Long Graduated Poems
Long Graduated Poems. Below are the most popular long Graduated by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Graduated poems by poem length and keyword.
I graduated at age seventeen
and all I wanted was to find a man.
I had no plan; I think I was so green
when from my pleasant little town I ran.
I ran to college in the west. Career
and marriage I would find; two kids I’d raise.
If I had stayed, who would I have called dear,
and how instead would I have spent my days?
Well, now I’m far from home. I rarely see
my relatives. I can’t even retire
although I’m old now, so why did I flee
the state I loved, and would I have flown higher?
Would I have had the same job anyway
if I had stayed for college in my state?
Would I not have to work? I cannot say.
Would life with other kids and spouse be great?
My life has not been easy, but it’s had
good moments which I’m very grateful for.
I miss my family . . . I’d have been glad
if I had stayed at least to see them more.
Oct. 31, 2022
for I Chose To Run, But Had I Stayed, Things Would Have Been Like Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Anoucheka Gangabissoon
As you cruise along the interstate in your ultra-sleek sedan,
You should ever keep in mind a little-known engineering man.
His name is Ralph Teetor, inventor of a device called cruise control.
Perfecting the auto for the comfort of the public was his lifetime goal!
At the tender age of twelve, the budding genius built a full-sized car!
He graduated from the University of Pennsylvania as an engineering star!
He moved to Hagerstown, Indiana, which is my old hometown as well.
There, he founded Perfect Circle Piston Ring Company for many years to dwell.
Ralph was annoyed by the auto's lurching, gas guzzling driving habits.
It reminded him of the hopping, loping attributes of irrational rabbits!
In the basement of his home he spent hours tinkering with his invention.
Cadillac first installed cruise control when it was brought to their attention!
He received numerous honors and patents during his creative lifetime,
Making driving for the traveling public more pleasurable and sublime.
'Twas truly remarkable the many accomplishments he was to contrive,
Since he was blinded due to an unfortunate accident at the age of five!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Received
When we learned our elderly, kind granddad had died,
all paternal cousins traveled, gathered and cried.
Later, the ‘reception drive’ offered varied rides;
in Rachel’s auto, they shared a liquor-filled flask
and in Rob’s ancient van, a joint or two was passed.
If any cousin did not seek a high that day,
Terry drove sober now that she was freely gay.
At the reception, we all loved, giggled and shared.
Funny, that the sober car was the last one there!
In time, we caught up using our familiar flair.
Rob, Rachel and Rita’s Father had been paroled.
Rob still refused to pay taxes or live controlled.
Rachel lost her job when her flask fell out and rolled.
Rita found Jesus after holding marigolds
and walking naked down a long suburban road.
Mark was racing fast cars, playing music in bars
and had built a planetarium to view stars.
His maternal grandmother supplied the dollars
so why not avoid wearing a working collar?
Terry shared the same dollars-aplenty, flow-jar.
She had just graduated college with honors,
moved in with Sue (who then quit work as a mauler),
and now barely leaves their home built near water.
I shared my struggle to work a forty-hour week,
make sure my special needs child never feels defeat
and bear my third spouse, who keeps a petulant heat.
When a toast or a toke to Granddad was complete,
Mark grabbed his guitar and set a steady, good beat.
Each cuz, in turn, sang their made up line which was neat:
“We’re from the family tree of true dysfunction.
What others call stupid, we see as brave gumption.
We do not take kindly to outside instruction
stalling our families’ chaotic production.
If we pass loud gas, we won’t care if others laugh.
Now, just like real life, our song has gone off track.”
Father what a very special name,
but the name daddy is extra special.
The man who was wise said,
always tell the truth and never lie,
be honest with all mankind.
Always act and look like a lady.
Every Saturday I loved going skating.
I rented my skates,
but this week was going to be different.
He came out with a skate box in hand,
he had this all well planned out.
I opened the skate box up, a box filled with love,
My new skates fit like a glove.
Daddy the one who taught me how to ride a bike,
then how to drive a car.
The day my dad handed me the car keys,
he also handed me a coin.
He said,
put this in your shoe and never take it out.
If you need help,
you have this coin to call me at home.
Daddy was my helper with school work.
Guess you might say,
we both graduated that summer night.
On my wedding day you gave me away,
then we danced and laughed all night.
After all you taught me how to dance.
Then I walked away to a new home.
You will always be in my heart,
now gone to heaven but never forgotten.
Lincoln never imagined
today’s white victim zeitgeist,
pouting persecuted supremacists,
their clenched jaws and fists.
Civil war rages in limbic memory.
Encoded somewhere,
the panic attacks and mirages.
Nobody is qualified because everybody is responsible.
So many whites have graduated from the struggle,
showcasing their diploma from the mill.
Lincoln never imagined
modern virtual vitriol,
merciless memes lashing out at specters,
infusing, inciting depravity among the sleep deprived.
These words are battleships aimed at the reviled.
The unshielded summon civility.
They beckon familiar principles.
But rabid cougars wait in hiding, eager to pounce.
All the feeble markets for platitudes have failed,
as subliminal cavities endure each generation.
Mental lynch mobs, rebel flags, supremacy’s utopia.
Lincoln never imagined
a 21st century cartoon president,
a white nationalist clicking social network epithets,
a whining overgrown tormenter
with a cult of Stalinist believers.
Where are the intelligible?
How is all this animated fury converted?
What is the lesson plan?
Who will bury the code?
How long this agonizing journey into normality?
Lincoln never imagined.
Published Tuck Magazine 04/ 2019
When I was really small, I loved my trike,
and then I graduated to a bike.
I also liked to skip, so mother bought
A jump rope that I used an awful lot.
It seems I really loved to hop around,
to have my feet come off, then back on ground.
I got a pogo stick I used all year
and wore out quickly once I learned to steer!
At 15, I was not the same small kid,
for there were other fun things that I did.
However, I still liked some childish things
like Sting Ray bikes and trampolines and swings.
That year appeared in stores a brand new toy,
a grand delight for every girl and boy.
And though a woman I had now become,
that Christmas I just had to have me one!
This last “real” toy of mine I won’t forget
because it brought me also some regret.
A toy once you start, you can hardly stop:
Can you guess? It was the Hoppity Hop.
This toy was just a big strong rubber ball.
You’d grip its handles so you wouldn’t fall.
I loved to bounce around the yard on it,
and all I had to do was simply sit!
A boy I kind of liked showed up one day.
I didn’t know he’d come and seen me play
until I got up off that crazy ball
and went to tell him “hi,” but that’s not all. . .
I learned the back side of my shorts had split.
The whole time he was there, I never knew it.
My sisters later told me. Well, that guy
simply stayed and didn’t bat an eye!
I felt so idiotic and was sure
he must have found me kind of immature,
a grown girl hopping all around her lawn!
But worse was how I felt once he had gone.
He’d seen my shorts ripped from behind, and then
said nothing. I could not face him again.
So silly! He still liked me after all. . .
but I abandoned him and that dang ball!
For Paula Swanson's "Childhood Memory" Contest
She likes to snowboard
I'm a beast on skis
She is about the cold
Summer works best for me
Her cranberry spiked absolute
My scotch is on the rocks
She's thick, artistic, astute
I'm a chip off the old block
She likes women
Hey look, so do I
she's smart, ambitious, driven
I've got this poetic mind
She's a mountain girl
I'm partial to the beach
---------------------------------------------
I use my right of free speech
she likes to observe
Overbearing, my thoughts exposed
Her freaky nature held at bay
I'm nasty and mean to impose
She came over in lingerie!
I was born and graduated upstate
She was raised in N.Y. City
I spark a blunt, no shame!
She's a little hippie
I have a unique, witty swagger
Shorties a quarter among dimes
In this moment none of that matters
All that ass is mine!!
Jared Pickett
3/6/2014
Asavvy1
The Boy They Called a Lunatic
By Blossom Monyei
I was just a kid, about 12 years old,
when Joseph Nyumah Boakai’s wife asked my landlord to send his son, Francis, to work at her house.
At that time, Boakai wasn’t yet President of Liberia.
Francis refused. He said he wanted to go to school — not serve anyone as a house worker.
His father was angry, but couldn’t say no to Boakai’s wife either.
That evening, my mom sat on the porch marking papers.
The landlord came to her, confused and frustrated.
My mom suggested a different boy — Saah, the landlord’s brother’s son.
He was known in the neighborhood as a lunatic.
The landlord hesitated, but in the end, he sent Saah.
I helped sometimes too — sweeping, delivering food and water to people sitting under the palaver hut.
Then we moved.
Time passed.
An election came.
Joseph Nyumah Boakai won. He became the President of Liberia.
Suddenly, Francis ran to his father, begging to now work for the First Lady.
But it was too late.
Saah was already there.
Saah was already trusted.
Saah had started school.
And you won’t believe what happened next.
Saah graduated top of his class.
The “lunatic” everyone doubted became one of the President’s personal assistants.
He now speaks at youth programs, reminding people:
“Where you start doesn’t define where you’ll end.”
Francis?
He still walks past the Executive Mansion gate…
Wishing he had made a different choice.
---
#blossommonyeipoetry
#blossommonyei
No copyright. Ask for my permission.
---
I surrender,
I have fought the good fight,
I have outlasted most,
In the fight that is seemingly lost.
I will leave the battlefield.
To spend more time with my grandson,
So one day in the future he might be the one,
To stop the slide into oblivion,
Of a once proud language,
That used pictures sparingly,
With the words, the main focus for the telling of the story.
Now the English language could be better understood by
The ancient Egyptians.
Or those who have not graduated from, only looking at
The pictures in any book they happen to come across.
I am no longer up to reading between the lines,
When scanning for news that is not fake,
Or guessing the relationship between the picture,
And the main story.
A by-line of a senior journalist,
No longer a guarantee,
Of good grammar or an ability to spell.
So, I surrender,
To the new order,
And will no longer,
Fret about when to use a comma,
I may even dispense with spell check.
I will, however, leave space enough
Just in case there is anybody out there,
Who can still read between the lines.
Me Me Played Out
How prescient that first
Me Me, Mama
Pureed Pears
Ice cream
Cotton Candy
Gathering to satiate
Just for now
How slowly the
"Throw me the ball"
evolves into
"Give Me a kiss"
sending ego's Me galloping onto
"It's Me you need for this company"
Me
That ever present nag
Living out the foretelling
Oh so long ago
The fulfillment
Mommy and daddy said
Was for Me
Then
The Me once innocent meets a You
Meets Them
Meets It
Meets All
Along the way
Effusively
Demons wrestle the graduated Me of now
So small at first
Mere guilt-buddies then
Following Me from the corner candy store heist
To church
Where Me got neutralized
Chastised
Sanitized
Galvanized
For the moment
Stumbling Me
So indifferent to You
So often
So non-innocently
Me in battle armor
Yet
In spite of Me
My Me can reach this place
This place of nothing/everything
Where realization of place and time
Reveals the Me, the I, the It of all
But delusional comfort
After all
How else might the darkness
Ever know the necessary light
It's unqualified welcome
Until
The ever-illusive core accepts no end
To Me
To You
Them
It
How sagacious the conclusion
Existence' time and space sublime
Awaiting but the next form of love
For now
Exhaustion complete
Quintessence at peace