with diplomas of silver stars,
what do I do now with the absences floating like petals in the air.
They looked at me with a sweet sadness like the bitter honey of autumn,
they didn't utter a word but their eyes spoke in profound silence,
you would have said their hearts were bleeding for me the lost one,
I answered them in thought to the strangers imprisoned in their wax routine.
Then the Examiner entered wrapped in a violet shadow cloak,
he carried on his shoulder a lead swallow singing metal melodies,
oh if you knew what he whispered in my ear with a black velvet voice,
the secret that changes destinies and opens the gates of hidden worlds.
I was a spendthrift of dreams and colors through nameless and mapless lands,
valedictorian in the academy of life where I learned the language of stars,
returning home to the classroom that awaited me like a forgotten hive,
where old souls welcomed me into their circle of pale light.
THE SHEER NOTION OF SURVIVING SEVERE TERRORIST THREATS HOME INVASIONS FROM MY STALKERS SEARCHING FOR OBITUARIIES HIGH SCHOOL DIPLOMAS MARRIAGE CERTIFICATES MILLITARY RECORDS OUTDATED CANCEL EXPIRED DEACTIVATED ID CARDS RANDOMLY ALTERING IMMUNIZATIONS RECORDS PASSPORTS MY STALKER BELIEVED SHE COULD ACTUALLY EXTORT MY HUSBANDS PURPLE HEART MEDAL HACKING INTO COMPUTERS TV AMAZON ACCOUNTS FINDING MY COLLECTION NON TAXABLE PENNY SENDING PRAYERS TO MY ENEMIES CORRUPT FEMALE MELVIN PURVIS OBSSESSED WITH MY LIFE HENCE MY DEATH MY SPOUSE MY FAMILY INCLUDING DECEASED LOVED ONES OBITUARIES UNAFRAID OF YOUR THREATS I FOUND YOUR TROJAN HORSE FROM VERIZON TO YAHOO TO APOLLO BACK TO YAHOO VIRUS MALWARE DISCOVERED YOUR TRASH THAT KNOCK OUT VERIZON CUSTOMERS TWISTED YOU TRIED TO INSTALL ON MY OLD COMPUTER HACKING INTO PERSONAL FILES MEDICAL RECORDS BILL PAYING RECIEPTS MULTIPLIED BY MELVIN PURVIS SUBTRACT JOHN DILLINGER AL CAPONE ADD NON TAXABLE PENNY DIVIDED BY ONE PHENNING BITTE DATA BREACH IDENTITY FRAUD CYBER ATTACK NOT A LEGAL TENDER BLUEBERRY DANISH SCONE FREE
The so-called experts have been saying lately
There's a slow down in global warming
It's true, it hasn't been very tropical lately
Global warming is under performing
Do you think it's possible it just could be
A normal fluctuation in the world's temps
But who am I to offer this assessment
Why they're fluctuating to this extent
Could it possibly be the experts have it wrong
Oh forgive me for suggesting such a thing
After years and years in “forecasting” school
With diplomas under their wing
Weather forecasting is a lot of guesswork
Next to impossible to predict the future
There's so many variables to affect the outcome
Even with all those fancy computers