Long Preschool Poems
Long Preschool Poems. Below are the most popular long Preschool by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Preschool poems by poem length and keyword.
So very innocent, genteel, serene
A preschool teacher with a fiery heart…
And free of petty words or gestures mean,
A racehorse, all impatient for the start.
She won hearts yet unwon, with brilliant smile
And moved the most rough-hewn to gentleness.
Fought fiercely for the Child, and all the while
Held sacred every pain I did confess.
She let her broken bits be meld together,
Attained a certain Oneness, oft in prayer.
Forgave all heaviness, as ‘twere a feather,
And of hearts, kindly counted mine as rare.
Still, now, the twin fires of our loving sing,
And make the quiet spheres of cosmos ring.
4/4/2019
Sometimes I wish I could go back in Time,
salivating for intelligent conversation...I think,
Shakespeare would have been interesting --
Most people today, seeming more programmed
than ever before in history – afraid to be alone
with independent thoughts; distracted by
background music, beeps, and screen prompts;
A society that has become reactionary, opposed
to Free-thinking and Self-determining (Ripe for
abuse!)
Would not be surprised to see a Cathedral being
built, Cross on top, "Church of Social Media" --
Next-door to an Abortion Clinic, "Preschool for Applied
Robotic Thinking" --
On the same block a Rehab
for those addicted to Traditional Marriage
and Monogamous Sex....
Little darling, thy fada wears a garland of frowns,
The breda must explain their jokes to him across the night,
Worry devours his heart,his wallet emptied of light,
Fallen sistrins and soaring debts weigh him down.
Parasitic friends,the firewater that hauls him down,
Your mada' open relationship haunts him without end
You poor black girl,his paternal duty no hand can mend,
So little darling,mockingbird sings sagacity' gentle crown.
'' Motivate him'',cries nightingale,'' seek angels that heel,
Set calm and clear,boundaries firm and the rule of right,
Recall the days when Rastafari made his soul bright ,
Technicalized guidance cuts through despair and anger's steel.
Sistren and fada ,simmer down a little bit,sooth the strife,
And read The Holy Piby for blessings in holy Jah life''
Glossary of Useful non pompous English terms:
Fada-father
breda-brother
sistrins -sisters
mada--mother
Rastafari--the best religion
technicalized-professional
Holy Piby-Bible of Rastafari
I sneeze, and everyone follows suit.
Curiouser and curiouser.
I laugh and half of them laugh.
Two of them pointedly laugh louder after the rest of us quit laughing.
There are always two in every class.
I try to move and step on two of them.
How they magically got under my feet and out of their chairs I cannot say.
Teaching preschoolers is like herding cats.
They are hilarious, and it is a lot of fun, but they are magical.
One second here, the next gone.
I admire anyone who can do this on a regular basis.
If I did this every day I would be taking a nap with them.
Which might not go over well.
When I walk through a blink of a garden
That hugs my legs
And calls my mother
To come collect these shards of broken glass
I felt it on the kick of my leg
With hours and more hours spent
Asking for a chance to restart
There wasn’t even a miracle
To call and ask for a redo
I felt the pain when the bullet hit my skull
Because I’m a far cry from preschool
And I’m not dressing up any leg wounds
It never really was a simple time
I want to bleed on a classroom chair
And ask my future why I went there
I want to see the lights start to dim
When I was locked in the lovers shed
With pair of dice and grenade pin
I cut my hair with the heart that seemed to break
Because I’m not at the bloody creek
I’m drowning in the heart
And I do miss the way the stars would burn me up
It’s been a long day with meteors
And it’s not for the faint of all
It’s only another day, another laugh
I lost my soul in a blink of a garden
I sold my heart to game called do it
I’m never gonna get a restart
There's a heart inside that starts to blink
And a mind so blind it starts to think
I wish I still had the guts I left inside a kitchen sink
I’m holding my breath
But my breath fights back
And if I would sink
I wouldn’t sink like that
If I’m never gonna get a restart
I’m gonna fight with a will called “move!”
And I’m gonna die like I meant to do
With a piece of glass still stuck in the back of my throat.
Mai (Mother), I am writing this letter to you in new format,
In the new era of email, I will send a message to you,
Since you are in heavens for a long time,
The feelings I have for you will never die.
I will invite you to visit my place overseas,
You will find food and culture so different than you have seen,
Still people are people, two generation of children will welcome you,
With their love, you will forget all the language barriers you may have.
Mai, in this letter, I will give my sincere thanks to you,
You taught us the preschool math and language even without going to any school,
I loved your cooking, maybe you can send me the recipe,
I miss your love and affection, no one will give the unselfish love and care.
Mai, I will try to appreciate your love for flowers and gardening,
The Guava, Mango, Jamun trees you planted, all the children enjoyed,
Even with dementia, you could recognize children with voice,
There would be no one to replace you in my life.
Mai, this mail will seek you amongst the stars in night skies,
There is a saying, loved ones do not die,
They love and smile you from up so high.
Letter To My Mother Poetry Contest
29th April 2023
Sponsored by: Anoucheka Gangabissoon
Through broken cries, we extend our tired arms to the tap,
Dirty, filthy palms,
As per request, we wipe them clean,
And wash again,
As if perhaps, by some chance,
It will make us white enough,
Clean of the heritage that paints the faces we once loved,
But as they tear apart the family tree,
Masked men on the streets,
We wish to know only peace,
A life we dreamed,
Screaming to be clean,
And the water runs over our hands,
Dirty, filthy palms,
As if rubbing them raw will remove the extra melanin,
Because we are not white enough,
Never white enough,
Not to be safe from being profiled on the way home from work,
Or school,
Or preschool,
Or daycare,
Where men who play God stop us and ask,
Where are you from,
What is your name,
Can’t you wash that off of your hands,
But sir,
This is my skin,
My body,
My sin,
And it no use to try to reason,
Because he is throwing us into an unmarked SUV,
Where I can do nothing but scream,
Scream and beg,
Beg to be seen,
Beg to be free,
But there is no such thing as freedom,
Or justice,
Or equality,
So God help me, if I don’t keep on scrubbing,
Cleaning my,
Dirty, filthy ing hands,
Because there is a chance,
That maybe it’ll make me white enough,
At least to walk past him on the street without so much as a passing glance,
And I’ll die on that hill,
Because this is all I have,
So I’ll clean them good,
I’ll clean them real good,
With bleach, and steel wool wires,
And I’ll try,
And try,
And try,
Ser lo suficientemente blanca,
To finally,
Finally,
Be white enough.
In my early formative years at home
living in the countryside human contact few
being adopted making me an only child
also formed a stammer all this was new
My bedroom I had room to myself
where I could play with real content
left to my own just little young me
memories roll back thinking they're sent
At night time slept usually fine
but then I began to have nightmares
this became regular more and more
lasted through preschool till 7 years
My nightmare was a man came in
to my bedroom that filled me with fear
he never stayed long as I then awoke
familiar he was but I wasn't at all clear
Sometimes wonder if it was dad I never met
not known circumstances round my adoption
soon forgot about it now in the past
at least thankful wasn't put up for auction!
(I have written these concerning nightmares I had in my early childhood, probably stemming from my adoption and subsequent stammer.)
He comes into preschool worn out, not trusting others
For he has learned he cannot trust fathers or mothers.
He is sad, sighs and quickly want to beat someone up.
He is ready to smack your hands, take away your cup.
Luckily for him, his teacher has met a similar girl or boy before.
She knows patience and love and trust must be in store.
It will not be easy, but she must help him unlearn his ways.
If he is going to make friends or have better days.
She begins to compliment him on anything she can find.
He gets angry about it, and does everything to not mind.
The dance of the child who has been told he is worthless and bad.
Before he can trust, he will get angry, and mad to cover up his sad.
Oh, Holy Night?
Will we ever be allowed to sing this again?
Doubtful in California.
While visions of Saint Fauci dance in everyone's heads.
A once peace filled nation, that forgot their God.
Now paying the price for misguided leaders,
That legislate sin.....a virtue??
Where I can be made into a donkey, if I so choose to??
Man honors man, but never God!
Old hat, no laughs, they say?
The government maniacs think they are Moses?
Leading us where, to hell?
Or...to be beaten brutally with rubber hoses?
I see people, whistling "this is just about over."
Ridiculous as telling me, my name is a big red dog, Rover!
Power to the people cannot be restored.
Unless fear controls, by each and everyone of us are ignored!
POWER TO ALL THE PEOPLE
IN EACH NATION
6-17-2021
Censorship, stopping freedom of assembly, religion , schooling of children,
slamming freedom of speech is un-American. Who you voted for is not to be held against you. The President, is not an oligarch here.. Nor can he rule by
hundreds of executive orders to skirt Congress.