Long Student Poems
Long Student Poems. Below are the most popular long Student by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Student poems by poem length and keyword.
While waiting but not watching for the sun to set, perhaps the bullfrogs are creating the shadows with their croaks, my friend screams out because he has been bitten by a fly. He is not quiet enough so the flies obtain special pleasure from teasing him. Meanwhile bluebirds skirt the lake surface like the most perfectly designed fighter planes in twos or threes and argue rising up on their tails into the air. While insects prey upon and tease the bare flesh and blood of we humans, they fear the silent violence, the sudden huge presences of these family birds.
A larva with a leaf tip for a cocoon descends a white birch by a long thread. We free ourselves from our writings to observe phenomenon. Then thinking about dinner. The flight of J. Krishnamurti, the eagle guru says even artists (after physicists and mathematicians) may penetrate the unknown if not too absorbed in their own emotions and imaginations. We common people too who loving our wives can love everyone.
What eyesight the bluebirds have to swoop the lake from shore for a flying insect or descend from fifty feet on a thin straw grass and return to chew absent-mindedly! Just fun having song sung among men. As for the syntax, a daisy could swing it unthinking and coast. Along the beehive rocks ants crawl on connecting interlacing instructions. All around us and inside too as if stars were unseen but present it's true. So a man desires breakfast with his lady; could it be more amusing, material or smell?
As the eyesun descends below spun clouds, spirit or the eagle or the drum? Round. The dialectic obscure couldn't be more better said. So round and serious. To love everyone with clearer vision than a bluebird or a lake is to transcend the innocence of insect and take flight action and feed the babies of fate. Phew! Dinner outside the cocoon. I brought myself a student upon the hill or mountain and said to myself I said Obo rebop in summer sweater and what less overweight can carry test uphill so slow? Presently, reformed, informed by the bluebird's eagle spirit, clear cleanhead, I return coagulating mightily ideas the bites of insects ow! to breakfast home and everywhere unknown. Hearing bird with clear conscience echo make.
Tell me, why is is it that only today’s poems read?!
The latest poem...is it just for speed?
You might find gems from a poet's great past,
Written in great beauty, that forever does last!
Even, the most transcendent poets of all time,
Were not three or one line poetry machines!
I wrote close to three-thousand, which in retrospect,
I find, grossly obscene!
Great quality, learning true, classical forms is my new norm.
I was akin to a craven college student in a dorm!
Was popularity only my woebegone daily bread?
What was crawling in my hagiographic head?
Honors to my poet-mentor, I have finally calmed down.
There is no joy for me, being a winner in poetry town.
Life breezes by like an Eagle, then, alas, soon ends.
Poetry, by august writers, awaits me, tween my bookends.
{A tribute to my mentor, and great friend on his birtday}
Whose fine authorship, teaching, and newpsper column.
Using classical forms only, reminds me.
That new, cute forms, keeps souls, minute and lonely.
12/3/2024
Poem One
The new girl tentatively entered the classroom…
excited to be there while at the same time feeling the need to run away
afraid of what her classmates might think..
afraid of what they might say.
Her teacher gave her a hug.
“This is our new student.” She said as she held her near.
“I’d like you all to join me…in welcoming Angela here.”
When Angela entered the classroom she was frightened…
unsure what to do
but when she saw her teacher and classmates smiling at her…
she began to smile too.
At the end of the day Angela stopped by her teacher’s desk
feeling more confident and strong…
“I want to thank you.” She said with a smile.
for making me feel like I belong.”
After sharing a smile together
she ran to catch up with her new friends.
Feeling the effects of this ripple of kindness
that, hopefully, never ends.
How beautiful how…in a world filled with uncertainty and strife…
one simple act of kindness can effect a person’s life.
When living in an increasingly cruel world
Where people who look, think or act differently are called treasonous…
It’s good to remember the solution to this cruelty
lies inside each one of us.
We have the power to help all people feel confident and strong….
to let them know in the world we live in…everyone belongs.
Fighting prejudice will always be a difficult uphill climb
But, perhaps, the best way to attack this problem is:
one person
one student
one classroom
at a time.
A Student of Love (for Life)
Chapter 1:
I’ve found stagecoach to love is a pumpkin on wheels
whose door opens for you when your guard’s at low ebb,
and you dare to step in (though all magic is sin).
I had gone to the opera with an old flame,
a pre-dinner on opening night - ‘La Boheme.’
Room with round tables seating ten patrons of art.
As my ‘date’ spoke at length to cute gal on his left
I had ‘green light’ to talk with the guy on my right,
found meals’ courses well-seasoned with sharing of heart.
He had taught several years near the land of my birth.
I’d spent time as a refugee near his hometown.
He was open, attentive! Asked, shared my cell phone,
(not that common for me with each number correct).
He was white, my skin brown. There were friends he was with,
a school friend from his college, her daughter, between
them. Both women quite plausibly viewed as his wife.
Facts explain, I think now, why my ‘date’ let things ride.
With two children near grown, and no man by my side,
I was truly not aching for trouble in life.
If my ‘date’ had designs, they wore colors less green;
kids are flies in the ointment of wealth and can seethe
at dilution of parent’s estate (disconnect!)
So I balked when he called, though my heart wasn’t stone,
his soft reaching out touched me, did not dress me down
when I failed to respond. But his voice expressed mirth,
our connection affirmed (that he’d felt). Then the part
where he came to my workplace (I ducked out of sight
till he’d gone). Loved my business, close friends, not bereft.
Does a woman need man, fish in sea needs a cart?
But to love is a choice! Choice is rarely a whim
and I sensed there was chance for a choice here, to tame
not to own. With my boys, might this prospect be win?
Separated, loved still by their dad, I had web
strands to clear, and a break loomed ahead of all deals.
Krakatoa Kritic #007
June 28th, 2021
We began our late winter do-over
with a dirty ceramic bowl
during a too-much snowstorm.
Well, no,
obviously that's not where this rebirth story begins
but neither is a cream-colored
and clean
bowl
where this story ends.
Anyway,
I look at Matilda's mac and cheese bowl
from the RaggedyAnn frosty night before
while an early morning April Fool's snow blanket
arises perfectly
peacefully
majestically
and really too wetly
outside our kitchen windows.
I wash his late night
and lunch-time dishes all the time,
with grateful precision.
Not all the time,
but frequently,
poignantly,
yet he washes his dishes
without touching Matilda's or mine.
Why would our Cooperative WinWin Gamer
not see how inappropriately WinLose
this is?
Never mind about disrespectful
and possibly selfish.
How does this lack of awareness
betray us,
a more or less functional
resilient cooperative health service unit?
What does this mean
and what is his message
through medium
of round crusty artifact?
I do his dishes
because I'm washing dirty dishes
so I don't have to look at them,
or smell them,
and so they don't attract pests
when they are not well rinsed
by RaggedyAnn feisty nubian princess.
Is this because I am a responsible adult
and a parent of hurt children?
And he is not?
And, if so,
then why would our WinWin Gamer
assume it's OK
to not act like a responsible young adult
and Cooperative Gaming Sibling?
Facilitator,
both teacher and regenerational student
of healthy resilient life-skills.
Is this message ageist,
and/or anti-parental?
Downsides of Peter Panism,
Eastern Innocence
without strong ecocentrically mature roots,
yet.
So I asked him
about why leaving dirty bowls is OK
for him
regardless of who started it.
And we talked cooperatively WinWin
together
about why they aren't so great for me,
and possibly us.
That helped us
both to see ourselves
and each other
in some ways
newborn clean bowl differently.
It was about then
this magical early spring snowstorm
faded toward partly sunny
and shoulder-warmer.
Arming teachers
to prevent assault rifle tragedies
in schools
Is like arming preachers
to prevent epic sins and unorthodox errors
in church.
Are we teaching peace
and restorative justice
or war-mongering
and retributive injustice?
More hate
and fear
and anger?
Or a touch of love
and kindness
and cooperative consciousness,
mindfulness?
More climate pathologies
or finally some climates
of multiculturing health?
How to evaporate promising youth
or how to facilitate resonant resilience
of youth through WiseElders
mentoring GoldenRules?
Just because Trump
does not believe in No Gun Zones
does not discourage me
from continuing to believe
that Earth did rather well as a No Gun Zone
for several tens of thousands of years
before we came along,
adding desecrating gunpowders
and militarized self-righteous assaults
with deadly automated weapons
to Her sacred mix.
A poem Dedicated to Fady Joudah and Naomi Nye
He was standing there, in that library meeting hall. I could see only his back side. A nice blue colored shirt, with a nice-looking skin with a lot of attitudes, in obvious subtility.
And I am still thinking of him, with a stupid mind, in utter stupidity!
And then he saw me. Or one must say, that he was able to locate me.
A moment ago, I was hugging Naomi, a student of creative writing class. She is now sitting with me, right beside me. I did not bring my water bottle. Naomi had her water bottle, right in front of her.
She was asking me, “Are you ready for your poem?”
I was ready. I had a printed page ready to be recited. I was deciphering my accountability within the last two years. Some new poems, and a whole lot of prescribed medicines. Really a whole lot of medicines. Color coated sugary treats in taming the pains of ongoing beating hearts.
I was ready. I had my poem. The title of the poem was “Beautiful Sadness.”
I was waiting in a library meeting hall. I had Fady, standing in front of me. With a nice looking blue colored shirt, with a nice-looking skin, and with a whole lot of attitudes, in subtility.
And Naomi was asking me softly, “I had two poems. One is an angry poem and the other one is a bit sad. I do not know which one I should recite.”
I wanted to paint something. I wanted to clean something.
And I was gazing at Naomi’s water bottle, Naomi’s own bottle.
Good morning Poison Squirrels,
Today I am going to address your bowel problems
My class groans.
We don’t like to think about them.
We are teens.
Your mouth chews up food, right? Asks Mr. Lee.
Our science teacher is way too cheery in the morning.
One student out of thirty-one nods.
Mr. Lee focuses on her.
Saliva lubricates the food then sends it down the esophagus.
He draws a saxophone-looking cartoon on the board.
Muscles of the esophagus propels the food into your tummy!
He says this with a flourish, and shakes a couple of red pompoms.
One girl laughs. Same girl.
She must be gunning for an A.
Your stomach muscles breaks the food down into smaller pieces.
Actually, turns it into a paste much like poi, it is called chyme.
“Why don’t we call it poi?” asks a student who never is interested.
“That’s an interesting question!” Mr. Lee says.
“A very interesting question.”
A small giggle starts from somewhere.
He gives me a sharp look, and I realize it was from my throat.
“Sorry,” I say, not meaning it at all.
He nods.
As if I was serious.
Maybe I can still keep my C
“Next we have the small intestines,” says Mr. Lee.
He has continued to draw on his cartoon.
Does anybody know what organs add the digestive juices?
“OOOOHHHH!” someone says in a disgusting way. Dang it! It was me!
“Liver?” Miss I-shall-get-my-A says.
Science guy nods.
“Anybody else?” He asks hopefully.
“Heart?” our other class clown says.
There is a shriek of laughter.
Actually, several.
Now I wish I had said that.
Mr. Lee is not looking quite as happy.
“Pancreas?” Another brown-nose yells out.
Mr. Lee nods. “And Gallbladder,” he adds.
The drawing looks almost done, and he is getting toward the bottom.
“The large intestine is next,” he says.
“Anybody care to guess how long it is?”
“Seventy five feet?” the clown yells out.
We all laugh.
Mr. Lee is looking a whole lot less happy.
We finally get down to the part where the rectum evacuates.the waste.
I wisely put a hand over my traitorous mouth.
Spiritual Love
Sometimes the meaning of words is incomprehensible, like love
I have no idea what it means exactly, but dreams took me under the ocean
Goodbye love, goodbye Love, stop all the longing, human love of love
I am just looking for the real, the realistic love, there are only dead loves
But I feel a perfect love. I wanted that. Secret, given by a satan, loves Satan
A loved Master in spiritual life, in my soul and intellect life; walk on this life
‘You don’t need love.’ Master said.
I need it, but not the humanistic one.
‘That’s right. Exists this high love.
Just not in the Earth.’ Said Satan.
Take me there, oh my Grand Master!
‘The dimension gate open for you,
Your death will be the ticket there,
a one-way ticket.’ Said, dear Satan.
‘The rest of your human life is important.
Remember, now you are my student,
I am preparing you for your new life,
and new planet, there are your kinds.’
Satan promised.
I don’t need the love from my heart,
I want the only love from the mind.
‘This the highway of the spiritualism,
perfection without death.’ Satan said.
I love you, Master!
I prepare myself
That world
Waiting
You
Said
Master
Whatever circumstance begins.
It comes with a puzzle piece within.
A corner piece, a middle piece and an end piece, the end.
Many hours spent and once finished, it feels like you have transcend.
Once finished, some frame it, others share, even sell it.
But the knowledge feels sacred for another student to begin.
If recorded truthfully and rightfully, it can encourage another to create their own piece within.
Remember, there is no fitting a piece where it does not belong.
For puzzles are delicate and if you force that piece, the image may forever be destroyed & the puzzle pieces will not longer be strong.