Long New school Poems
Long New school Poems. Below are the most popular long New school by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long New school poems by poem length and keyword.
(To be sang to the tune of ‘Circle Of Life’ from ‘The Lion King’)
At the age of twelve in the school,
A merger of two high schools.
Teachers bussed between two buildings,
Students learning on two sites.
After eight weeks, portacabins added,
Everyone now on one site.
Making new friends.
Moved to the new building,
At the age of fifteen – a big change.
It’s the end of an era,
And the start of a new.
Learning our way,
Around the new school
‘Til we find our class,
In the new building.
It’s the end,
It’s the end of an era.
It’s the end of an era,
And the start of a new.
Learning our way,
Around the new school
‘Til we find our class,
In the new building.
It’s the end,
It’s the end of an era.
‘Til we find our class,
In the new building.
It’s the end,
It’s the end of an era.
End of an era!!
04/10/21
From one film to the other, your creative styles,
Rebels joined, save a world, then you, sacrificed a girl,
Online programmers that you had caused their riles,
Mr. Santino wanted New York as part of his world,
New bodies agents inhabit, mafia's list, you've been added,
Earned right to learn 'new school', while brother played you for a fool,
Oracle knew that you're the one, as bodies piled while on the run,
Trinity loved you, that you knew, with a price on your head, all wanted you,
Only machines rule off humans' body heat, get Santino, so to be complete,
Just when things weren't cooling down, Cassian searched all over town,
Of the agents, leader wanted to get ahead, on the train, he wanted John dead,
His team want to rescue their own, Cassian he warned, or he wont be around,
Neo wanted to go alone, instead, but Winston told John, "Not here", he said,
World saw the light, Neo did the trick, John didn't have it, he must split quick,
In rousing dance, chants, people are one, eyes o'er shoulders, he's on the run,
Can Neo have a new machines flick, more dinner reservations, 3rd John Wick,
Keanu's versatile--better to none, persona and lifestyle, simply being #1.
~~Born 09/02/1964, Beirut, Lebanon, mother English, from Essex, UK, dad American, from Hawaii, mixed race with Native Hawaiian lineage~~
Way Back When I Was Ten
Way back when I was ten
I do remember when
We moved to a new home
With all the things I own
I brand new school to start
Some sadness in my heart
I felt a little shy
And sometimes I would cry
New friends to make for me
New teachers strange to see
They were the kind called nuns
But, oh, such gentle ones
In time some friends I made
And I was less afraid
Soon school opened the door
For new things to explore
A sweet young nun saw me
Writing some poetry
And at my desk that day
She had nice things to say
Another one in art
Brought gladness to my heart
My drawings she had praised
And I felt quite amazed
Way back when I was ten
A new world opened when
New teachers fostered me
My creativity
And poetry and art
Of me remain a part
Began their nurture then
Way back when I was ten.
Sandra M. Haight
~3rd Place~
Contest: Way Back When I Was Ten
Sponsor: Kelly Deschler
Judged: 02/16/2016
To see one is rare but to buy one is obscene.
A tall snob. She casts frowns from under her gables.
He, the new owner, is in the cellar to clean
Dusting and throwing out boxes without labels.
Can a house resent an owner from the new school?
Can its wood sigh with grief from the change to a room?
Can it scream from lapse to architectural rule?
This old Victorian's doors were opened to doom!
The previous owner, whom everyone called Fred,
Had a grudge against dogs that walked on his lawn.
He'd shoot his rifle peppering the dogs' butts red.
But Fred is dead. The Daisy was sold and is gone.
However, cheap Fred would keep the bullet casement.
Although empty, he'd refill it with black powder.
Today the black powder is down in the basement
Awaiting its end by the determined router.
And the furnace glowing with a deep thermal heat,
And with metal grate open to welcome the scrap,
The old Victorian felt her heart skip a beat,
As gunpowder box was thrown in quick as a snap.
Both door and man were blasted outside in a heap
Onto a well-kept lawn that was always kept green.
Be warned that those old houses have secrets to keep.
I know Fred's not gone 'cause that was his curse I'd seen.
It all happened in one Sunday:
In the fourth week of the month of May,
After I went down that spooky lane,
And stopped by the head of the lion with mane.
It was just a figure in an old, old gate
Just like our old holiday home’s gate!
Still it wasn’t as nice: shiny and warming,
But indeed: it was dusty, and already rusting!
The rust had turned its black to brown,
And it was hard to open, shall I break it down?
But the creepers; they were over grown,
So I stepped on over them and jumped, on my own.
It was an old Victorian house with thick vegetation,
Vines running through the cracks built a perception:
To go in through the half open door,
Only to find the living room with a dusty floor.
The furniture was old, way too dusty,
The metals needed polish for they were all rusty.
The walls had moss, and cobwebs dangling,
I was so absorbed that I didn’t hear the door slamming.
I turned around to find the door was shut,
I heard the key turn and it was locked!
I looked through windows, but none was outside:
Which meant that I was trapped inside!
I forgot: by the gate there was a note to be noted:
And it read: ‘beware, this house is haunted!’
My heart stopped beating and my legs were shaking,
As someone grabbed my legs and began dragging!
I turned and saw nobody- I had lost my senses,
My mom was calling when I gained back my senses.
She said: “c’mon girl, let’s have a look
At your new school with a Victorian look.”
08/13/2018 (MM/DD/YYYY)
Contest- The haunted house poetry contest
Sponsored by- Dear Heart
I keep thinking about this summer—about starting a new school—and as soon as I do, I find myself internally monologuing and getting all high-schooly. It’s hoot, I know, but I can’t seem to help it.
‘You know,’ I think, as I’m eyeing myself in the bathroom mirror, ‘I’ll just turn up, looking good, feeling confident about myself and do whatever I want. I’ll go out, meet people and just be that vibe.
I was conflabing with Lisa last night, as we painted our toenails, “I’m a sufficient person, right? I asked rhetorically, “I can work out my thoughts alone, happily pass periods of solitude—nourishing my soul on YouTube.. Ooo, I like that color,” I said.
“You have personal power,” she assured me, as we admired her new nail polish color.
Growing up, my parents moved us, like luggage, about every two years. You can’t just be like, “This is actually crazy.” You’re forced to make a start, with a certain callousness of spirit, because uprooting your day-to-day domestic life, leaving friends, is hard. But I’d end up ok, I integrate quickly, as I love dropping into new cultures—people are so nuanced and clever.
So I've done this before, I have ‘lived experience,’ and I guess I can do it again. Still, I have this, what, adolescent nervousness, where my mind is spinning—even in dreams—planning my new first-day wardrobe, like a middle schooler, three months in advance (I’m a pre-crastinator).
In my heart, I know the source of my untoward apprehension. Social precarity frightens me. I need other minds to rub up against and the constant stimulation and excitement of friends.
But I’m a 21 year old, grown woman—what’s wrong with me?
.
.
Songs for this:
These Days by Nico
find my way home MisterWives
.
slang..
hoot = dumb
conflabing = having a fabulous conversation
*11 days after graduating here, I start a ‘Master of Public Health’ at a certain school in Cambridge, Massachusetts, that shall not be named. (ick).
Nu-Jack Kerouac/Tony Adamo 2010
Miles, Monk, Bird, Dizzy Gillespie & Train
Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsburg, Mingus and the Duke/
Wrote Music books and poetry that had the power to change our musical written word/
They walked the walk baby and be-boped the talked/
Miles , Monk they dreamt in jazz time
(BRIDGE)
You got Ta be kool Nu-jack Kerouac
You got to be right with jack n’ jazz
You can see the light man it’s soo damn hip
To be where it’s at such a poet’s trip
Nine Miles of jazz blue’s
Jazz starts with a bite of kool
Turn around into a new sound/
You’ll be strutin’ the fellin’ baby/
Into a soul Funkin It’s a new thing
It’s somethin’ else man you know what I’m talkin bout/
Night trippin day dreamin’ Ohhh baby/
Let’s get down with it/
(Solo)
(BRIDGE)
You got Ta be kool Nu-jack Kerouac
You got ta be right with jack n’ jazz
You can see the light man it’s sooo damn hip
To be where it’s at such a poet’s trip
Nine Miles of jazz groove
Jazz starts with a bite of kool man all right
Let’s don’t forget Dex, the Pres, Ella, Sweet Pea/
They gave birth to a whole new school in a jazz o’ frame of mind/
That’s what I’m talkin bout/
You got Ta be kool Nu-jack Kerouac/Vamp out
From Tony Adamo’s Miles of Blu CD
Laura Tonon was her name, at the new school my only true friend per se
Astonishingly she’d taken to me, offered to help with my English every day
Unwavering was her big confident smile, even taught me a bit of Italian astray
Rich, she had two of the handsomest brothers, Carlos and Diego who played croquet
Although only in grade five, she amazed me with a poem she’d written one day
DIEGO
In deep concentration
He sat there,
Pondering.
His brows wrinkled
Like waves rolling across the sea
In slow rhythm.
From his lungs, the breath
Came and went,
Escaped and entered.
How I envy him
Endowed with the gift of patience.
-Laura Tonon 1974
Thinking back, it was my first introduction to the power of poetry
Obviously I was impressed, truly amazed and I got hooked instantly
Needed to learn to walk before I run, so worked on improving my vocabulary
Only a few years later t’was when I took to the pen inspired by my mentor’s memory
Nothing I’d love more than to meet up again with the old soul in that little prodigy
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
Time has now come for the teacher in me
To embark upon a new school journey
Thrilled to cuddle my twin fascination
A vocation not an occupation
Tempted by an undefined feeling
Two great relish in my chest revealing
My students golden rules again I’ll teach
Limerick, Acrostic, figure of speech
To PS my heart will sneak now and then
For touching beauties a visit I’ll pen
Wise souls from whom wealth I’ve become aware
A grateful loving heart for what we share
With artistic flair I’ll greet my school year
Art of teaching I aspire and revere
Poesy catching my heart and my soul
Teaching, Light ever extending my whole.
September 7th, 2018
Brigid’s family has lost their house
she is six and does not understand
it is right there, where it always was
how could they have lost it?
they do not get to take anything
they are locked out
her toys and stuffed animals are inside
She is confused and sad
She is told not to tell any family business
This will be easy
She does not know what family business is
She tells everyone about her dolls
And being locked out
Brigid knows her mother takes medicine
and that her brother died before she was born
she knows that her father never wanted her
and her mother tried to abort her
Brigid is having difficulty making friends at her new school
her grandmother blames her for it
she says “you should not have told so much family business”
Brigid still does not know what it is
but grandma is so angry, she is afraid to ask