Long Middle school Poems
Long Middle school Poems. Below are the most popular long Middle school by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Middle school poems by poem length and keyword.
We all destined to suffer pain and death
and great sadness on earth.
Pain and suffering are always inevitable.
Men suffer because of sinfulness and carelessness.
Human brain has the highest intelligence
but their choices and will power cause negligence.
We all live to suffer, to prevail is finding meaning through suffering and dying.
People need to learn how to settle their arguments without resorting to violence.
Threat of resorting to killing is irresponsible
and irrelevance.
Men must seek God to amend for their wrongdoing,
accusing blasphemy is lack of reverence and insulting.
©?aroque
Way back one of my classmates of middle school
In the clutch of cancer lost early on his father
The destitute family cart mother was forced to pull
Clouds of trying times in the void sky he saw gather.
The study expenses weren’t easy for him to meet
From the school he thought of dropping out
But his mother said he needn’t, should never do it
She would soon find the way out, without any doubt.
Although he had no idea what that way could be
He trusted his mother, so didn’t lose sleep over it
For he knew mother would do her best to see
Her bright son finished the school study with credit.
He woke up in the middle of one freezing winter night
Found his mother’s bed empty, not yet slept on
When he saw this happening routinely every night
He decided to find out where she could’ve gone.
In late hours of a cold night he went out of room to explore
Found from the antique room a streak of light seep
He peeked through the keyhole of the closed door
Saw her stitching cloth bags, eyes half-closed in sleep.
July 18, 2021
Contest : Touch My Heart
Sponsor : Regina McIntosh
Sure, I could fix the water faucet.
That flooded my place, but that’s not it.
I could have studied more for that test.
Not dropped out of college like the rest.
I don’t think these are worthy second chances.
Not even those high school dances.
No, those are as empty as a statue's mouth.
And those missed chances have left me and flown south.
I just want a single thing.
And that’s not some wedding ring.
Not much from the past is worthy.
Not even my family tree.
Just my sweet girl…
How her whiskers used to curl.
If I could travel back to when she left.
Feeling bereft.
I wish I had come up with that poem for her sooner.
And placed the folded paper on her.
I don’t think there would be a paradox.
Just more peace felt while kicking rocks.
I still read that poem once in a while.
Keep it in my file.
But yeah, the random bad things that crept up in life?
At least she was there during the strife.
From middle school to dropping out of college you were there.
And although I feel despair.
There’s no healing potion that would have helped you.
So this poem in my drawer will have to do.
THE COMFORTING GIRLFRIEND CREW
Poor little Pierrette is feeling nostalgic.
Sur la plage, she’d oft look for the boy friend.
Her countenance blue — in teen years tragic,
yet there’s safety in numbers, with girl friends.
Sur la plage, she’d oft look for the boy friend.
Down by the Riviera, whilst she shakes off blue sea
for there’s safety in numbers, with girl friends.
They say, “Won’t you dance the Charleston with me?”
Down by the Riviera, whilst she shakes off blue sea.
Ne’er perfect young ladies, wild with vigor,
They say, “Won’t you dance the Charleston with me?”
Fancy forgetting boyfriends and her perfect figure.
Ne’er perfect young ladies, wild with vigor,
dancing and eating all night pizza.
Fancy forgetting boyfriends and her perfect figure.
Quite unlike West Side Story - Maria.
Dancing and eating all night pizza,
forgetting mantra “I could be happy with you.”
Quite unlike West Side Story - Maria,
she listens to her comforting girlfriend crew.
Forgetting mantra “I could be happy with you.”
(Her boyfriend tried her in a room in Bloomsbury.)
She listens to her comforting girlfriend crew.
(Too old for her...this love’s imaginary.)
Her boyfriend tried her in a room in Bloomsbury.
Her countenance blue — in teen years tragic!
Too old for her...this love’s imaginary.
Poor little Pierrette is feeling nostalgic.
4/6/2018
Silent One’s Music Pantoum Contest
All songs in bold from the musical “The Boyfriend”
I was in this play in Middle School and I am feeling nostalgic.
Sur la plage — on the beach
Mangoes, golden and full, their scent~
a whispered promise of mischief.
My fingers sticky, my heart pounding.
My mother’s eyes—wide, unblinking.
“Where did you get these?”
Her voice, a blade slicing the air.
A hush fell around us,
the mangoes cradled in guilt.
“Mum, I plucked them from a mango tree.”
Silence—a breath held underwater.
Five minutes, five hours,
eternity suspended on her brows.
“Were you alone?”
The question, a thread pulled loose,
unravelling the fabric of innocence.
“No, Mum.”
The words, a hesitant confession.
My classmates, a chorus of laughter.
The sky, a vast, yawning expanse.
“And the boys?”
Her voice—a fire slow to kindle.
“Laughing, Mum.”
The sound, now a distant echo,
a memory already fading.
“Do you know why they laughed?”
The question, a stone cast into still water,
rippling the surface of understanding.
Underpants.
The word, a whispered secret,
a shame that clings like a shadow—
its cord uncut.
Two weeks later—
more mangoes, more sweetness,
cupped in my hands.
My mother’s stare—
a mixture of expectation and dread.
“Who climbed this time?”
The question, a challenge,
a test of courage.
“I did.”
The words, a bold declaration
full of thorns.
Her fury, a gathering storm.
“But I was smarter this time,” I said.
The words, a hesitant boast.
“I took off my underpants before climbing.”
The silence that ensued—
longer than a winter night
at the South Pole.
And then,
my mother fainted.
The school bell's chorus wakes a drowsy room,
Sunlight spills, a golden, dusty plume.
Desks, once dormant, morph to galleons grand,
Ready to set sail to each uncharted land.
Chalk, a spectral hand, whispers wisdom's lore,
Unveiling mysteries on the darkened shore.
Sharpeners gnash their teeth, devouring leaden dreams,
Leaving silver whispers where logic's spotlight beams.
Globes, like captive Earths, continents in hold,
Beckon's curious minds, stories yet untold.
Maps unfurl, adventures waiting to ignite,
Mountains pierce the paper, bathed in imagined light.
Scissors, silver storks with beaks of silent snip,
Carve out thoughts like snowflakes, on a question's icy lip.
Crayons, waxy rainbows, melt on paper's plain,
Birthing vibrant jungles, where creatures rule their reign.
Pencils, graphite serpents, coil with inky grace,
Weaving tales fantastical, across time and space.
Rulers, stoic guardians, lines etched firm and true,
Marking boundaries where dreams and logic accrue.
Erasers, gentle guardians, with a patient touch,
Whisper soft forgiveness, a lesson learned so much.
Puppets dance on fingers, with stories in their eyes,
Of pirates, and princesses, beneath invented skies.
Chart paper, a canvas, vast and white and bare,
Awaits the brushstrokes of imagination's flair.
Microscopes, with a curious gaze, reveal unseen worlds,
Tiny hidden wonders, like poems yet unfurled.
Bells chime once more, a day complete and free,
But echoes linger still, where knowledge sets us free.
Rulers, maps, and globes, a symphony they weave,
Of knowledge, dreams, and wonder, lessons minds believe.
March 20, 2024
I made this poem in middle school. :D There was more to it, but I can't remember much anymore sadly... :(
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My mother was an ostrich, my father was a squirrel
My boyfriend fell in love with another lovely girl
I’m trying to stay sober, I’m trying to stay clean
My teachers all are angry and my boss is very mean
I woke up in the dumpster, my money was all gone
It was better than the time when I woke up on the lawn
I got raped by a turkey, went out with a snail
I never get good letters, just death threats and blackmail
My cat pissed in my backpack, my brother’s humping chairs
I choked on a tic tac, Grandma pushed me down the stairs
I j-walked way too much, I finally ended up in jail
My parents will not help me—it’s a thousand dollar bail!
My mom is flipping out, my dad is mad again
And Grandma is upset because, well, Grandpa—he likes men…
On my thirteenth birthday, he taught me how to shoot
He pushed me off an airplane, without a parachute!
I thought my life was over, but then I heard people clap
I pulled myself up …I was lying in cow crap.
There were monsters all around me, I thought I was alone
But then I realized the dreaded truth: I was only back at home
This time,
Janice is wearing a priest collar
and I’m the altar.
She hisses when I open my Notes app
during communion,
calls me a heretic
for spellchecking my trauma.
I tell her my whole personality
is based on being misquoted.
She says no, babe. It’s based on needing
a witness and a warning sign.
Then she bites the rim off my coffee cup
and whispers the true name of God
into the ear of a raccoon I once dated.
She reads tarot using expired CVS receipts.
All the cards say return to sender.
I ask if that means my father.
She just shrugs
and duct-tapes a feather to my forehead
like it’s penance or war paint or both.
We co-author a manifesto
on a napkin stolen from a dive bar bathroom.
She titles it
Why We Don’t Cry During Apocalypse Drills Anymore.
Later, I catch her sobbing
to a podcast about deep-sea fish
that flash their own bodies
just to be noticed.
I ask if she’s okay.
She croaks,
do you even know what it’s like
to be evolution’s punchline.
Yes, Janice.
I call it middle school.
I call it dating men with lowercase ambitions.
I call it standing too long in the same place
and becoming part of the furniture.
By the time the sun decides
to ghost us for good,
Janice is already skywriting
with the last of my mascara:
don’t wait for closure—
just close the damn door.
I laugh like I mean it.
She screams like she doesn’t.
We steal a shopping cart,
fill it with unsent letters and beef jerky,
and ride it downhill into the end of everything.
I am finally the bird.
She is finally the girl.
And God
God is just someone we unfollowed
after a bad take on grief.
No other school compared to junior high.
In grade school I was average and shy.
But something special happened in the year
I entered seventh grade. I lost my fear!
It seemed I grew new wings that let me fly.
No other school compared to junior high.
New friends that could appreciate my ways
I found in middle school. What happy days!
I got straight A’s my first year, but I was
A jokester too. It felt so cool because
no other school compared to junior high.
To “ordinary me” I said goodbye!
A woman I was turning into. Bliss
was mine with boyfriends and my first real kiss.
I’d learned my worth and great new things to try.
No other school compared to junior high!
Written Feb. 7, 2016
Out of the womb of seedless water came her birth,
And no less than always has been her silent beauty;
Radiant essence, crowning the earth’s heavenly throne:-
She’s a special reflective bouquet of God’s creativity;
Mothering sun smoothing each of her rays into its chosen place
As her regal dome challenges the matter of her crowning magnanimity:-
Her celestial realm is a royal domain established by her creator;
Her celestial curvaceous tinted arch has forever excited the mind’s
Voracious appetite for things whose worth and beauty rivals gold’s own:-
Yes, from time immemorial, humanity has had the privileged
Of her celestial beauty and teeming glow; yet, humanity,
Has never been able to control God’s teasing rainbow:-