Long Lifeschool Poems

Long Lifeschool Poems. Below are the most popular long Lifeschool by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Lifeschool poems by poem length and keyword.


Premium Member A School Lesson

When I was scuba diving, I saw small fish swimming in a school;
Thought that I would check them out, for they looked really cool;
But when I got closer, much to my surprise,
Out sprang a Giant Grouper using the school as a disguise.

Now this was a lesson learned in both diving and in life;
Things aren’t always as they appear, at any time danger can strike;
I like to say, don’t sweat the small stuff, but you must always beware,
That hiding in a school of fish a giant problem could be there.

Now I still like to scuba dive and check out cool things I find;
Always being cognizant to keep this lesson deep in mind;
And outside of the water I maintain my curiosity,
Weary that at any moment a Giant Grouper could eat me.
© Joe Flach  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Rhyme


Sudden Evil

In high school I was bullied by one kid... 
For three years he picked on me, 
made fun of me, 
and tried me on every possible occasion.... 
Understand, 
I am a peaceful man, 
a mediator, 
he took that as weak.... 
My senior year he tried me 
and I put my fist in his mouth, 
he fell back and I repeatedly stomped him until my boys pulled me off..... 
He wanted to fight me because his sister through herself at me 
during the Halloween party the night before. 
I took advantage,
like when lady Guinevere came to Lancelot..
I was Micheal Myers
she was a naughty school girl!!
I did it out of spite,
To provoke a fight.
I wanted to whoop his ass
I was playing football, 
in weight training, 
and hung with the thugs,
My brothers,
the streets were home!!!
I wanted to whoop his ass.
I hit him with a two piece with a biskit...

Jared Pickett
7/3/2010
Asavvy1

Premium Member Sister Elizabeth

Incomprehensible are the 
Petty landmarks that linger in a person's life
It happened so long ago
That I'm surprised I still remember.
In St. Thomas' parochial school
When Sister Elizabeth held a ruler
In her pale white hands
Any signs of mercy 
Mysteriously vanished from her blue eyes 
Religion was her weapon
Corporal punishment it's end 
Fueled by frustration
She held the class 
In fear.
Every school day
Was a grey morning
Of my longing to be somewhere else
Standing by the door
In a robe
Of darkest wool
Sister Elizabeth counted us in
One by one
As we walked in silence
Hair combed
Little backs held straight.
From her glance
The message was clear
Grade school was not about deep thoughts
Or clever ideas
Originality was not in vogue
It was about small things
That grown-ups winked at
And often ignored
Issues, important as the color of beige.
One dull morning 
I whispered to a classmate
When I shouldn't have
Called to the front by Sister Elizabeth 
I was given the ultimate punishment
The ruler and then some 
In her capable hands my palms were lacerated 
When I cried out 
She turned my hands over
Until my knuckles bled
Darkening the cuffs of my white shirt.
That evening my mother cried at my bruises 
And my father uttered a string of curses
Long into the night
True
Sister's time was not easy
Teaching mindless brats
Such as myself
Only added to her
Disappointment.
Over the years
Attitudes changed
Commitments weakened
And Sister, childless and alone, realized 
Much too late
That her days of sacrifice and Catholicism
Chastity and prayer
Had been a life against nature.
Even now my hands cringe
To a fist
When someone holds a ruler
For the wounds are marked deep
In memory.
Form: Narrative

Premium Member Quiet Walk Through Town

Where I live 
The land slopes downward
Towards Merrick Road
Inviting me for a walk.

Stopping at a corner
I hear my name
Turning around 
I say hello
To a neighbor
We exchange pleasantries
No need to say anymore
And I continue on my way.

My wife and I have roots here
Passing my daughter’s school 
I remember that July
When fathers,
Tradesman
And office workers alike,
Toiled under a hot sun
Working together
To build a playground.

Near the park
I coached my son’s soccer team
Families came to watch
Their children run like the wind
Memory tells me
It was a good season.

On nearby streets
I helped neighbors 
With routine chores 
Lifting and pushing the unmovable
Shiny things for a kitchen
Or for the room upstairs
Odds and ends
We call possessions

My wife worked close by
To be home
When our children 
Stepped off the school bus 
Our house ran under
Her watchful eye
A job never done.

In return we are known here
And I take every opportunity
To walk through a quiet town
As early evening
Descends
On everyone and everything.
Form: Narrative

Get a Premium Membership
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a Premium Membership.
Book: Diverse Voices: The Poetry of Human Rights and the Pursuit of Peace