Long Old school Poems
Long Old school Poems. Below are the most popular long Old school by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Old school poems by poem length and keyword.
My palms would sweat. I’d get physically sick.
Why was I always the last one they’d pick?
There were times I would not be selected at all,
for a physical game, I was pretty darn small.
I watched as they’d point, whisper, and scheme;
avoid if they could choosing me for their team.
My Dad told me, “Son, God made you this small,
to prove it’s not height that makes someone tall.”
So, he set up a goal post, and bought me a tee.
He told me, “Success would be all up to me.”
I practiced my kicking whenever I could.
I worked very hard ‘till I got pretty good.
I’ll never forget that hot summer day,
tryouts for high-school to see who would play.
The teasing began as I stepped on the field.
My jersey so big, they laughed and they squealed.
The coach even grinned, as I heard him say,
“This is not a good sport for peewees to play.”
The practice was brutal, even more than I thought.
But then, towards the end, at last came my shot.
Coach explained how important a kicker would be.
Last season they had lost four games under three.
He placed the ball down on the thirty-yard line,
forty-yards from the goal I had claimed to be mine.
There must have been twenty or more who had tried,
all woefully short as the coach merely sighed.
With hands on his head he looked to the sky.
I was the last to step up and ask, “Can I try?”
Everyone laughed, ‘till he shouted, “Enough!”
then mockingly said to me, “Show us your stuff.”
As I carefully positioned the ball on the tee,
it seemed the whole world was laughing at me.
So, I called on the power that God will provide,
then glanced to a nod from my Dad on the side.
Three great big steps and my toe struck the ball.
I caught it just right. I knew how after all.
It seemed like slow-motion as the team stopped to stare.
The ball gently tumbled as if floating on air.
The looks on their faces I could never replace,
as it split through the uprights with plenty of space.
I looked towards my Dad now beaming with pride,
then turned to the coach with his mouth open wide.
Cheers were replacing the laughs I’d revered,
on the day that hard work overcame what I feared.
I went on to college and professional ball,
but that was the kick I enjoyed most of all.
I don’t think I’d ever have worked quite that hard,
if I wasn’t picked last on that old school yard.
Stepping out into the Autumn night of Halloween
It is the Witches and the Warlocks turn to dance
Their air of mystery and mystic is all around
The zombies or the Undead cannot speak
but,their presence seems to be abound
Ghouls of the Men
Vampires within the Ladie's evil grin
It is out here on this Night
When old wives tale frighten us with delight
My footsteps carry me beyond the hill
A cemetery there which omits a deathly thrill
We(meaning a friendly spirit beside me)know the Cackle
Inside many tomb,ready to come out like a babe from its mother's womb
The moon is full and the Old Man paints his smile
Trick or treaters are out,,having fun for a little while
Tonight all Halo as strange yellow mist creeps from behind a boulder narrow
Dancing amidst the moaning dead,darkened shadows surround this timid Head
I feel like Ichabod Crane,strolling,with terror,upon the Midnight Domain
Ghosties
Goblins
Maybe the old Headless Horseman
Perhaps,the wretched creature of a certain Frankenstein
Many of these apparitions could be just a figment or Reality having a smile
The Corridor of the dark as I wander through a deserted Schoolyard park
An evil happened there,just a few moons not long ago
Halloween Night..1980 when I was ten
A grade schooler was being hazed upon
He was locked in a decrepit old trunk,tucked,not so sweetly away,in the attic of
this old place..his peers left him for the night
They came back the next morning before the session began
after lifting a set of keys from the sleeping janitor,they went up to the attic to see
The trunk was open,HOW COULD HE HAVE GOTTEN OUT??
tip-toeing near the open trunk and peering down with trepidation..
only to find,a bloody handwritten note,written with EXTREME AGITATION
It said:YOU LOCKED ME AWAY BEFORE YOU DECIDED TO PLAY
BUT..I WILL COME BACK UPON THIS LAND AND MY VENGENCE WILL HAVE
HIS FINAL SAY!!
The school was beset by this horrible deed,and it was closed forevermore
because the children confessed and the Pain would never recede
some say..the spirit of the little lad still haunts the old school
Laughter could be heard if many,who dare,decide to explore it and play it cool
Pardon me,my weary Halloween reader..it is TIME for me to head back before
I become no more,by an ominous Night Creeper(or the Ghost of The Attic Child!!)
MINNESOTA OG
by BambiLynn'14
We need to bring some OG back to the game
They say only playas change, the games stays the same
But that ain't true, and it smells bad too
I've watched and thought and come up w this notion
Staying true to me is failing thug devotion
OG principles need to get back in track
Stop violence and hate, bring respect, g.p., and true hustling back!
All this hatin and violence can hit the door
Let's define what OLD SCHOOL GANGSTAS stood for
There was standards and rules for all OG
And to fit in the circle, you had to be...
True to the game w caliber and class
Not recognizing popcorn, gorilla, gutter, or trash
No one took from their home to invest in the game (insane)
You put your all in your home then hustled to come up or keep yo standard of living the same
The game kept severe poverty out of the life
Especially for kids whose dads walked out on their wife
Back then the only out was to play ball
Working only for a few gifted and tall
OG's didn't hate, had each other's backs
Supporting and competeing a little in building stacks
No pulling guns If one in the circle did wrong or violated
It was worse when OG's shut them out into starvation
Paying in shame, and being left out and without
Teaching a lesson instead of ending lives is better without doubt
Violence puts everything in the spotlight
Stopping all hustle, all money, having to set it down out if sight
When you take a life, you end yours too
Original purpose defeated, no life, no money you fool
When our own turns on itself~something's terribly wrong
Bring some OG back is the point of this song
Treat one another with love and respect
Deaths only a heartbeat away, on that you can bet
Stop all this killing and hate, have each other's back
Burning your own bridges isn't the right fight or attack
No hustle or game should be how you live
Or the legacy passed down to your kids with nothing to give
It should only be used as needed to come up and do more
Making things better for our families, not killing them to even the score
Don't take from the kids, settling for gutter and trash
Be true to you and the game, with caliber and class
Do what you do to come up, but keep growing past the game
Fight to be better, not each other, keep home and family sane
Manon (Mary) and I, sat in the Tuileries gardens, by the Louvre Museum. Her 7 month old daughter, Devyn, on a blanket in the grass, was earnestly practicing a roll from her tummy to her back - of course, we coo’d and applauded each success.
We’d been girls together, years ago, in 5th and 6th grade - we were ‘like thieves at a fair’ back then - playing ‘la marelle’ (hopscotch) and pétanque until the boys, in early exercise of their ‘ed privilege’ ran us off the court, scattering us like birds.
She wrote me off a few years ago. But to be fair, I was missing. Growing up, my family moved around like we were on the run. I’d come back to Paris some summers and we’d check-in, but summer schedules are ephemeral and years turned into distance and a seemingly permanent silence.
Her last voice message, from 2017, is still on my phone, her voice bright, cheerful and expectant. I listen to it every once in a while, holding my phone to my ear, like a private seashell.
I was moved to China, where I’m told - thank you, Grandmère - I picked up a brash, incisive, Cantonese, ‘overly-direct’ manor, while Manon,went on to Institut Villa Pierrefeu, a finishing school in Switzerland.
Her hands move like ballerinas, her voice is as clear and refined as
Baccarat crystal, her look - bixie-cut chestnut brown hair, a white, Fontaine Zuave shirt over black, ME+EM Italian Linen Wide-Leg Trousers with Keds canvas sneakers, is Parisian simple and elegant and her posture is effortlessly perfect - she makes me feel like a scrub in my black Beatles t-shirt and jeans.
I passed Manon on an escalator, two days ago in Le Bon Marché.
I was going up, she was going down, with this little Devyn doll on her hip. The little firecracker I’d only seen on Instagram was dynamite in person. Her little expressions are bright-eyed and somehow familiar, their laughs - mother and daughter - are the same, rolling, lilting trills I know by heart.
My watch showed 69°f as we sprawled picnicking on a tree-lined embankment of the slithering green Seine. Rain clouds were gathering to the south - the river acts like a compass -which can be handy. Looking back on friendships is fun, but now we’re looking forward - which feels like home.
.
.
Songs for this:
New Toy by Lene Lovich
My Old School by Steely Dan
Angel by Sarah McLachlan
I longed for the days when the earth will smile again and the penitence of its mind will humble itself before the benevolent sky and the assemble of peace will be trod bountifully through the street.
I long for the days when the hill and the valley will meet and walk hand in hand in the street and greet the people we meet and pass on a word of encouragement to those that fall from the heavens. And time will tell how he constructed that hypnotic well to release his mind from the pit of hell.
I longed for the days when the sun will smile with the rain and cool the desert flame, the cactus will grow in abundance and moisture will cover the desert land and the plants will flourish all over the land and the sun will obey its command.
I long for the days when I can dine outdoors, and watched the waves riding on the shore, I will write a verse or two, and listen to the music singing in the wind. I will breathe in the fresh air from the atmosphere and write a romantic poem for thee and absorb the moisture in my flesh from the sea.
It is the touch of love that will ride with the vision from above and somewhere out there in the atmosphere; you will feel the difference of time racing with the spirit of the divine.
I long for the days when I can walk in my old school again, and bring the place alive just like old time. I will walk along the corridors and mesmerize my golden sorrows and the path I took that gave me a hundred books.
I will dance underneath the trees, just like how it used to be, I will bring my friends alive and reminisce their sacrifice. I will recapture the memory of spending long hours in the study room and could not take a shower until the following day at noon. I will go to the gym and workout on the tread mill and hum my childhood hymn.
I long for the day when I can travel the world again and meet people from every, race, color, creed, nation and culture. We will have happy times together, have buffet meals for supper and sing Kaluki at noon. We will learn about each other’s culture and play games together, and when the evening is done, we will stand on the board, walk and gaze out yonder and our heart will be together.
I long for the day when I will meet all my television friends, we will have lemonade on ice and we will tell stories in the moonlight.
Alright have to admit that whole drole Bazball or Baz Bat cool cat vibe…rabbit out of hat tribe.. is taking its toll..sunk in a hole..losing it’s goal and soul..not being a vitriol troll..maybe need to mull over a cull of this rigmarole..
Can’t pretend..is the end of this spangly jangly new fangled trend…nothing off the shelf…just express yourself…won’t spank you..will almost thank you.. if you tank…bonkers fools rules you can’t bend…must always go stonkers.. all cool no old school…when you shan't defend and depend on a blend of soft conkers and tracks to conquer..
Let’s explain there are many ways to play and entertain…the lotto of the Baz grotto..no dull lulls …no more bore score draws…one motto…just high octane insane where seemingly the sole means to control is a flat track that blunts and shunts how every attack does bowl..
I know..have already banged on..had a go at the pitches…feather beds so flat you can bat gung ho heave ho from the get go.. no wear and tear..glitches or hitches.. despair to stop the flair.. no real movement in the air or off the square..the Bazball pest…Bazbat conquest..effectively saying no we won’t be surfing the crest of a true test contest of willow and leather..hey ho nonny no…to the real deal Test fest..tally ho..
No pretension..apprehension of the lacking dimensions and few mentions of the best Test tensions..
Also must rebuke how they have turned the duke ball from a serious nuke which would spook.. enthrall..now reliant on a cherry that gets so soft you need a fluke ..well Dukes will be compliant as England’s their biggest client…we saw our copper haired laird no longer..stronger defiant..again came a cropper..and this was hardly a proper whopper green topper..
It seems kitsch Bazball rule needily greedily avoids any glitches or hitches in batter’s riches which in turn.. does spurn and bewitches merchants of seams and stitches..
Well it can be dicey to make your tracks at home too spicy..get in a lather…at the palaver as runs become rather pricey..when you could goad..milk that ilk as you explode on a silk road..
Our selector trifecta…the three wise men..Baz..Bob and Ben.. know if there is no speedster thuggery… no Geoffrey jaffas…bunsen spin skulduggery..they will be the gaffers with some Bazball muggery..
Toy collector:
He holds the bear gently in his old wrinkled hands as he gazes into its kind beaded eyes. The toy collector sees love lined in its double stitches and his childhood in the busted toys smile.
There stitched in black thread he can hear the sound of a child laughter, happiness, and growth reviving his memory of youth, like a jolt of life to an empty vein.
The years have passed freely, almost fleeting by. He had no more time to play in grassy school yards or hide from girls wearing satin dress, he had to grow up. The boy eventually turned into a man and was forced to pack away his toys regrettably into a wooden box.
There they sat in the attic awaiting the return of their beloved friend while he aged slowly into an adult.
High school came and went, college, even marriage but unfortunately he was never blessed with his own child. No one to share in the lined pleats of his own childhood. All of this he now recognizes in the bears sandy eyes.
The toy collector hands his most prized procession to his wife, a dazed look covering his forlorn face.
She takes his withered hand and speaks gently in his ear.
“All the memories in the world could never replace the love between a man and his bear.”
“Yes, but even the toy collector eventually grows to old and must let go.”
He replies in woe.
His thin lips force a smile as he repacks the boxes that escaped him long ago and in the early morn of the next day he patently sits alone outside for a bus to come.
The driver honks her horn and greats him with a warming smile.
“Are all of these toys for our orphanage?”
The toy collector regrettably nods.
“Things have been pretty rough but this will surly lift there sprits up.”
She confesses as she gently grabs a random box.
As she stacks them one by on into the now cluttered van his bear falls onto the pavement below.
Unable to pick it up he wrinkles his brow with great sadness.
Suddenly the passenger door opens revealing the face of a young girl and as she draws near she extends her hand and clutches the bear.
“Did you find a friend little Lou?”
His heart melts as she kisses the teddy gently then smiles.
“thank you.”
The child coos softly.
The toy collector lives in the toys he collects, but the man lives forever in the bear the child now possesses.
Gaia continues running on a Health Platform,
healthy democracy
for wealthy economy
for healthy ecopolitics
for wealthy democratic energy.
The idea of free markets
as those embedded in democratic transactional service
to a local community
Is as old and conservative
as the idea of health
being embedded in a real
organic economic body
and political mind,
actually communicating
and playing nice
with each other.
The primal goal of old school markets,
in good weather times,
was to grow polycultural health,
investments as rich as diverse nutritional needs
of consuming and producing constituents.
So too, in bad climate times,
a depressed and fading market
was, and is, to survive Lose economic
and Lose environmental EarthTrends,
becoming more monoculturally played out,
exhausted,
Often picking up,
emigrating toward more promising lands
and fresh water,
more breathable air,
healthier opportunities for robust
democratic
fair
transparent
mutually vulnerable
win/win healthy-wealth transactions.
Robust markets are rich in co-passionate exchanges,
a flow between non-violent consumers and producers
rooted in healthy cooperative investments
in
and from
and of nutrition-sharing hearts
and minds
and voices,
thoughts with feelings still attached.
The right to free communicating markets
is a right of democratic access
and an ecological positive corollary right
of equal freedom from investing in poison,
imprisoning the competition,
waging war against those who terrify our megalomania
with their own autonomous hubris,
violent lies
hypocrisy
narcissism
egocentrism
anthropocentrism
xenophobia
patriarchalism
homophobia
win/lose evolutionary competitions,
runaway capital hoarding,
moral bankruptcy,
investment in ego-maniacal agendas,
hate,
elitism,
racism,
autonomous media and market control,
feelings of grandiose entitlement,
Jealous and zealous bad faith
sold out as spiritualized
and denatured
disembodied
unmarketable
unfree BadNews anti-truth.
Meanwhile,
Gaia continues running on a Health Platform,
healthy natural/spiritual democracy
for wealthy secular/sacred economy
for healthy left/right bicameral ecopolitics
for wealthy democratic free-market energy.
Sometimes in your life there's a love, that comes along.
This particular love you long for you don't need to wish for because it's written its ment to be and it will happen and you know it's going to be wonderful, its part of you it's what makes you whole.
In my case it is truelly my sister.
The minute she was born she was mine forever. I looked at her and knew. The connection between us so powerful and wonderful there are just no words to describe.
And as she's grown into this amazing women she's got every attribute I could have dreamed for her.
She is beautiful down to her core, she's intelligent in a text book way and wise before her time,
Yet she's extremely witty and funny and can bring me to tears and the amount of belly laughs she has made me have has caused me pain and to wet my self copious amounts of times.
She is full of heart, so loving, empathetic and caring beyond words, organised and practical, but carefree and messy when she's having fun.
She is black and white but open for reason and alternative ways.
She is not judgmental, but if needed will pull you in line out of concern and love. She is spiritual and harmonious. She is ambitious and successful and thirsty for knowledge and new things.
She is generous and will help you in anyway she can and is old School in her mannerisms and has utmost respect for the elderly and needy.
She's a family girl and will do anything for all and they know she has got there back. She's a mother an outstanding, mother blessed with a pigeon two that she totally deserves and has completed her world.
My sister to you I say Thankyou. Thankyou for giving me the privilege of having you as mine. As my parents masterpiece and my lifelong gift the most precious gift I have ever been given.
My love for you is the sort of love that will never compare to any other and my wish to you is of eternal love, health and happiness and for every wish for you to wish to be granted for too.
I love you my little sister and all I can say is you changed my world the minute you entered into it and life just hasn't been the same.
You are my Earth angel my gift from the heavens above and how lucky am I to have had the opportunity to feel real genuine, heart exploding love.
Thankyou ***
Sometimes in your life there's a love, that comes along.
This particular love you long for you don't need to wish for because it's written its ment to be and it will happen and you know it's going to be wonderful, its part of you it's what makes you whole.
In my case it is truelly my sister.
The minute she was born she was mine forever. I looked at her and knew. The connection between us so powerful and wonderful there are just no words to describe.
And as she's grown into this amazing women she's got every attribute I could have dreamed for her.
She is beautiful down to her core, she's intelligent in a text book way and wise before her time,
Yet she's extremely witty and funny and can bring me to tears and the amount of belly laughs she has made me have has caused me pain and to wet my self copious amounts of times.
She is full of heart, so loving, empathetic and caring beyond words, organised and practical, but carefree and messy when she's having fun.
She is black and white but open for reason and alternative ways.
She is not judgmental, but if needed will pull you in line out of concern and love. She is spiritual and harmonious. She is ambitious and successful and thirsty for knowledge and new things.
She is generous and will help you in anyway she can and is old School in her mannerisms and has utmost respect for the elderly and needy.
She's a family girl and will do anything for all and they know she has got there back. She's a mother an outstanding, mother blessed with a pigeon two that she totally deserves and has completed her world.
My sister to you I say Thankyou. Thankyou for giving me the privilege of having you as mine. As my parents masterpiece and my lifelong gift the most precious gift I have ever been given.
My love for you is the sort of love that will never compare to any other and my wish to you is of eternal love, health and happiness and for every wish for you to wish to be granted for too.
I love you my little sister and all I can say is you changed my world the minute you entered into it and life just hasn't been the same.
You are my Earth angel my gift from the heavens above and how lucky am I to have had the opportunity to feel real genuine, heart exploding love.
Thankyou