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.
Mideast Peace: Oxymoron
Though descendent of Jews,
I feel boggled at the brutal,
nasty and wanton war between
Israelis and Palestinians.
Many innocent victims
bred to know and hate their enemy
impossible mission
to reconcile one Semitic
group of peoples from another.
The bloody English
begat and fomented
debacle between Israelis and Palestinians.
little more than a century ago,
particularly usurping territory
courtesy aggressive premise
might makes right.
The human species
hell bent on making war
reprisals rank as a ,
and can never even the score
I harken back to childhood,
when our family lived
at Lantern Lane, and the Dailey's
(who threw rocks at Georgie
our Dalmation/Boxer)
rightfully earned before their time
the title fear thy neighbor
an altercation such
as aforementioned above,
would easily earn a spot
on Investigation Discovery
though deadly crimes violently hardcore
reenacted minus the explicit killing
fields not healthy for children
and other living things,
nevertheless even the most pious
and peace loving
exhibit fervent bloody ardour
if kith and kin held at gunpoint.
The annals of civilization
since time immemorial
replete with chronicles
of battlefield bravura
touting (with laurels of profuse praise)
for ultimate sacrifice
unnaturally, unstintingly, and unwaveringly
bravely giving oneself
to father/mother land.
Beneath the surface of the skin
we all bleed;
mortal kombat inked
in Mesolithic Europe
likewise dates to circa 10,000 years ago,
and episodes of warfare appear
to remain "localized
and temporarily restricted"
during the Late Mesolithic
to Early Neolithic period in Europe.
Idyllic as the fantastical utopian yen,
I feel pessimistic patriarchal wheelman
who steer autocratic
leviathan of state (witness Tiananmen
Square student-led demonstrations
known in Beijing, China
as the June Fourth Incident
lasting from 15 April to 4 June 1989)
cuz twentieth century ruthless demagogues
wanted to squelch
pro-democracy movement,
and not only stole demonstrators thunder
but forcefully co-opted with lightning force
their toys such as:
sophisticated erector set and playpen
for dolls loving buoys Barbie and ken
the former coming to life
as a miniature equestrienne
experiencing magical realism.
I will place my law within them
And write upon their hearts
I will be their God
And they will be my people.
Jeremiah 31:33
Back in our student days
We learned how bills become laws
How ideas
Written pieces of paper make their way through the legislative process to help us live our lives together in community
Laws
Properly written and lived by
Lead to harmony
Ensure justice for all
God’s laws
Found in the Old Testament
Reinforced by the teachings of Jesus
Are written on the hearts of Go’s faithful
Lead us to recognize
The central place of God in our life
The instiller of laws that have their foundation in the greatest of all God’s commandments
We must love God
Love one another
It is love that is written in our hearts
Love that leads to many harmony
And justice for all
Steve Givens
Turned to Poetry: Jac R. M.
Poetry Form: Free Verse
He had a master’s degree in English literature,
to speak in an ostentatious style was his nature,
the elegance excelled, that was what he’d ensure,
an acumen he displayed for people to endure.
When I met him for the first time he asked me,
what did I do in my spare time I found free.
I said, that was when I let my muse write poetry,
in his eyes I thought an interest I could see.
On his request, I guessed made with sincerity outright,
a couple of poems I ventured to reluctantly recite.
He was exuberant praising the theme and the rhyme,
said, I would become a famous poet in course of time.
Of my position in the literary scene I was well aware,
but in his usual expression of flamboyant flair,
whenever we met he’d hail me as the poet of fame,
from a poetry fan to an obsessed teaser he became.
As a student of literature how much he liked poetry
I wanted to find out to satisfy my sheer curiosity.
So, I presented him a poetry book of mine,
from his looks I deciphered he wanted to decline.
Days later he told me he couldn’t go beyond the cover,
that was the last time I met the bull crap poetry lover.
January 11, 2022
Contest : King-Size Bull Crap
Sponsor : Charles Messina
slang..
stormy = a passionate lover
blake = a dangerously handsome guy
fit = very handsome
If you leave me stormy, I’ll be blue.
I’ll even sit in my room and cry over you,
but that would only last a day or two.
There’s a chap in the dining hall,
his hair is blonde and he’s strikingly tall,
when he smiles at me, I don’t respond at all.
There’s a blake who works out in our gym,
his hair’s chestnut brown and he is fit and trim,
he winks at me, and I’ve never tried to beguile him.
There’s this dude in my Chinese class,
I think you’d be impressed with his stats,
he invariably tries to chat me up, yet I pass.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m all yours,
but if you should take off like a bird,
for heartaches, there's only 1 known cure.
.
.
Webster: Beguile: attract someone.
She sat before me, this dear girl of mine
A student bearing now a precious treat
I looked at golden wrapping's precious shine
And wondered if it were some chocolate sweet
The precious gift did not unopened lie
For anxious was my heart to see inside
All wrapping gone, I could not help but cry
The joy I found will long in me abide
A lovely plaque with these words there inscribed
The Queen of Poetry; oh, thought divine!
Her gift affirmed MY gift and so described
The nature of her heart, true and sublime
I rose to thank her with a warm embrace
A smile of sweet contentment graced her face!
Eileen Manassian
Post Script:
Today my student, Rawan (which means “flowing river”) passed by my office to give me a precious gift. I first thought it was a Toblerone bar because it was triangular in shape. When I opened it, I saw this plaque bearing these letters in black: The Queen of Poetry. I can’t tell you the feelings that burst from my heart. I literally cried, and she came around my desk to plant a kiss in my hair. It is one of the most beautiful gifts I’ve ever received. Poetry is my life. I share some of my poems in the English Composition I class that I teach, and she knew that I’d been named the Queen of the Romantic Pen. Her gift is sitting in my office for ALL to see, and every time I look at it, I’ll remember that I have a dream that still needs to be fulfilled!
Lesson?
I feel like class is in session,
a list of pain, pride, ego, anxiety, and depression.
It’s a state of regression.
And those higher powers are messing with me, stepping on me, trying to force this session on me.
But we’ll see come the right time.
lived this hell a hundred lifetimes and still fighting, still writing, still singing, still smiling.
So why do they try again?
To hate me and feel right about it?
For trying to help them stay alive, love each other, instead they cheat me and lie about it, walk around and take pride in it. I know there’s another side to it.
But they refuse to see what their eyes couldn’t, a man who knows the difference between wouldn’t and shouldn’t.
Those wounds you gave me, they just made me a better student of life. Every time I’m ahead because that knife you buried in my back time and again,
became dull, lost it’s edge, and gave more strength to my pen, more wisdom to my zen, more meaning to my amen.
In that way you’re forgiven, because I know how far I’ve risen, even if you’re refusing to see or listen.
Just more manure to blossom in, cut down but still prospering, a flower amongst a common crop again.
Are you so sure you made the right choice man?
Was it worth the satisfaction?
Just to feel good about your own failings and provide a distraction?
You’ve failed, waisted your time, but still you’re gonna try again. If only you could apply yourself like that to your own life friend,
instead of trying to upset, define, and criticize mine again,
you might have found a little more light within.
Neurology is to Psychology,
claims my windy neuro-psychology professor,
as inside natures
are to outside witnessed spirits,
as secular phenomena
to sacred relational networks.
Neurology and Psychology
kiss in a conserving-liberal root systemic tree
when positive energy
trends toward health regenerativity
While neurology
dissonant with psychology
separately produce dull cognitive climates of disturbing negative energy
about risks of continuing toward LoseLose degenerativity
narcissistically apart.
Integrity, in with out,
co-arises dipolar NeuroPsychology,
WinWin enchanted evening inside
and daytime outside synergetic classes
of where we want to inside-outside be
and see
and say
and pray
with powers of liberally conserving winds,
voices,
language,
maps,
messages,
territory,
stories,
life.
And the health-care giving and receiving student-teachers,
self-led,
spontaneously said, a private neurological
and public psychological "Amen!"
This intro self-design class
ended ego and ecologically
and psycho-neurologically
and ego-ecoempowering
WinHumane/WinDivine theologically
as winded winding starlight sand networks
health-wending neurology
where wealthy positive psychology
revolutionarily began.
You’re making me wait
“just two more weeks,”
but already the wait’s
crossed half a year.
“A few more weeks,
no difference,”you say,
and it’s true, but you see,
in the bigger picture,
a whole generation waits.
a/n: The system of education here in Sri Lanka is far from moving on from the differences that covid brought to us. The whole economical crisis and the political unrest last year made it worse.
I am an Advanced Level student, and it is currently announced that we have to sit for the exams throughout January, whereas the my sister sat for hers in the August, as all grade thirteen students are supposed to do. Already, there are rumours that the exams will be postponed again to the end of January.
And if we are to consider ourselves in parallel to our junior grades, we in fact just started the first term of a ‘grade fourteen’ today. Lol.
Nevertheless, the biggest issue here is that at this rate, in which the delayed exam dates are only pulled forward by a week, (or even few days as it is in our case), it will take at least twenty years for the system to adopt the original calendar.
"It can do wonders, everywhere",
He said
"Writing is just playing God, you know!
It can switch places between protagonist and antagonist
And make them equally, equally vulnerable in the face of fate
It can twist the plot, where anything and everything is possible
So far you sustain in the black.
Black also tells the truth."
He paused.
"How can you say that?"
I asked.
"Scientifically, black is just the absence of light.
Metaphorically, when we are talking about conscience
And when we are talking about soulful redemption
We have to believe in divine optimism, right?
And divine optimism is not a denial, but a perception
One does not earn the disease, one gets contaminated
Yet, to heal a patient,
We hear both the patient and the doctor, right?
Thinking it otherwise will be a one-sided truth,
An absence of holistic truth.
It will be then a triumphant warner in black disguise,
with a motto to get things straight
Not to love, not to heal, not to promise to understand,
only to demand absolutely."
He looked me in the eye with the strangest look
And the last thing I heard from him was a strange, huge sigh.
Nothing after.
I learned a lot from that silence.
Silences are often pure black. Gems of perception.
A Student version though.
Don't get too censored there. Black also tells the truth.
It’s been 10 years since I retired from teaching…
but…every now and then…happily…some of those old memories soar…
This week awakened by a letter…a photo…
and a chance meeting at a grocery store.
The letter was from Jason…an old student…
in his letters…for me he always prays…
We’ve been writing back-and-forth for years.
His letter arrived today.
The photo was of Stephanie…
Her beautiful memories I shall always prize…
Stephanie was non-verbal…she did her talking with her eyes.
The chance meeting was with Austin’s dad…
I hadn’t seen him or Austin in a while…
and when we said our goodbyes
In my mind I kept seeing Austin’s smile.
I remember my teaching days with fondness
It was hard work…but it was fun.
By the way…Austin is no 32, Stephanie’s 45…and Jason is 51.
Still my memories of them are fresh…as fresh as the day they were made
and I hope I’m blessed throughout my life that their memories never fade.
I hope I’ll always remember those moments we shared
as what they were…a beautiful synchronicity
How…while I was busy teaching them…they were just as busy teaching me.
Yes, I hope…in the short time we were together
they learned as much from me…
As I learned when I was teaching
Jason,
Austin
and Stephanie.