Long Schoolwork Poems
Long Schoolwork Poems. Below are the most popular long Schoolwork by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Schoolwork poems by poem length and keyword.
It’s early Spring; a plethora of colorful wildflowers are blooming in the countryside. The air has a rich, earthy smell, for April showers have washed the pungent cow manure deep into the ground, nourishing the crops. The songbirds are brooding their clutch of eggs, and in a few weeks, hatchling chicks will be squabbling over a meal of caterpillars and worms. And soon, their flight feathers will fill in. Flexing their wings, they'll fledge, enjoying the miracle of flight as they soar into the heavens, touch the face of God, and achieve the impossible. Summer's on its way, and children's hearts are beating wildly in anticipation—looking forward to a well-deserved vacation from their schoolwork.
the sun shines brightly
pollywogs morph into frogs...
the fish are biting
Perfect Attendance Award
Kevin Davis 2025
I was never able to complete an entire school year without a day being ill.
And at the end of each school year an honor was paid to those who endured.
180 days of schoolwork and desk sitting, without one day being under a pill.
An achievement was bestowed, and all my teachers were proud and honored.
My days of absence was because of the common cold, earache and sore throat.
But more than that, days were without schoolwork, sleeping-in and some fun.
Colds were never fun, sore throats or strep were painful and nothing to gloat.
But watching television, whatever and whenever I wanted, could not be undone.
But the honor others had obtained seemed worthy, so one year I ventured to win,
One full school year, each full day in my seat, learning my eighth-grade lessons.
I made the first half without a day ill, playing basketball till the holidays began.
Christmas was joyful and healthy, and New Years joy, my family were blessings.
Back to class on Monday January 3rd, 1966, the Saturday before I woke-up well.
Ready to begin the rest of the year then to high school and many new adventures.
By mid-day I began to feel different, my throat itched, and stomach wouldn’t be still.
By evening my throat was scratchy and my head hurt, what was causing the aches?
My Mom felt my head, and stated, “You have a temperature, it’s to bed for you!”
“But Mom I want to go to back to school.” “Let me take your temperature and see.”
Thermometer in the mouth for several minutes, then out it came and the orders to do,
“Here’s two aspirins, take them now and get to bed you have a fever of over 103.”
Dr. Buckley was called, and my parents took me to his home/office, and he said,
“I need to check, but I think step-throat is the cause.” The fearful otoscope out
The good doctor peered down my throat. “Strep it is young man it’s off to bed”.
First a shot, cough medicine and pills. “No school for you, and no running about”.
And so, my quest for perfect attendance was done, no honor to be had at years end.
By the end of the next week, I was feeling much better, and Dr. Buckley decreed,
“The strep has healed and you can return to school.” he gave Mom a note to send,
So, the school would let me return but no perfect attendance, the rules did not bend.
How do the makers of military hardware
Sit at the dinner table with their kith and kin
Do they sit and pretend they don’t care
That their handiwork results in a mortal sin?
Do they praise little Johnny for schoolwork done?
While their despicable little toys
Bring an early end for a poor woman’s son
Who will be deprived of experiencing life’s joys.
In the evening, when day welcomes night
And they tenderly kiss their lover’s lips
Whilst holding a soft body tight
Do they think of one who has no limbs below the hips?
Indelible ink on the hand stains
But the mark on their souls forever remains.
the ivy crunches ‘neath my boot
cold sounds that crisp the winds
a snow has left its whitened soot
not just the ground
but with age found
my head and cheeks … and chin …
I walked here in my younger years
these vines then new and green
my heart baptized with callow tears
from then ‘til now
each solemn vow
and all oaths in-between …
the mem’ries of this green-clad place
disturb my thoughts to yearn
for how these buildings did embrace
each soul and mind
that searched to find
through toil, what it could learn …
I stumbled there from brick to brick
thru schoolwork, loves and friends
but most of life came much too quick
and good or bad
that bumbling lad
climbed ropes too near their ends …
now here I stroll those bricks, the same
day’s close paints pink, the reach
I see each face, each smile, each name
of those, then dear
but now, I fear
too far-flung to beseech …
still, priceless are the days now gone
and precious through their end
for mem’ries push me always on
to quite adore
life making more
sweet days like this to wend …
sweet days … like THIS.
( photograph of my prep school, North Yarmouth Academy, taken 50 years ago from 1976 yearbook )
the ivy crunches ‘neath my boot
cold sounds that crisp the winds
a snow has left its whitened soot
not just the ground
but with age found
my head and cheeks … and chin …
I walked here in my younger years
these vines then new and green
my heart baptized with callow tears
from then ‘til now
each solemn vow
and all oaths in-between …
the mem’ries of this green-clad place
disturb my thoughts to yearn
for how these buildings did embrace
each soul and mind
that searched to find
through toil, what it could learn …
I stumbled there from brick to brick
thru schoolwork, loves and friends
but most of life came much too quick
and good or bad
that bumbling lad
climbed ropes too near their ends …
now here I stroll those bricks, the same
day’s close paints pink, the reach
I see each face, each smile, each name
of those, then dear
but now, I fear
too far-flung to beseech …
still, priceless are the days now gone
and precious through their end
for mem’ries push me always on
to quite adore
life making more
sweet days like this to wend …
sweet days … like THIS.
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden, March 11, 2024
( photograph of my prep school, North Yarmouth Academy, taken from my 1976 yearbook )
Mother, you’ve been gone for twelve months
I write poems upon your desk
The house looks different, you wouldn’t like it
Now I know why you worked and worked to keep it in order
I comprehend why you polished the silver
I believe the dishes should be put up every night
I see why we shouldn’t bring food to our rooms
Mother, we miss you terribly, we love you so
I sit in the living room, I write upon your desk
The couch smells like your perfume
The pictures rest in the closet, I don’t know why
Mother, your voice rings out on the second floor
Now I know why we tidied our rooms in the mornings
I comprehend why schoolwork comes first
I find myself being just like you “pick up your clothes”,” feed the dog”
Mother, how I wish I told you I loved you more often
The house looks different, you wouldn’t like it
Now I know why you worked and worked to keep us in order
Mother, you’ve been gone for so long
I write poems upon your desk
It feels like you’re right here
06/10/2021
Written for Lipogram Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Emilie Pinet
(no letter a)
Their baby girl turned out exceptional
Their baby girl is very exceptional
Her script perfect
She always had a book in her hand
Reading every spare minute
With a sponge like focus
At craft fairs, for example
She would hide under the table and read
At funeral services and church
She always brought a book
She would always read, read
For her birthday she wanted every episode
Of Criminal Minds, she never wanted toys
A book, or something stimulating her mind
To her was gold
She would also multitask her art
Oils and knitting, all self taught and really good
With her schoolwork
And sports
Swimming, karate and water polo
She was the very best at what she did
All through her schooling
Every single day
Every single day
She never received a grade less than an A
She was class valedictorian
She was phenomenal,
A swan that was always a swan
And recently she completed her first semester
At nursing school with a continued perfect record
Of all A's, all advanced courses
To me this is amazing
If I'm beaming the answer is yes
I spoke with, or should I say joked with the ex
Whose genes did she inherent? Whose?
Because It's neither of us
We laughed, one of the few times we did
I once wrote to my baby girl
Nineteen now, yet she's still my baby
I wrote to her a beautiful poem
About a blossoming rose
Growing to new heights, so elegant and beautiful
Nurtured, loved and cultivated
And she wrote back ... wherever they put me
In life, emphasizing they, I'll blossom that's my promise
I read her response over and over
In my mind, shedding tears
At her conviction, strong
I got to thinking ...
Her being uprooted earlier on in life
Watching her parents divorce, being hurt as a child
Having fears
Spurted her growth, ambition and drive
In my eyes it did
Affecting her in a way that she carried
A chip on her shoulder wanting to be the best
Proving her parents made a mistake in abandoning her
Just this past holidays, I can see a huge transformation in her
It's really noticeable, unrecognizable
She's matured faster than I wanted
Maybe she's dating, dipping her wet feet
But I see something different
I don't know what it is
She's not my baby anymore
connie pachecho
1/10/17
In the movies, “Reinforcements!”
Meant to quickly send more troops,
When war’s casualties meant spirits
Got a bad case of the droops.
In real life, though, reinforcements had,
To me and all my peers,
Quite a different definition, one
That now one never hears.
They were little paper circles
Which would stick around the holes
Of a piece of loose-leaf paper,
Being one of its controls.
For without them, if the hole would tear,
That page could then get lost
And who knows how much that missing schoolwork,
Grade-wise, might have cost.
So a box of reinforcements
(Or self-stick ones, on a sheet)
Would come swiftly to the rescue,
Keeping loose-leaf notebooks neat.
Do they still sell reinforcements?
I’m not sure, but years ago
I bought extra; if you need some,
Please feel free to let me know.