Long Schoolmates Poems
Long Schoolmates Poems. Below are the most popular long Schoolmates by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Schoolmates poems by poem length and keyword.
As we walk down this lonely forest road, we see two new paths to take
And suddenly it is clear, the choice we have to make
Although we’ve walked this road a while, some of us depart
To go down a brand new road leaving the well worn road that has been printed into your heart
And yes, we’ll surely miss you, but you’ll have adventures, just wait and see
And as you take the new road, I hope that you’ll miss me
But just remember the times we wearied, and needed someone to lean on
And when the lonely path seemed too dismal and all hope seemed just gone
And when our hearts sang with joy, or simmered with hidden fury
Or when the longest dark night tread seemed to be in no hurry
Our friends were always there to support, in the good times and the bad
And when you tripped and fell, We were there to hold you up, and comfort when you were sad
So even though this brand new journey together ends in this fork in the road, right here
For the thought that you’re forgotten, you never have to fear
For the memories we’ve made along the way, just let them fill your mind
You’ll never be alone, true friends you’ll always find
I’ll miss you, but surely as the eagle flies
I’ll see you again on the lonely path that winds beneath the sky
-Skylar Remble
(This poem is in honor of Robert Frost's "A Road Not Taken" My poem is about a road that is taken)
Cory and the Black Dog
Cory was a shy boy;
He didn’t make a fuss.
But his schoolmates teased him,
Especially on the Bus.
Black dog quit your circling.
You don’t have to be so mean.
The pain in our poor Cory’s heart;
Was more than could be seen.
His clothes were kind of shabby;
His complexion wasn't clear.
They laughed at his appearance;
For everyone to hear.
An awful kind of sadness;
Took away poor Cory’s light
Black Dog stole our Cory.
One dark, moonless night.
He would have been a soldier
A fine strong young Marine.
But the Black Dog came to visit.
When he was just thirteen.
Black dog what’s your purpose?
You doggone demon elf!
Cory crept into the backyard
And quietly hung himself.
Rubbing boys shoulders with sunburn oil. The sun smiles at the pain, the brush of fingers against raw flesh. But like a war wound, those boys be proud. Offer them a salve and they scoff, don’t need that stuff. Head back to the beach. Nudge them with a board and a wave, and they take off, up to their knees, casting themselves into the sea. Cheeks and hairlines have enemies, but the boys will wait for the tan that turns them brown, puffed up, back to tell the tales to jealous schoolmates.
They won’t speak of palm trees, nor the hot sand; perhaps they will not even remember what to say, until a prompt. Perhaps they won’t shut up about the knock down, drag out fights with the ebb and flow of riptides.
They might not remember the food that filled their empty bellies, but they enjoyed each bite of burgers at Ford’s Garage in the oldest city in America. I heard from an eyewitness that it has ghosts, the city, not this particular haunt.
Packed like fish, we headed to Florida, having to use one of the back seats for the overflow of things. My oldest grandson had to endure his seat, likened to a ball turret gunner. But this pubescent heartbreaker, though cramped, loved the isolation.
Speed traps, speedy biker, ear-splitting emergency vehicles, pelicans;
and a swift breeze upon a chilly-sunburn covered up with a soft blanket and cozied up to grandma (of course this is the nine year old).
Trip back as the GPS constantly pushed us farther from home, not in miles but in minutes and hours. But the miles moved quicker than a remembered icestorm where I couldn’t get home (only 10 minutes away), so like all long travel, the kids got their first taste, and survived.
So much to say, but signing off…
He's reluctant to make friends,
and shows little or no trust
in people who reach out
and smiling he pretends!
He doesn't follow those positive minds,
every joke and laughter bothers him,
and seeing no humor in a silly whim...
his moods become bleaker than shadows!
What makes him act the strange way he does?
Was he bullied as a kid by his schoolmates?
And not having the strenght to fight back,
he lost his confidence in clever counterattack!
Oh, pitiful loner, be warned that a sucidial mind that
contemplates death has no worth, but bears distraught;
you live in a cheerless home that has closed windows
looking over a street where others exchange their hellos!
A bright teen barely twenty has willfully thrown away
his chances for glory by listening to internal voices
coming from the netherworld hindering his senses
from enjoying life by making his skies completely grey!
written on 6/19/2017
kids in their classroom
sounds of fidgeting abound~
the crack of a gun
a place of learning
students schooled by skilled teachers~
a classroom in shock.
as panic ensues
some will never walk again~
roses mark the spot
a remembered smile
your daughter went to that school~
tears spill from your eyes
impossible sounds
a child armed with a rifle~
schoolmates are shot dead
politicians cry
it rains alligator tears~
students on the march
nothing will be done
guns get sold to the insane~
profits are soaring
it'll happen again
children murdered in cold blood~
thank the N.R.A.
Let's celebrate teachers--give them a big hand!
For they hold the treasure a child's mind needs.
They open doors to discovery's wondrous land;
then urge them along to help them succeed.
Their drive and coaxing we feel throughout life--
whispers of "you know you can do much more."
Life, you told us, is not won without strife,
so, "get busy, let's see what you have in store."
When recalling school days, who comes to mind?
Schoolmates in classes, acquaintances fleet.?
Along with your good friends, who do you find?
I'll bet it's the ones who made learning sweet.
Miss McMillan, who came with us from Jr. High.
Iris and Byron Chew stretched our brains far.
Miss Mershon said let's give pyramids a try.
Mrs. Babcock had us reach for a star.
Thanks, teachers, for giving us distant shores
to visit, and snow-capped mountains to climb.
Thanks for holding our children's hands in yours
guiding their journey through momentous times.
Thanks for helping those who have tutor needs;
for late nights grading papers without end.
You smile as we leave, for you planted seeds.
All this, and you manage to be a friend!
May 31, 2022
Schoolmates
By Franklin Price
8/16/2016
Most schoolmates now are seventy
If not a little more
Have done a lot since high school
Long ago in sixty-four
Don't move as quickly or think as fast
As we did back in the day
Hope the paths we took to get here
Gave happiness along the way
Directions taken numerous
As many as our class
We've left our fingerprints on time
And still have some to pass
Some have left; are early gone
Our memories see their faces
Thoughts still linger of them
And how they ran their races
Be grateful as you read this
That you have more race to run
It's time to slow the tempo
And concentrate on having fun
7/22/21
People continuing to show hate
As if they themselves are so great
While the planet continues to rotate
Boy you need a lot more than Colgate
You thought it did, but it carried no weight
Don't make me, or I'll put you in yo place
The evidence will be difficult to locate
Only got 24 so I poured up some twenty fours
Ready for many more
It's been a deadly war
Pulled through with tremendous force
While I weathered any storms
The answers to such questions, is like seeking an endless source
People continuing to act fake
In good or bad shape
Dealing with another backache
Life will give and it shall take
Let's get the facts straight
Life moves at a fast pace
Don't end up in last place
In this giant rat race
Why have they
Continued to act that way
Been another bad day
Empty bottles and an ashtray
The same old pathway
Could just never keep it all at bay
It's been revolting
As life continues unfolding
After the whole thing
Not just a gold ring
Yet it always ends up being an ice cold drink
Empty or a full drink
Be bold or sink
Who am I kidding, I always got one, like it's a cool thing
What the f*** am I really doing?
Who am I truly fooling?
Why am I always smoking and boozing?
Winning and losing
At times it is or isn't amusing
As death is always looming
Underneath objects in the sky zooming
In space matter devoured by black holes that keep consuming
Regardless of if we once were schoolmates
It's all been a wild goose chase
People still being two faced
Calling others a fruitcake
Let me give ya'll a news break
I'm going to get much more than a few scrapes
While above and below sluice gates
Having a wallet and safe full of bills with a blue face
Still traveling through space
Got rid of the evidence, no need for a suitcase
Those that give and others who take
Coming in rough, obscure or smooth shapes
Close to estates that grew grapes
In order to make
Wine all the time, before it's all too late
Before it's all too late
What's getting accomplished if always you wait?
I'm going to continue to mutate
Getting it done before the due date
Otherwise it all would be a huge waste
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.
Outside my dorm window, the snow began to fall;
Everybody had gone home, but I didn’t have a car.
Christmas break started yesterday, they’re gonna throw me out;
I’ve got no place to go, I’ll just be wandering about.
Rubbing elbows with the rich kids on an academic ride,
But the tracks that I come from are from the other side.
No daddy who’s a lawyer; no mother with a doctorate degree,
No car keys to a new Porsche underneath a Christmas tree.
Threw some clothes in my backpack with the cafeteria food that I stole;
Borrowed my roommate’s comforter to protect me from the cold.
Found a shelter for the homeless on the other side of town;
With my First Year Contract Law book, I started to hunker down.
A little boy walked up beside me and stood beside my cot,
“Mister, would you like to share my candy, it’s the only thing I got.
I’ll give you half my candy cane if you read me a story from your book.”
How could I refuse this little boy and the longing in his look?
“You can keep your Christmas candy, but I will tell you a story,
About a newborn baby King and the star that signaled glory.”
As I told the story of Christmas, the best I could recall,
People gathered around the two of use as the snow outside did fall.
When my story was finally over, the little boy just smiled,
And put a smile on every other face that gathered in the crowd;
Then he looked at every one of us and said, so simply,
“Jesus Christ put that star of hope into all of you and me.”
Suddenly, my self-pity flew right out of my soul,
Becoming rich like all my schoolmates, no longer was my goal,
I closed up my text book and went outside into the snow,
Laying on our backs, making snow angels, we watched the stars aglow.
“The star of hope still shines brightly, each and every Christmas night,
With our faith in baby Jesus, everything will turn out all right.”
I returned back to the university and finished my degree,
Dedicating my life thereafter to helping others out of poverty.
Every Christmas Eve I go back to that shelter on the far side of town,
And retell the story of Christmas to whoever comes around.