Long Schoolchildren Poems
Long Schoolchildren Poems. Below are the most popular long Schoolchildren by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Schoolchildren poems by poem length and keyword.
Said as it was long ago
Said the same though
A feeling of sickness when well
A damning of all good to hell
Intentions aside, married the bride
Where the schoolchildren inside once cried
It’s nice when it all rhymes
Afraid of the dark, it shines
I don’t look back anymore
At the blood, violence, love, and gore
Or is it all in the head
Nobody full of lead, just alone in the bed
Is that what is pain
So take it away, please, slain
All is gone but me, so now
Life goes further, beyond what I can see, anyhow
Wind, wind will go
And when, nobody knows
There is really nothing left of love
Love is gone, no not that one, it rises above
That love is going strong
So only I’m here, wrong
I hope God knows I’m reduced
Left at my doorstep, my mind seduced
Finish me before my tears hit the floor, the crestfallen sore, before, my sea comes ashore
Lay rest to me
Impressed to be
In eternal ecstasy
Writing the final chapter…
the bells in the tower ring for me
Once for each phrase unwritten
twice for each grievance atoned
—as—
“Schoolchildren rise
pulling back the covers on the flowering meadow
Singing my words
blessing the fields as they run
“Memory half gone
released into the cradle of times rebirth
Taking what I gave
and leaving what I could not forgive
“The reasons, the seasons
melding together, flashing lost images
Redeeming their promise
christening new moments forever endowed
“Yesterday and tomorrow
I am free of their deception
My last words to stay hidden
—in the laughter of a child”
(The New Room: June, 2022)
Old Glory’s at half-mast today.
I wonder who just passed away?
Was it a hero from some battles past?
A dead leader whose influence lasts?
Were servicemen killed overseas,
Or humanitarians died fighting a disease?
Seems most of the time I don’t know why
The Colors only at half-mast fly.
More and more it seems to be
The flag’s mourning some local tragedy:
A lunatic shooter with a gun or rifle
Killed innocents for some reprisal;
Or people contemplating suicides
Go out committing multiple homicides.
I think the worst is killing schoolchildren.
Will this obscene madness never end?!
Kind and nice lady,
We are not eternal,
Not you, not me, not them,
Hurry to love me,
Marie Gaëlle,
We are not eternal,
Not you, not me, not them
Hurry to think about it,
Little mom,
We are not eternal,
Not you, not me, not the Pope
Hurry to sleep,
Poet friend,
We are not eternal,
Not you, not me, not them,
Hurry and write to the mountains,
Frequent traveler,
We are not eternal,
Not you, not me, not them,
Hurry up and visit New York,
Marie Catherine,
We are not eternal,
Not you, not me, not them,
Hurry to kiss me,
Marie Gaëlle,
We are not eternal,
Neither you nor I, do not wait,
Hurry up and write to me,
Hurry up, little girl,
To dance and sing,
Your chocolate taste haunts me,
Hurry up and eat oranges,
Poor nephews, poor nieces,
Poor schoolchildren, poor schoolgirls,
We are not eternal,
The sea will remain, not us, in heaven,
Love her like a sister,
I am not eternal
Hurry up little girl, hurry up little girl.
Gentille madame,
Nous ne sommes pas éternels,
Ni toi, ni moi, ni eux,
Dépêche-toi de m’aimer,
Marie Gaëlle,
Nous ne sommes pas éternels,
Ni toi, ni moi, ni eux
Dépêche-toi d’y penser,
Petite maman,
Nous ne sommes pas éternels,
Ni toi, ni moi, ni le Pape
Dépêche-toi de dormir,
Ami poète,
Nous ne sommes pas éternels,
Ni toi, ni moi, ni eux,
Dépêche-toi d’écrire aux montagnes,
Grand voyageur,
Nous ne sommes pas éternels,
Ni toi, ni moi, ni eux,
Dépêche-toi de visiter New York,
Marie Catherine,
Nous ne sommes pas éternels,
Ni toi, ni moi, ni eux,
Dépêche-toi de m’embrasser,
Marie Gaëlle,
Nous ne sommes pas éternels,
Ni toi, ni moi, n’attends pas,
Dépêche-toi de m’écrire,
Dépêche-toi, fillette,
De danser et chanter,
Ton goût de chocolat me hante,
Dépêche-toi de manger des oranges,
Pauvres neveux, pauvres nièces,
Pauvres collégiens, pauvres collégiennes,
Nous ne sommes pas éternels,
La mer restera, pas nous, au ciel,
Aimez-la comme une sœur,
Je ne suis pas éternel
Dépêche-toi fillette, dépêche-toi fillette.
Shimmering in a chilly mist,
skyscrapers overlooking NYC.
August left into September's cooler mornings,
schoolchildren dressed in plaid and Hush Puppies.
In Central Park the leaves are a green-yellow,
squirrels scurry to store acorns.
Pretzel vendors appear as joggers feel
relieved from humidity,
in autumnal New York.
Driving headed north,
Upstate farms yield cider,
and the Catskills and Adirondack mountains
are banners of emerging colors.
Deer gather from the edge of the woodland
to drink from a pond as the fading moon sails,
in autumnal New York.
Years ago my siblings and I in our Long Island
suburban yard,
leapt into golden and red maple leaf piles,
and ate candy apples-
How much simpler and joyful our lives
were then,
in autumnal New York,
I wish I were still in,
autumnal New York. ~
Rainy Daze
sitting quietly I watch as the
raindrops reassemble in the
puddle
schoolchildren at recess
awaiting the forming of lines
holding raindrop hands
humming sweetly on the
steaming pavement
erasing schoolyard blacktop
shape changing the oily
rainbow of the bus stop
bottle caps setting sail
in surging gutter streams
umbrellas lifting on a
cloudy breeze.
raindrops, skydivers from
a distant sea, teasing the
garden locked landlubber’s
with tales of travel and
of history, of gardens
drenched in mystery
sitting in my rainy daze
sharing cool moist now
with then
John G. Lawless
9/10/2014
The town fathers
are long neglected by scavenging vultures,
locked up as they are,
in the wood cabin, we call the town museum.
Inside the shack, there are old tintypes, sepia
photographs and the usual rural relics.
Outside, a small patch of lawn
divides the past from a main road,
one that bridges our hamlet
between two swelling and brawling cities.
Those cities also have their metropolitan relics,
grand achievements forever displayed
for groups of bored schoolchildren.
Outside, vultures are shood away
by men in HazMat suits.
Our community fathers are black-suited
grim featured farmers and church dignitaries,
even the mayors that are still alive
look out from their portraits
as if wishing for the odd vulture or two.
Nothing else around here bothers
enough to matter much.
Fields are pushed back beyond backyards.
We killed off all the rattlesnakes years ago.
Good morning, good morning, girls and boys
I hope you brought your Disney toys
Gather round in a circle close
Lets sing about the ones we love the most
Mickey, Mickey, your so cute and small
We love you the best of all
Donald Duck with his ducklings three
Dressed the same are his family
Children, children wave your hands
Close you eyes we're in Disney Land
Pluto, Pluto your silly and daft
You sure do make us laugh
It's time to count, lets have some fun
The Seven Dwarfs, seven back to one
Children, children wave your hands
Close you eyes we're in Disney Land
Dumbo flaps his ears and flies
Pinocchio's nose grows telling silly lies
Let all skip to Wonderland
Holding Alice's hands, going hand in hand
Children, children wave your hands
Close you eyes we're in Disney Land
Children, children wave your hands
Close you eyes we're in Disney Land
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/childrens.php
.. continued
Flag-lowering is a daily observance at the Wagah Border, open to the public this day.
On our view of the gate:
l --- Bharat ------------------------------------------------- India --- l
A crowd gathers on either side - Eleven thousand are provided seats.
Not unlike a cricket match, except everyone leaves satisfied.
(Communalism - it caused two parts of a whole to drift apart.
Seven decades later and to this day, sweets are exchanged across the frontiers.)
With measured steps they neatly stride, a silver blade in hand upright.
Handmade badges turned to gallantry ribbons..
a soldier’s uniform is always lined.
revered fabric
draped across two sturdy palms
nation in his arms
~Late Evening TV Coverage of the morning’s events - The Prime Minister’s speech~
A crew stands on nine years of sandstone - A bird’s view from afar.
Hailed by music
he walked into a constellation of schoolchildren
‘Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high’.
Acceptance is the first step towards change:
Violence in the name of faith is unacceptable.
"In the New India, the biggest strength is democracy.
But we cannot reduce ours to mere ballot boxes. Our resolve is to have a democracy where people are not driven by the system, but the system by the people."
I watch the proceedings
many states away
nation in our hopes
--------------------------------------------------------------------
Jai Hind
Tricolour lighting in my city:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=herkuupDnAo
Internationally:
www.ndtv.com/offbeat/independence-day-2017-indian-embassies-light-up-in-colours-of-the-tricolour-see-pics-1737756
He was the quiet man on Willow Street,
the one who fixed porch lights for free,
who shoveled snow before dawn
so the schoolchildren wouldn't slip.
He always waved at me,
a small, shy lift of his hand,
as if even kindness
might bruise someone.
Mom said he'd lived alone for years.
Said he'd lost someone once
and never quite recovered.
I thought that meant sorrow.
I didn't know it meant hunger.
Some nights I'd see him walking
the tree line behind our house,
head bowed,
hands trembling like he was holding
something dangerous inside.
He told me once
that the moon can pull a man apart
the way longing does,
slowly, then all at once.
I thought he meant heartbreak.
I didn't know he meant teeth.
The disappearances started in winter.
Pets first.
Then people who walked home alone.
The town whispered about a monster.
He just looked tired.
So tired.
Last night, the power went out.
The woods glowed silver.
I heard something crying,
a sound too broken to be a howl.
I followed it.
I shouldn't have.
I found him in the clearing,
shirt torn,
eyes wet,
moonlight shaking in his breath.
He begged me to leave.
His voice cracked like a door
someone was pounding on
from the inside.
I stepped closer anyway,
because he looked like someone
who needed saving.
He whispered my name
the way a secret might sound
right before it's told.
And then he terrifyingly smiled,
soft, a little relieved,
as if I'd finally come
when he'd been waiting so long.
That's when I understood
why he always walked me home.
Why he always made sure
I got inside safely.
He wasn't protecting me
from the monster in the woods.
He was protecting the woods
from losing
what the monster
had already chosen.
The moon brightened.
He stopped trembling.
And I realized,
too late,
that some creatures
don't chase their prey.
They raise it.
I see black,
I feel cold,
Ghhhk.