How do the makers of military hardware
Sit at the dinner table with their kith and kin
Do they sit and pretend they don’t care
That their handiwork results in a mortal sin?
Do they praise little Johnny for schoolwork done?
While their despicable little toys
Bring an early end for a poor woman’s son
Who will be deprived of experiencing life’s joys.
In the evening, when day welcomes night
And they tenderly kiss their lover’s lips
Whilst holding a soft body tight
Do they think of one who has no limbs below the hips?
Indelible ink on the hand stains
But the mark on their souls forever remains.
The Studio At The Beach Part II- The Green Dress Regalia
Her dear father and his consoling ways
If she couldn’t concentrate on schoolwork
he'd put his book down, light his cigar,
In a deep mellow reverie, pick up his guitar
I know it hasn’t been easy with schoolwork
he'd sigh, smoke billowing from his mouth
Shrouding our faces in a gray-white fog
He'd speak in a comforting melodious purr
Wrapping his arm around his daughter’s shoulder,
My precious little jewel, there is no reason
for you to be so downcast, you're breaking my heart
Mother, you’ve been gone for twelve months
I write poems upon your desk
The house looks different, you wouldn’t like it
Now I know why you worked and worked to keep it in order
I comprehend why you polished the silver
I believe the dishes should be put up every night
I see why we shouldn’t bring food to our rooms
Mother, we miss you terribly, we love you so
I sit in the living room, I write upon your desk
The couch smells like your perfume
The pictures rest in the closet, I don’t know why
Mother, your voice rings out on the second floor
Now I know why we tidied our rooms in the mornings
I comprehend why schoolwork comes first
I find myself being just like you “pick up your clothes”,” feed the dog”
Mother, how I wish I told you I loved you more often
The house looks different, you wouldn’t like it
Now I know why you worked and worked to keep us in order
Mother, you’ve been gone for so long
I write poems upon your desk
It feels like you’re right here
06/10/2021
Written for Lipogram Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Emilie Pinet
(no letter a)
Wind
sends out
a clever
breeze, who finds us
at our schoolwork, near Mother's hanging wash
Snapping back the corners of clean white sheets,
it tumbles off
to tell her
what we
know
Staring at the white walls
Continously walking through the halls
Schoolwork for hours
All I do is eat,sleep,and shower
What should I do?
I have absolutely no clue
I need to see something new
Only just for a few
But here I sit at home
No place to go...
Trapped in my thoughts
Mindlessly scrolling through tiktok
Guess this my life now
That's all for now ciao
sTAy sAFe...wAsH yOuR hAnds pLEaSe. Thanks for reading my poetry. I really appreciate it!!<3
I've never been one to cuddle, hold hands and hug;
Usually makes me feel uncomfortable.
I usually prefer spending nice time with nice people,
People I care for and who care too, ensemble.
You made me get out of my comfort zone,
Though just by few inches,
And only you, I could long for a hug
Hug and keep my cool.
I won't forget those hot afternoons,
Together we were playing, running up and down,
Enjoying the day, having a nice time.
Eat some ice cream, then rush back home,
Just so we could put some A/C.
(It was quite a hot summer)
The late night shows we used to watch,
The books we read and reviewed;
The schoolwork we used to do together,
So many nice moments, spent together.
I hope wherever you are,
You don't forget those times,
You don't forget how nice it was,
To be us, just you and I.
There was once a guy named Forknife
He played Fortnite for a fortnight
He disregarded his schoolwork
Because he was doing “homework”
He’s out on the streets with frostbite.
Always forge ahead
Do not fall behind
Take your schoolwork seriously
Be diligent and kind
It is really up to you
To be a success
Learn as much as you can
Remember, to do your best
It’s early Spring; a plethora of colorful wildflowers are blooming in the countryside. The air has a rich, earthy smell, for April showers have washed the pungent cow manure deep into the ground, nourishing the crops. The songbirds are brooding their clutch of eggs, and in a few weeks, hatchling chicks will be squabbling over a meal of caterpillars and worms. And soon, their flight feathers will fill in. Flexing their wings, they'll fledge, enjoying the miracle of flight as they soar into the heavens, touch the face of God, and achieve the impossible. Summer's on its way, and children's hearts are beating wildly in anticipation—looking forward to a well-deserved vacation from their schoolwork.
the sun shines brightly
pollywogs morph into frogs...
the fish are biting
It will all soon be over
Your great conversations
The exchange of good mornings
And good nights
The next month you'd be pretending
Wearing polite smiles
And in your head, you'd play memories
But you have nothing against time
No power against the future
No chance against yourselves
Moreover that our generation's
Been groomed to outlive itself
There'd be too much schoolwork
And not enough fun
There'd be be a new group to talk with
And your words will be forgotten but not gone
And yet you still continue
As if your life together goes on
As if you'd all walk together in the same room
And not as changed individuals
Strange is a friendship
Brought by chances
By struggles
by grief
And if it the bond withstands
Time and ambitions
How stranger modern friendships
Would be?
t. h.
In the movies, “Reinforcements!”
Meant to quickly send more troops,
When war’s casualties meant spirits
Got a bad case of the droops.
In real life, though, reinforcements had,
To me and all my peers,
Quite a different definition, one
That now one never hears.
They were little paper circles
Which would stick around the holes
Of a piece of loose-leaf paper,
Being one of its controls.
For without them, if the hole would tear,
That page could then get lost
And who knows how much that missing schoolwork,
Grade-wise, might have cost.
So a box of reinforcements
(Or self-stick ones, on a sheet)
Would come swiftly to the rescue,
Keeping loose-leaf notebooks neat.
Do they still sell reinforcements?
I’m not sure, but years ago
I bought extra; if you need some,
Please feel free to let me know.
I am the prologue to the book unread, a
Haphazard shuffle of uninteresting side notes,
Jot down during commercial breaks of Wild Kingdom,
Crumpled atop a cold congealed T.V. dinner. Some kind
Of meat in gravy shades of brown and grey.
I am the finished third chapter written
And forgotten in favor of cartoons, broken
Crayons and ice cream, left dangling
On the precipice of meaning waiting
To be relevant- at the edge of a magnificent
Forest- Magical fantastic happening two steps away.
I am the magnum opus literary
Work- from the author yet to write,
Stuffed away among old schoolwork and bad drawings and
Absent doodles, dried glitter and
Macaroni sculptures.
Written on schoolwork
‘Boadicea didn't fight Martians’
Teacher was cruel
I was only about 8 years old and the teacher had actually written that phrase on my history schoolwork and I was mortified. I look back now and think how cruel it was as I had tried my best but I really am useless at art
02~15~17
Climb that mountain
In order to get somewhere
Focus on your schoolwork
Keep your attention there
You can be a great student
Continue to prepare
Bring out the best of you
And shine that light everywhere
...a true story
Her house was just a shell, a burnt-out ruin...
standing apart, the other houses still intact
with painted jalousies and window curtains.
She must have fallen asleep, the cigarette
still dangling from her arthritic fingers;
I never saw her without one.
She told me of her life in Poland during the war,
but not her suffering, she never spoke of that.
She smiled wanly as she showed me old photos
of family and friends taken on holiday when
she was younger, long before the ravages of war.
TV was her constant companion along with
her nurse and her beloved Pekingese,
always sitting on her bed. We'd talk for hours.
She was always interested in my schoolwork,
and why didn't I have a girlfriend?
Now she lay in hospital small and silent;
there was nothing I could do but hope and pray.
When they drew the sheet up over her I felt an
emptiness, but no tears came. Fourteen years old,
my first death close up. When I got home to mom
and dad, only then in their comforting embrace
did I sob my heart out.
Her house was just a shell, a burnt-out ruin...
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