Long High school Poems
Long High school Poems. Below are the most popular long High school by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long High school poems by poem length and keyword.
His past finally caught up with him...
The killer waited silently in the man's room.
His gun cocked as footsteps approached.
The key jiggled in the lock of the door.
The man stepped inside, unaware of his fate.
Three shots rang out, dropping him to the floor.
The shooter ran from the room towards the exit.
A car awaited on the corner of the street.
It slowly pulled up as he came out.
Nobody saw them as they drove away.
Back inside, the man lay in a pool of blood.
His life flashed before him in the final seconds.
Where did it all go wrong?
Six years ago...
The job was supposed to be simple.
Three men on the inside, two on lookout.
He was the sixth man, the getaway driver.
The jewelry store had been cased weeks before.
Every detail was planned in advance.
The target was the cache of diamonds in the safe.
The four Hasidic merchants were elderly and frail.
It seemed like easy pickings for the gang.
The driver waited nervously as they went in.
Moments later, several shots were fired.
There was the sound of shattering glass.
In what seemed like an eternity, one man exited.
He was covered in blood and staggering towards the street.
The two lookouts ran over to assist him.
One of them waved frantically to the man in the car.
The sound of the alarm sent the driver into a panic.
He saw police cars rapidly approaching in the distance,
then did a U-Turn and fled the scene.
He could see one of his partners in the rear view mirror.
He was standing in the middle of the street, gun raised.
Two shots were fired in his direction.
The lookout spun around to confront the cops.
The last thing the driver saw was his body being riddled.
The two survivors of the robbery had their day in court.
The judge sentenced them to fifteen years hard labor.
The driver headed out of state and went north.
After searching for days, he found a quiet town to live in.
He acquired a job as a janitor at the high school.
He spent most of the time in his small apartment.
Anonymity seemed to be his best protection.
Little did he know, his partners were paroled early.
Serving only five years due to good behavior.
They only had one thing on their minds...Revenge!
A year later, they got it.
At the old place,
the days were the color of unsharpened pencils—
dull wood, faint graphite.
He knew the timing of every bell,
the way the lockers stuck in winter,
which stair creaked near the railing.
He could walk it all without looking.
Maybe that was the problem.
Nothing surprised him.
Not the ceiling stains shaped like countries.
Not the way his words
sometimes slipped past unnoticed,
like chalk dust in the air.
He kept his head level.
Did what was asked.
Let the afternoons close quietly behind him.
When he left,
he carried no grand speech—
just a box of notebooks
and a habit of watching from the edges.
The new building had too many windows.
Light fell across the floors
in long, bright stripes
that were hard to ignore.
He squinted at first.
The halls moved quickly,
but not unkindly.
A shoulder brushed his—
“Sorry.”
A pause.
“You’re new, right?”
He nodded.
The word felt small
but it didn’t disappear.
In class, the teacher asked a question
no one answered right away.
He waited.
Then didn’t.
His voice sounded different here—
less like it was testing the air,
more like it expected to stay.
At lunch, someone shifted a backpack
an inch to the left.
Enough room.
The days began to pick up color—
not all at once,
but in strokes.
A joke that landed.
A project partner who texted after school.
A hallway that seemed shorter
by Friday.
He still noticed things—
the hum of lights,
the rhythm of steps on stairs—
but now there were other details too:
sunlight warming his desk by third period,
a laugh he recognized
as partly his own.
If the old school was pencil-gray,
this one was something closer to morning—
not blazing,
just steadily brightening.
And somewhere in the middle of it all,
without ceremony,
he stopped standing at the edges
and found himself
exactly where the light fell.
Abandoned Trunks And The Children
There laid the empty gray trunk;
never to hold a thing again.
There in the blood-wet soil,
a sadden decaying lump.
Dead and no longer in life’s pain;
lifeless—no longer in earthly toil.
Gone are the rumbing fun echoes
and self gushing joyous showers;
Leaving only keloid ivory memories
to be as tombstone flowers.
Thus is the sad eerie fate
of a great regal elephant;
A victim of greed’s sake—
and man’s pleasure hunt.
Ironically–in schoolyard-like graves–
in the brightness of ivory sunshine days,
Our children–like joyful trumpeting elephants–
have become victims man’s ongoing pleasure hunt:-
FOLK DANCE DWM
Attended Summer Camp at high school level
A happy happening, I would like to tell.
We assembled in remote suburb
where all quiet, nothing to disturb.
At the Fair met a rural Folk Dance team
Got interested on their cheerful theme.
The group consisted of young villagers.
We were enthusiastic teenagers.
Music started perchance.
"Dance Dear Dance
Don’t miss chance
Cast aslant glance
on spectators!
Spectacular show
in glamorous glow
Perhaps fast or slow.
We are entertainers
Not dictators!"
Village guys with multi colored attire
Lyrics seemed to be type of satire.
Girls wearing olive green glossy gown
with periwinkle flowery crown.
We dressed in Jeans and Tops wearing hay hats,
trying to match with close by wide paddy field.
Joined them prompt: Our pearly passion to yield.
Danced delight in rhythm on steps exact.
Two dances were combined.
Folk Dance -Ball Dance entwined.
A choreography of modern and rural style,
proclaiming a novel dance profile.
Feral flora foliage swinging in gentle breeze.
Our pleasure neither to measure nor to cease.
Little brittle ripples dancing on mossy pond
Haply our short trip enjoyed friendship bond.
03/21/20
Kim Rodrigues DWM Contest
Ethel Hurst
1889 – 1918
I saw the town rise up
Like a single blade of grass after a spring rain.
I played a multitude of hop-scotch games
With my best friend Hannah on Penn Street.
And sipped a hundred ice cream sodas in the Mercantile at sunset.
My mother took me to Jacob’s Grocery every Monday
And it was I who picked the plump oranges
From the big rickety crate.
On Saturdays we worked the fields at Strong’s Ranch,
Harvesting the pampas in the walnut fields.
And on Halloween I was the girl in the moon-face costume for five straight years.
When Christmas brought its luminous lights to the town,
Mother dressed me in red with a bell on my bonnet.
And father sang the carols with a guitar and a tambourine.
I graduated from the big high school in 1907
And in celebration,
Rode my bicycle to Bassett
Still in my starched graduation petticoats.
Jesse Forbes,
He being five years younger than I,
Was the love of my brief stay on this earth.
But when he ventured to steal a kiss that day in Black Canyon,
I used my calloused hand to convey my stern disagreement.
But what wild regrets I’ve entertained since Jesse drowned that day.
In the wild currents by Pio Pico’s crumbling Adobe,
His body bobbing like a sea bird
In the punishing plume of that old deep river.
Beyond the muddy banks and the wild flowers,
Jesse Forbes left this life with a surprised frozen grin.
Why Jesse? Why?
You never knew the truth, my love.
You never really understood what I meant
When I said nothing.
I said No to you when I said nothing that day in Black Canyon,
But I really meant Yes.
The influenza incinerated my heart and soul
With a 106 temperature in the winter of 1918.
Twenty nine years I dare say
Is nothing in terms of eternal life!
I had so much more to do!
I had so much more to dream about!
I walked and talked on the streets of my town,
And on the funeral-dark avenues of my innocent days.
And I planned and I schemed
And all for nothing!.
Indeed, I felt the pulse of fleeting time
And the never-ending,
Ever-turning circle of endless days.
But now I rest here in Clark Cemetery… a virgin corpse
Flirting shamelessly with the bow-tie worms,
Still wild with regrets.
And forever haunted in reverse
By the same recurring memory
Of Jesse Forbes holding a rose.
Under the old oak tree in Black Canyon..
The lovely view from my wicker chair
As crows caw spring is here
And wispy clouds parade on blue
Buzzards soar without fear
Scenes so peaceful express
Times filled with much happiness
Winter a diminished thing
Unfulfilled dreams scantiness
The Star Magnolia's buds swell, wait
Open at a later date
Nature knows what to do when
Love comes and brings its fate
Nature could have locked a door tight
Held it closed for awhile
Given change opportunity
Even closed a turnstile
Events opened the pasture gate
Wide was the gap entered
Washed away the lucious pasture
Hard the red ground rendered
Decisions made in the warm spring
Render fat or its lack
Youth should search for the hightest goals
Winter's cold then won't smack
Many roads or pathways exposed
Once taken closes doors
Another opens for one's good
If evil path ignores
Written: January 17, 2017
Contest: How Long Can Poems Go?
Sponsor: Jamie Pan
Just a little life review out on the porch..Each time a person chooses a door in their life that door is partially to completely closed behind them but other doors open on down the road..Like if one wants a college education but decides to get married right out of high school then there is a pregnancy, etc..That door to college might be closed forever but then it is possible that it could open again in the future..A person can accomplish much if they set their mind to doing something special with their life..
Seventeen brings a brand-new driver's license, A bigger world, a different step ahead, While fourteen means the start of high school hallways, Unspoken rules, and pats upon the head.
He says the gap between the grade levels Is why he keeps his distance from your side, Yet turned around and chased after your best friend, A logic impossible to make make sense or hide.
She didn't want the spotlight or his favor, The math just doesn't add up like it should. It leaves you stranded in this mixed-up middle, Wishing he’d see you the way you hoped he would.
Now every time he asks if you’re doing okay, It echoes what he did when he liked Val, A strange replay of something in the past.
It makes you feel uneasy, flipped around, Caught in a blur where signals cross and spin. Trying to figure out just where you stand, And where these confusing boundaries begin.
The Florida of My Youth – Work
By Franklin Price
10/11/2019
Was not born with silver spoon, that dangled from my lips
Had enough to eat and drink, but not for extra sips
Could not get a real job, until fourteen years or more
With some imagination, I would earn some bucks before
Collected empty bottles from the grass beside the road
Cashed them in, for two cents each, a dollar was a load
Picked guavas, growing in the wild, and took the gathered lot,
To the Factory, on the Island, for the jelly in the pot.
Sold salve, I found in comic books, by going door to door
Was not the Fuller Brush man or would have earned a little more
Headed shrimp at Port Canveral, from the many shrimp boats there,
Should have been a little older, but the boss man didn't care
It was another time and place, when you helped out if you might,
To earn a little money, for the exras, seemed so right
Gave me a good work ethic, and it made me feel real good
To contribute to my wants, not needs, in any way I could
When old enough to have a job, I got my SSN
Did not get at your birth, in those days of old, back then
Got a job at SS Kresge, cleaning tables, washing floors
And dishes at the counter, long ago it closed its doors
Had my driver's liscense so I drove myself to work
Earned a dollar for an hour, it was really quite a perk
Gas twenty cents a gallon and burgers but a dime
Used a Georgia Credit card, didn't see it as a crime
When I got to High School, I worked at a different store
Was at WT Grant, where I earned a little more
A dollar and a quarter, for an hour, I was rich
Could now afford new tires, that would keep me from the ditch
Learned about the business, stocked and priced the items there
Designed and decorated diplays, in the windows, with great care
Watched out for shop lifters, even caught me one or two
Everything that I was told to, was everything that I would do
When I graduated High School, I went on to BCC
Found that college education was not the thing for me
In March of 1965, I enlisted in the Force
Not the Army or the Navy but the good old Air of course
I never will forget in junior high
this girl who was a two-faced friend of mine.
I can’t remember now the reason why,
but she got mad for something asinine.
She said, “I’m gonna beat you up! Be at
the park, beside the water tower.” She
then told me, “Bet you won’t show up.” That brat
was MEAN! All day I fretted needlessly
of what could be a real bad episode!
So after school with my best friend, I went
And waited for that witch; she never showed!
With great relief, I then began to vent
to my best friend of things that we could do
to that “tough girl” - a chicken through and through!
*True story & dedicated to my junior high school foe, who later
went on to marry (and then divorce) the brother of my BEST friend!
The strongest woman that I ever saw
was born thirty-four years ago,
to loving parents who doted on her,
told he of the great places she’d go.
She was popular all through high school,
never failed to pull down straight A’s,
was taught to be strong, and never take crap,
a path for women she would blaze.
She had not a head for the hard sciences,
but in business she quickly excelled,
got her MBA from the finest of schools,
a master of finance, and of what sells.
Moving to the city, she got a good job
and proclaimed one day she would be in charge,
she brought in accounts all through her twenties
and was rewarded with a salary large.
She shot up the ranks, quickly at first,
found herself in the office by my desk,
though we were in different departments
it was clear, she was one of our best.
But when she turned thirty she seemed to slow,
though she stood by her stated goals,
and every so often I’d find her staring
distractedly out of her office window.
All of it charged starting one fall day
when she went up for a big promotion,
but her numbers were down, and it went to
a workaholic named Danny Bagosian.
This spurred her on to work overtime,
by coincidence I was doing the same,
alone in the office we got to talking,
what she asked me nearly fried my brain.
She said,”I’m here sixty hours a week,
I’ve no time left for relationships,
and though this may sound inappropriate
I want to ask your opinion on this.
“I could use a friend-with-benefits
to relieve stress and have some fun,
you’re a handsome fellow and it has been
three years since I have had one.”
Now I suppose the right thing to do
would be to run down to H.R.
But a woman like this has a way with men,
and I said,”I’m game if you are.”
So began a secret and torrid affair
that no man could ever forget,
in hotel rooms and there in her office…
let’s just say that I have no regrets.
But as the months went on something did grow
as often happens with ‘benefits-friends,’
at some point we dropped the charade,
no longer willing to pretend.
And in her I sensed something new,
a sadness I’d not before seen,
it came out into the open late a night
when she woke me from a restless sleep...
CONCLUDES IN PART II.