Long Whiteboard Poems
Long Whiteboard Poems. Below are the most popular long Whiteboard by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Whiteboard poems by poem length and keyword.
Lakes and beaches are wiped clean like a whiteboard,
each day by waves, tide, wind.
Then marks of ripples and tracks provide transient tell-tales
of what has gone on since, of what is yet to come.
What caused those ripples? Where did they come from?
What caused those tracks marking crisscross paths on the sand?
From whence did they come? To where are these interlopers going?
The agents and causes know nothing of these things.
They do not care.
They can't know they are being tracked.
They do not wipe their foot or finger prints clean.
They wander furtively wary,
scarily and carefully looking about, but unaware.
They dare not look back,
lest they be cast into salt or stone,
or sent back to hell,
for defacing such clean pristine spaces with
their street-art hieroglyph graffiti.
A hushed stillness lies over the lake at dawn
A single plop or tremble stirs a ripple the mirrored plane.
Soft as a whispered caress on a sleeping cheek,
Perhaps the kiss of wind, barely daring to touch.
Perhaps it's the kiss of fish rising to take a fly.
Perhaps an insect flitting, skittling onto the surface
Or a bird dipping to drink from beak.
The ripple propagates outwards in concentric rings,
echoing and resonating on its journey,
long after the cause has passed and gone.
Where are these ripples of unknown causes going and why,
The sources are untraceable via back-tracking,
remaining hidden and mysterious,
long since gone.
Do these ripples want to cuddle a distant shore,
to caress a foot paddling in the shallows,
to rock a boat with sleepers to sleep,
or to kiss the pebbles puckered up to kiss in rows?
Or to simply go and then fade gently and dissolve from view,
happy in their journey getting there.
In time the wind and water gathers breath,
to blur the lines, to wipe the scroll and slate clean,
To blow the sand grains around to cover the tracks.
The tide comes in, obliterating the imprints.
The wind builds waves to crush the ripples in chaos.
The defaced becomes a pure clean mirror surface unmarked again,
With no trace of regret, or memory to replay.
The defacers, shakers and movers,
long forgotten, forlorn and forgiven,
have faded away, to dreams and memories,
forgotten, hidden, wiped away, until awaken.
The window lets in an odd solitary ray of light,
Of timid color, a cusp between twilight and night.
It lands hesitatingly on the golden tip of my pen,
and then blasts into the iris of my eye, half open.
Startled, I squint but soon realise its but a reminder,
That the affairs of the day, I should soon surrender,
And be on my way, to the place I call home,
For it'll be a few hours of a tiring roam,
Through the gentle gloam before I can see its dome.
‘No, no, it’s too early,’ I grievingly mutter.
As I try to gather the notes scattered asunder,
From a pale and oft molested whiteboard,
To weave them into a crisp, meaningful report.
One that I must present in the new-born morn,
Not sleepy eyed, to eagle eyed executives of power,
Attired smart, in a confident and assured tone,
Their queries must I field, without a cower.
It had ripped me from my sleep, the phone,
With its unrelenting wail at dawn,
At it again, with a sweet jingle and a message lone,
With goosebumps, on me it does finally dawn,
That I will be a prisoner of my chair until dawn.
I shake and then scratch my head; i blink and then close my eyes,
It’s too much to cram in too short a time, they cry.
I slam my fists and then take a deep breath,
to let those fumes of anger dissipate,
and let my fingers dance on the plastic array of alphabets.
At half past ten, with my eyes heavy and swollen,
I decide to reclaim what’s left of the day,
And be on my way, to the place I call home,
For it'll be a few hours of a tiring roam
Through the rainy night before I can see its dome.
Its half past two, before I hit the bed,
With the after taste of a hastily devoured supper, in my mouth,
I steal a quick glance at the screen, out of habit,
With a frown, I shake and then scratch my head,
No revert yet, on the 'urgent' report.
Four hours hence, the phone wails again,
Jolted from my sleep, I blink and then rub my eyes,
‘Sorry, but could you stop by a bit early?’ he prays,
In despair, I rip me from my sleep, to begin yet another day.
I feel like my brain is always plotting in secret
As though I don't know
Like, it has a whiteboard up somewhere
in a vortex like corner, where it knows I can't go. Scheduling meetings without sending me an invitation to respond yes or no
They take place when my brain thinks I'm not paying attention, but I know.
It's planning my demise, solo. It's been doing so, For quite a bit of time.
I recognize this,
as I map out the blueprints it has created with my mind
It's diabolical the lengths in which I am willing to go
to help myself find
more reasons to put myself down
Time after time
To reassure my mind that
I'm going to fail because I do all the time
At least to me in my mind
It's crazy
How this brain sometimes does not feel like mine
I try and control it
But it goes into auto pilot and
I am no longer the pilot flying,
80-90% of the time
we are falling
Don't worry, I'm always fine
Catch myself playing a role
That was designed by me but isn't mine
It's a past character I have no use for
It was useful during a certain time
But these positions my brain continues to assign are no longer roles that suit me in this state of mind
These brains we have
Are weapons
forged over time
We were not born defenseless
We have been scheming and plotting since we left the womb and assumed life outside
Our brains have the power to override information that has no space in this current time
But we have to be aware in the moment it is happening in that very time.
How the heck can I catch my brain slip
When I am constantly 5 steps behind
You can't, and that's what I learned
You literally have to drop in on meetings and share new words
Stop raising your hand,
it's time to take your damn turn
Send a memo out to the crew
We have
Extended the renovation time
An internal renovation,
For you.
Tomorrow you will wake up
drag yourself out of your bed
even when your mind is tired
so is every cell in your body.
Then you will ponder
over the idea of your existence
while your body habitually
gets drenched in hot shower.
May be you will have ideas
of the grand escape you dream of
while you munch your toast
or wonder of your might-be fantasies
while your throat gulps warm coffee.
With lumps of mundane thoughts to puke
while peeking over the traffic enroute
with people buzzing their way through
you will remember that forgotten city
that leaves you wondering who you are.
And when you press buttons on the elevator
you will think of leaving a footprint there
reminiscing the way you breathe atop that old cliff
while your feet walk their way to work
all you have been thinking about is to leave
when you really don't know where to.
But even though your mind is clueless
for discovering another journey
now that you are at the end of one
with all the glory it has offered
you will hope of finding it the next day
while you return to your bed at night.
And with a million oscillations in your mind
like the unwritten pages of your story
you will remember having read somewhere
on a worn-out whiteboard in blue
'Existence is a struggle'
and you will hope to write some day
'But it is worth finding'.
May 9, 2020
For BRIAN'S CHOICE 8,any form,any theme
Winner: Third Place
I’m a person of faith...so are you
Dying by comparison, to
Windswept cliffs
Water with choppy teeth
Baptismal pool?
Will it save you?
Pointing at the whiteboard
Hear the squeak of multicolored markers
In your head, dead
Points most of them
Feet are slipping, stones
Falling to a great depth
This is rather deep, tap...tap
Tapping your toes on shimmering faults
Your fault, my fault
Falling
Through loopholes, crying
Tears pelt the cyclone below
Stars so peaceful in the night sky
Fill your eyes with their charm
As your heels slip slowly as a snail
Hands grasping cold wet air
Can’t breathe in the end
Porthole from tower’s edge
Edgy flames spew you
Out like Jonah’s whale
Splat, splat, splatter
You see it all does matter
All of it
Faith takes a leap
But if you’ve no idea
Where your heading
Hint, South
Can a leopard shed his spots,
Though he scrubs them on the reef?
Relief
Who’s the balm?
Who calms the sea?
Who saves you from spiritual death?
Who created thee?
Thine, thee, we...words
Mean only what they seem to be
Flat
Except in Hebrew and Greek
the bible speaks
Clinging to the rock
Of my salvation
And you?
11/4/2020
Psalm 62:1 My soul finds rest in God alone; my salvation comes from him. He alone is my rock and my salvation; he is my fortress, I will never be shaken.
Romans 10:8-10 ...The word is near you; it is in your mouth and in your heart, that is the word of faith...that if you confess with your mouth, “Jesus is Lord,” and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved.
Forgiven
“7 But if we walk in the light as He is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus Christ His Son cleanses us from all sin.8 If we say that we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us. 9 If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness." 1 John 1:7-9 NKJV
With a heart of humility,
I confess and ask the Lord’s forgiveness.
In sincere repentance,
I am covered by His righteousness.
He blots out my sins
And provides my salvation.
I am by faith Forgiven;
He is my propitiation.
His grace is sufficient
To remove sin’s scarlet stain;
Cover me with His perfection,
So no trace of past sin remains.
He asks me to do what’s lawful,
Based entirely upon His love.
He is faithful in His forgiveness,
Given freely from His throne above.
He removes all my transgressions,
And makes my burdens light,
So that they are remembered no more—
Become as dark as the darkest night.
I take delight in knowing I’m Forgiven;
My whiteboard is all made clean.
From guilt and shame I’m cleansed,
By faith that is unseen.
Because I am Forgiven,
I am truly thankful.
In humility I serve my Lord,
With a life that’s truly bountiful.
Covered by His grace and mercy
Like a blanket of pure white snow;
I am grateful for the sweet forgiveness
My Lord does daily bestow.
Copyright © 2012 Maureen LeFanue
www.maureenlefanue.com
I teach cartooning class to thirteen first and second graders.
On Leadership Day.
Once a month.
It is a cinch,
As last year I was teaching cartooning class to thirty-one
Kindergarten students.
This is amazingly simple.
Before they congregate I draw something simple on the white board in steps.
This week I started with an oval.
Added a tiny elongated rectangular stem at the top with rounded edges.
Step 3: Triangle eyes.
Step 4: Round nose
Step 5: Giant smile
Step 6: Teeth in giant smile.
Step 7: Blackened smile where teeth were not.
Step 8: Wrote Jack-O-Lantern next to it.
It may be cartooning class, but I throw in words too, because I think words are important.
Then I drew a step by step witch, and a step by step cat, and a step by step broom on the whiteboard.
One little guy came in quite a bit later than the others.
He was forced to sit alone, so I sat with him.
We drew and colored, and I sang a bit,
Showing the rest of the 6’s and 7’s we could sing.
Pretty soon we were all singing.
The little guy next to me had drawn a giant jack-o’-lantern.
He had also written Jack and I Love You on his paper.
He suddenly got really serious and put his big black eyes next to my face.
“Hear that?” he asked me.
I stopped coloring, seeing his seriousness.
“Jesus does not like Halloween,” he warned me. I am sure his parents will be utterly delighted with his cartoon.
Chalk dust swirls, a constellation of knowledge.
The classroom hums with potential, electric.
Each mind is a universe, expanding, colliding.
Every lesson plan is a map of uncharted territories.
Every student teacher is a seed bursting with promise.
I see curiosity flickering in earnest eyes,
passionate souls wading through seas of theory,
and watch epiphanies bloom like sudden sunbursts.
I smell the sharp tang of inspiration and doubt
and feel the weight of shaping future generations.
Each eager question demands an answer
and irresistibly ignites my wonder.
I breathe in dedication and exhale guidance.
My experienced hands gesture through pedagogical labyrinths,
guiding novices with eyes bright as morning stars.
But I am not content with mere instruction,
I seek to kindle flames that will burn eternal.
A forest of ideas, methods, and transformative moments
surrounds me and offers a world alive with learning.
Slowly, my carefully crafted lessons yield their secrets,
stretching minds in all directions.
I dissolve into a grove of educators, chalk and whiteboard,
into textbooks and technology, into the open minds before me.
My role I had considered fixed and defined
takes flight and soars with a thousand possibilities.
I grow limitless and merge
with this luminous tapestry of teaching and learning,
united with the endless cycle of education.
PERSONALITIES OF ALICE
Alice peaks out through the hole she dug
Alice sneaks out through the hole she dug
And so forth
Always spying from underneath her fairytale gown
Magic bunnies were spun into her snow white skirt
Stitches always multiplying
She tried to show her tutor the trick
On the blackboard
On the whiteboard
Both equally unravel
Never adding up
Nor dividing myth
Redwood Alice touches the sky
Oblivious to life below
She tastes snow white cold on her tongue
Dramatic Alice handles opera glasses
Alice the mouse quivers inside her bowels
Because she’s bored
Alice flips cards
Displeasure of the Queen of Hearts
Too late to shuffle the deck
Bunnies flee
Skirt turns black
Redness squelches the air
“Well...well...well! What do we have here?”
“Off with her heads!”
The queen calls for banquet platters.
Rabbits ready to call the exact time of their deaths.
Timepiece swings like a sharp pendulum.
The queen is heartless.
The great redwood curtain falls.
Alice wakes up from her wonderland dream
Alice startled from her wonderland dream
And so forth
5/10/2017
It’s the morning of a different day—who knew there’d be another?
Lisa and I went on our harbor jog @ 5am—that’s nothing new.
It was, like 44°—we’re enjoying fall’s cold, refreshing bite.
Anyway, my mind wasn’t on it and I nearly stumbled over
a chunk of dark, uneven roadway, made invisible by its function.
Charles, jogging beside me, wordlessly managed to right me
without us losing a step and I smiled my thanks.
argh! I’ve got to get out of my head.
Later, in class, lulled by the comfort of the stiff, wooden chair, my eyes unfocused and the professor’s voice seemed to fade into the backdrop. Suddenly, he was asking me a direct question that seemed almost without context.
Metaphorically slapped back into focus, I scanned the room and the whiteboard for clues before awkwardly—walking the edge of catastrophe—I bluffed it out, because, well, I’ve an instinctive reluctance to admit defeat with any sort of grace.
I didn’t sleep well last night. I had dreams—nothing with a defined purpose–just an amalgamate of bonfires and storms in a coastal scrubland with an odor of fresh cedar and a sense of casual vulnerability.
My attention today is like an intermittent pulse.
.
.
Songs for this:
Headz Gone West by Nia Archives
Dark Red by Steve Lacy