Long Tutors Poems
Long Tutors Poems. Below are the most popular long Tutors by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Tutors poems by poem length and keyword.
Too old to be in that tik tok flock
Despite my age not sold on Dr Spock
Truth be told rage from a different stock
More hip hop hook sage than book of rock
Shun the puns...should have culled the latest gold rush.. centre stage..toxic tech throng runs amok
Mulled over..all along...pong of wrong'uns...what we behold.. scold this trend..what they spend...crush AI shock
Tolled & trolled...which this flush round the bend plush fold will gush & defend to the end as ad hoc
Kenned don't befriend but defrock pretend tutors & stranglehold suitors who dulled futures will unlock
Champagne sculled...bling rings getting arsehol*d...we know what they took..society crook & crock
Lulled by untold mandarins sins.. which underpins their unfair don't care chock a block share or snare scare smock
Us all in the thrall..must stall the cruel rule of their tool...epoch controlled by a cocked virtual glock
Call out such gall..regulations rolled..enthrall.. no appall.. but still have not yet got this lot in the dock
Yearn for us to break the mould..forsake today's mistake.. discern time to turn back the clock
For profits to be doled out..learn every household polled must ignore..keep score..attack & mock
Sack & spurn these cold crooks with a knack to churn…deserve flak for poor artists stack they hock
This pack..despite all they earn.. no concern.. more money to burn..be bold..hack this ridiculous pustulous pock
Out of whack AI lies the new quack..hardcore tech crack or just unwise cack soundtrack ..that whole drole so what we stole rigmarole..their guys in disguise once more at your door…Knock Knock
The Privilege of being a Mother —
Is lent — not owned — by Time —
A Stewardship of tender Hours
And Courage — born of Mind —
Keep them — from Driving — till you must —
The World — is swift — and loud —
Let Fields instruct their earliest Steps —
By Bush — and Leaf — and Cloud —
Empathy — a quiet Bread —
Compassion — poured like Wine —
They learn — by how you pause — and feel —
The bruise — before the Sign —
The River tutors — patiently —
How many Trees — agree —
To bow — and go — the faithful Way —
From Root — to restless Sea —
They are — as Clouds — that borrow Form —
Here — briefly — then — no more —
You lift your eyes — they pass — You by
Their Sky — has changed — some More —
So hold — with Hands — that know release —
And Hearts — that dare — to stay —
For Love — is strongest — when it learns
Your part — that Lets them — Go —
Radio blasting
Loud music screams;
Intruding words
~~~~~~~~~
Mental movie
Visualisation techniques;
Attract good stuff
~~~~~~~~~
Cellphone outlet
Mobile accessories;
Too much distractions
~~~~~~~~~
Secular world view
Greedy appetites ground;
Competition chokes
~~~~~~~~~
Lunch banquet
Feast for the senses;
Frugality absent
~~~~~~~~~
Temple visit
Ancestors await;
Family reunion
~~~~~~~~~
Church Sunday service
Sermon on the Mount;
Wise Jesus echoes
~~~~~~~~~
Late night rendezvous
Lakeside stroll;
Ghosts figures flirt
~~~~~~~~~
Downtown trip
Shopping excavations;
Designer goods in tow
~~~~~~~~~
Here we sit
Two old lovers;
Tea and chocolate cake
~~~~~~~~~
Book of wisdom
Wise message tutors;
Private conversations
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
11 June 2015
Singapore
Sarah, the princess of Babonia, turned one
King and Queen would host the celeberation
Sarah, the princess, was happy to have fun
Sarah, the princess of Babonia, turned one
In company of friends she would run
From her nanny she would get a vacation
Sarah, the princess of Babonia, turned one
King and Queen would host the celebration.
Sarah, the princess did not have friends before
She would love to play with them
King and Queen did not bother spends, therefore
Sarah, the princess did not have friends before
She was made to learn royal manners even more
Her tutors were happy as she was a precious gem
Sarah, the princess did not have friends before
She would love to play with them.
Most I know sad but true
define themselves by the work they do
out of the workplace they're as simple
as a bump on a stump dimple on a pimple
drop in a bucket wart on a frog
cog in a wheel or log in a bog
who's to blame... yes parents are the means
for their inherited hopeless poor genes
none of my tutors were teachers as such
and with no innate abilities didn't know much
all of which which amounted to nought
and only regurgitated what they'd been taught
never met one who didn't know it all
when in fact they knew nothing at all
and if I were to look in a book I'd learn the same
but follow the leader ('herd' is the word)
was the name of their game
as for me...
who I am determines what I do
not vice versa end of story
but... how about you?
"Ode to You"
You, the girl who learned to wear two worlds —
Nigeria braided into your roots,
England stitched into your stride.
A quiet voice that holds galaxies,
a sharp mind that slices through doubt
but never forget the softness of being human.
You, the one who stands at the crossroads:
white lab coat dreams, ink-smudged notebooks,
football boots still carrying yesterday's grass,
your hands balancing test tubes and metaphors
like they were born for both.
You, who listens first, speak with purpose.
The head girl who knew the power was more than a badge,
the sister who tutors not just with answers,
but with patience.
The youth leader who stands steady
when the world tilts for others.
You rewrite the rules —
not loud, but firm.
Not rushed, but relentless.
You are the kind of person
whose story bends toward meaning,
whose heart beats for the future,
but whose feet stay planted in the present.
Medicine will suit you.
So will poetry.
So will leadership, laughter,
and every brave thing you've yet to name.
You are not lost, nor late, nor lacking.
You are the author, the artist, the architect
of a life only you can build.
And you will.
You already are.
Daily grind or daily find
Choose wisely my friend
Same oh same oh, never mind
Day drags on, it never ends
Daily grind means you have forgotten
How much fun life can truly be
Daily find shows you definitely have not
Searching for a newer way to see
Each person you meet along your way
Is there to help eliminate your boredom Blue
What you do to meet these friends today
Is truthfully solely up to you
So get out of your rut and go help someone
Every hospital needs a lover to cuddle newborns
Enabling others to succeed is a world of fun,
Every school needs tutors, ones without horns
Someone is waiting, hoping you will find them and help.
Remember the last time you did something new?
Maybe a tiny fish is entwined six feet from you in fishing line and kelp.
I am going to start something fresh today. How about you?
Imagination is the gentle key
That fits no lock the world can see —
It turns the mind — not toward a thing,
But toward the way we choose to bring
The morning into meaning’s hand,
And teach the dark to understand.
It does not tell us what is true,
Nor paint the sky a certain blue —
It lifts the veil from mortal sight
And shows us how to shape the light.
A thought is not a thing to wear,
Nor rule to keep, nor creed to bear —
It is a wing the soul may grow
To test the winds it does not know.
Imagination tutors Grace —
In how to walk through time and space,
And find in doubt a deeper door
Than certainty had held before.
So let the mind be taught to roam,
Not built of walls — but made of home.
For thinking is the sacred art
That draws the map — and moves the heart.
Written: July 26, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
***********
When anger swirls and trust cheats,
When hearts rupture and hope is heavy.
Our brave backs fight, and our loud teams meet.
With sounds that spin and a wonderful levy.
A reaper walks by the schoolyard gate,
Where apathy switched in the weight.
Neglect takes away everything neat,
If angels lack air, im deaden noisy street.
Not tracing bright lines, they walk in twilight,
But bask in bold acts that banish the night—
A hand that helps, a spirit so slight,
But wants honesty and does what's right.
Born under obligations, if wealth bleeds.
Florists must cope with the gnarly weeds.
They scatter lesser sympathy seeds,
And provide them with generous deeds.
In each enchanting echo of the moored,
In actions overlooked, obscured.
They sculpt rocks to form what should—
A wondrous world of whimsy, not just of could.
So when we bow below the boastful storm,
And wrath would well, a wild waveform.
These tender tutors, though not the norm,
Rekindle reminders that romance transforms.
One soul could shed that armored pride,
And wear peace pulsing deep inside.
Let humble hands reach children’s flame,
To rise beyond the hate and blame.
Do some unpleasant memories fade away?
Or does the mind have a protective guard,
That, at times, locks the door to the past,
And shields the soul from agony's crush.
Do some memories serve as wise tutors,
That instructs the mind from time to time,
Lest the brain's library becomes forsaken,
Void of guidance for life's daily challenges?
Memories can plague the mortal mind.
They are often protesting against stiff resistance,
Demanding its rightful role and sacred duty,
To catalog the experiences of human events.
Memories acknowledge good and bad events.
They do not euthanize the painful truth,
Nor do they embellish or rewrite the facts.
They exist, impartial and unyielding.
Memories can be either friend or foe.
Perhaps that's the constant inward fear,
Why we are wary of the sentinel's mind,
Unsure what memory will breach that door