When going to school at a tender age,
The little girl would put on her socks and shoes,
Give her parents a goodbye kiss,
And run out with her school bag and lunchbox,
A smile upon her face, filled with joy and happiness,
Excited to learn a new word from her teacher.
Days turned into months,
And months into years,
Until finally came her graduation day—
The day she would leave those beautiful school days behind.
Afterward, her school uniform and school necessities
Rested quietly in the wardrobe,
Becoming memories of her beautiful early days.
She looked at them, sighed, and said,
"Indeed, this is where you finally ended,
After being with me through my beautiful early days." ??
The soccer ball rolls through school days
By Phan Tan Hai
The ball rolls across the schoolyard grass,
mesmerizing the boy who chases it—
kicking until the afternoon snags on the hanging moon,
kicking until the morning sun climbs up to watch;
even Pelé comes to gaze from the veranda,
shouting in a jubilant, midnight dream.
The ball bounds wildly in every direction;
clutching it, he roams the streets to challenge others—
any open space becomes a pitch,
kicking until summer sun and spring rain fade away;
even Messi would be astounded
to see a childhood kick soar high in the dead of night.
The ball travels through school days,
rolling past hills, mountains, rivers, lakes, and distant seas;
with a single strike, a rain of blossoms falls—
an offering to the boundless realm of form and void.
Waking at midnight to gaze across the ten directions,
he sees a thousand clouds drifting past the sun’s rosy glow.
Wet plates of brainy salad
stalling amongst stale French Verbs
The severed heads of Queens
rot alongside the Thames
Sullen rain for the beavered
stuttering in its grief
The pretence of concentration
gapples with flames fury
amongst dusty books
I learn lots of pleasant songs at my school,
Songs about blind mice, or stars like jewels,
And animals making sounds, here and there.
On Macdonald Farm, sounds are everywhere!
Sometimes, we sing of luckless Jack and Jill.
Jack had a bad fall, strolling up Bloom Hill.
Then there's a magic dragon, known as 'Puff',
And ring a ring of roses, plunge down soft.
The song of sixpence, always great to sing,
With the tunes about small, ugly duckling,
And dancing round the maypole, first of May.
Then there's a muffin man, not far away.
Diddle, diddle, dumpling, we sing of John,
And the blue little boy, sleeping at dawn.
I love my golden school days, full of tunes,
Such fun, like chasing colorful balloons!
Written on 3/26/2023
At 60 you hope for another school reunion
of your compatriots'
After all this was your first corporate flagship
(Blazers and satchels)
Grandparents now, some retired
What is more reticent
is some of our teachers have died
but their legend lives on
such full characters
magnificent in their valour
deserving respect
Yet Facebook the great replacer
of friends reunited
cannot illicit enough responses
for a reunion or reaching out for figurines
School is full of fun,
But they say the fun has just begun,
But there are some people,
Who make the ambiance blue,
Yeah, I dedicate this to you,
The unwanted commenter who always beeps in through.
School is full of fun,
But they say the fun has just begun,
Because there are friends that are true,
Who always have your back in the blue,
Yeah, I dedicate this to you,
My friends and my parents who always stick with me like glue.
School is full of fun,
But they say the fun has just begun,
Because there are teachers to guide,
And memories to build,
Yeah, I dedicate this to,
All my favourite teachers who make my day bloom.
School is full of glory,
We all can agree.
Enjoy every bit,
With friends and teachers to avoid guilt.
Break the rules and play pranks,
And you will soon come to me to thank.
Because some day we will say,
We will miss the school days.
And then memories come running back like ablaze,
Then you will say "Ohh! those were some fine days."
Recall language class?
All “onomatopoeia” -
Blah, scritch, creak, tick, ring!
counting every line
waiting for the moment to read
thankfully bell rings
The best time when you enjoy
Most of being alive,
Is somewhat gonna be over
With the end of your school life.
From playschool to primary
From primary to high school
It's a place where you get
And leave behind your childhood.
A mysterious fun in attending
Those days, we never know
Until it strikes our head as memories
When everything will go.
No more blackboards to stare at
No more desks to lie on
No more rules to break and
No more arguments to do what you want.
Although many things have got over
But school is not the end.
Maybe you'll have a different fun
In a new college with new friends.
29 October 2014
I just opened
my history book
cause i thought
to have a look.
How to face
such a boring day
have a mood
to go and play.
loosing my patience
and now can't wait
just counting the time
to open school gate.
Lectures are boring
and so the boring time
i just want
a funful rhyme.
Peeping out of the window
looking at the ground
it took away my heart
the lovely nature sound.
A little bird staring me
up the neem tree
as if she also know
i want to roam free.
suddenly something hits me
up on my chin
i get to know that
it's something very thin.
My teacher hits me
and ask me to stand
she ask me to show
my little pretty hand.
She came near me
holding a fearful stick
i shivered thinking that
my be her mind had got sick.
When no option left
i showed her my hand
my heart beating faster
as if i came to an end.
My eyes filled with fear
when i saw the stick hanged
and guess what happend next
"THE SCHOOL BELL"ranged.
Asked to write a poem
about Ancient Greece and Rome
The witty student said he would
but he really didn't know 'em
Not one to be outdone
the wily prof shot back ~
Plus a five-page paper
analyzing your wisecrack
School day memories,
Were Maths and literacy,
Did compound interest, you see,
Before decimal currency,
Had no calculators,
Used our brains, good for later!
Seen a lot of shun, detest
none gave him support
throughout childhood in school days.
Discarded with snort
by many, stating can't do;
for him 'twas mental wound.
Never told, why he can't do,
What's lacked, he never found;
Not informed what was defect
and what to do to correct.
He was not like his class mates.
Does worth gets judged by
money power? His dad couldn’t
afford fund for high
school. But he was happy with
what dad gave. Unable
to afford is not his fault.
Hoped they must be able
to judge the performance based
on score, not how parents placed.
~*~*~
where did they go - days rusty with recall
segments of memory here and there
vacant at times
youth was on my side - wanting knowledge
like siblings - wanting to grow up
explore independence - to read
so wanted to ride the yellow bus
pot holes filled with snowdrifts
and mud puddles - such a long ride
to get smart and make friends
school seemed so far away
I tired with lack of sleep - making stops
adding friends to ride the distance
I liked that school allowed play time
but also insisted a nap before math
no fussing - the day was long
I welcomed the new curriculum
reading was more difficult - hearing poor
my struggle for sounds to read Dick and Jane
to understand and to grasp
recalling now - it was so hard
Copyright © 2018 By Caryl S. Muzzey
Going to School
My school days was not a happy one,
although history and writing was interesting
I wrote that my father had a herd of camels
in Morocco, but math eluded me.
Something like, a baker who has two eggs and flour
how many cakes does he make? Who the hell is am I supposed to know.
The after school was more interesting I biked
around pretending to be an explorer and
played detective with scant success.
When not doing that the local library was my plank
from the triteness every day of poverty.
They knew me well at the library I can still smell
the books and the world they brought me.
Alas, the one I used has been closed down the politicians
of today always save money for the wrong thing.
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