En.Citatepedia^®.ro

We have just arrived

We have just arrived
at the old big house
near to the cemetery
on the grounds of the private school.

The neighbours two houses down
have peacocks that spread their tail feathers
during the day and look pretty
and at night they scream oo-ha! Oo-ha!

Sometimes dad drives to the school
with his black car with the fins,
sometimes he walks with the dirt road
that meanders red-brown past the hillocks

and in the afternoons he does correcting of papers,
read poems at times early in the evening
he tells about Marco Polo and his journey
and causes me to want to explore the wide world

and then one day every thing is different,
dad has got to leave for the hospital,
and never comes back home
we have to leave the house
and move away to another one.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My rare pet dog

His name is 'Marco' a crossed german shepherd.
I have only two daughters and I loved this rare creature
as my obedient son.
Marco understands everything except talking.
When my daughters go to school
he goes with them to the bus stop
and wait there until a bus comes.
Then come back home and wags his tail
saying they are gone safely.
Oh! what a kind hearted son!
Before I leave the country
I found something like tears in his eyes
and skips his meals.
My wife writes me
when she put my old clothes into the kennel
then he sleeps quietly.
Oh! my dearest son
one day you left us
without saying good bye!
I am sure somebody must have poisoned you.
Who granted this inhuman a soul
instead of giving it to a dog?

(My dear Marco, my heart still laments for you)

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Old School Memories

I guess we all have old memories
Way back when we were in school
We tried our best to get passing grades
To prove to our folks we weren’t a fool

Remember those old-fashion desks?
There was an ink well right at the top
Some boys didn’t last too long at school
For they stayed home to pick the crops

Long walks home right after school
The stack of books made a heavy load
Kicking rocks but hurrying along
Down that dusty red dirt road

After all, there were always chores to do
Once a kid got back home
Gather the eggs and slop the hogs
Didn’t have a lot of time to roam

Yep, those were good old days, my friend
Nowadays seems school is a breeze
But it sure is fun to look behind us
To the wonderful old school memories!

poem by Marilyn Lott
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Fantasy

I'll tell you something: every day
people are dying. And that's just the beginning.
Every day, in funeral homes, new widows are born,
new orphans. They sit with their hands folded,
trying to decide about this new life.

Then they're in the cemetery, some of them
for the first time. They're frightened of crying,
sometimes of not crying. Someone leans over,
tells them what to do next, which might mean
saying a few words, sometimes
throwing dirt in the open grave.

And after that, everyone goes back to the house,
which is suddenly full of visitors.
The widow sits on the couch, very stately,
so people line up to approach her,
sometimes take her hand, sometimes embrace her.
She finds something to say to everbody,
thanks them, thanks them for coming.

In her heart, she wants them to go away.
She wants to be back in the cemetery,
back in the sickroom, the hospital. She knows
it isn't possible. But it's her only hope,
the wish to move backward. And just a little,
not so far as the marriage, the first kiss.

poem by Louise Gluck
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The Old School House At Ruby

In old school house yard at Ruby a dark brown shorthorn cow
And leghorn pullets cackling beneath the cypress bough
This school must hold good memories and memories live somehow
Here in their lunch hour children played but where are those children now? .

The old school room now a tea room has undergone some change
And if past pupil came back here he'd find the place quite strange
Where is the desk he sat at? the blackboard is not there
And time has brought change to Ruby as it has done elsewhere.

The old school house at Ruby a memory of past years
Here Ruby children sang and laughed and shed their fledgeling tears
And do those children of Ruby who now live far away
In dreams return to old school house and Ruby childhood day? .

The old school house at Ruby a memory of the past
And time has brought about some change and time bring change too fast
This school must hold good memories and memories live somehow
Here in their lunch hour children played but where are those children now? .

poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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What Is School Like?

School is like a prison
We can’t leave,

School is like an island
We are all trapped,

School is like a pie
It is good at first until you reach the crust,

School is like a toilet
It is full of germs,

School is like a salad
You have to put something on it to make it better,

School is like a stupid cat
It never dies,

School is like a garbage truck
It smells, it’s big and you can here it from a mile away,

School is like a baby
It always needs your attention,

School is like a shark
It just keeps chasing,

School is like going to jail
You never want to go back,

poem by Jacob Gifford
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nostalgia ***** WHEN I GO HOME TO PALILAN

(written a night before I go back home, Manila to Palilan, Jimenez, Mis.Occ. circa 2000)

When I go home to Palilan I would hurriedly walk on the long road to home.
I’ll throw my warmest smile and look straight thru their eyes who surprise prettily about my unpredictable journey from somewhere they never know as I come back without crown they expect.

I’ll greet them the way how my strange friends welcomed my rare visits and wrote poems on what it’s like to fill up the missing link for my extended home.

I’ll show them how challenging the world exists beyond our own barangay
What life I have experienced while climbing legendary mountains, sailing rainstormy seas, exploring risky cities.

When I go home to Palilan I’ll go to the river then take my time at the back of my elementary school yard
I’ll face the water and count the floating clouds
I’ll spread my imagination on its transparent surface and when my imagination ceases I’ll recall my childhood wounded memories

When I get back to my home I’ll never break the family’s chain again
If they ask me where I had been I’ll read my touching anthology, open my album of memories, my loose life, my past, my everything, my solitary journey with empty pocket so perilous I feel

I’ll tell my younger bro and sis that there are roads somewhere we haven’t crossed yet. Highways we shouldn’t be afraid to explore as if sailing to the sky a smooth path for our unreachable future

When I go home to Palilan, I’ll give this narrative piece to my mama’s hand and be posted in our renovated wall near the wooden stair where I can read easily everytime I go back home.

poem by Rommel Mark Dominguez Marchan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Step Back

How can you say were not together?
How can you say its all the same in someone elses eyes?
How can you say it gives you pleasure?
That someones pulling you aside
But now I want to find out
How youre living outside yourself
And how you feel like the one thats held it all in place
How you dont feel the shame
Youll never know, youll never know now
How to let go the hate or how to hold on
Youll never know, never know now now
Where it all can lead to
Leave it all in the past and move on
You might find your way home
Leave it all in the past and roll on
You might find your way home
How can you stray from your direction?
How can you wait outside the door thats opened up for you?
How can you only see rejection,
When Ive offered all I have to you?
Are you ever gonna find out
Youll never know, never know now now
Where it can all lead to
Leave it all in the past and move on
You might find your way home
Leave it all in the past and roll on
You might find your way home
Step back
Take a closer look
Step back
Find out where it leads you to
Step back step back step back
Leave it all in the past and move on
You might find your way home
Leave it all in the past and roll on
You might find your way home
Leave it all in the past and move on
You might find your way home
Leave it all in the past and roll on
You might find your way home

song performed by by Candlebox
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Family: The SMS-Messages Start...

It is still dark when we leave home - the
school gate is barely open; an hour and
a half before school starts a little boy
already there; out in the winter cold; then
a little girl is also left half an hour before
her school starts; in the afternoon he goes
to after-school; but she has to stay in the
school grounds; at two-forty-five the SMS-
messages start: Hi mom, what are you
doing? - I’m typing my love, and you? –
I’ve got nothing to do; - I know that’s
not true with all that maths and homework
tasks, yet I play along; I wish she were
here or already at home instead of at
school all alone; that was the choice I
made as a working mom; if I give up
my job I’ll never find one again – it’s
all about quotas and race and not expertise
– besides, it is my whole social life – if
only school did not end at two in the
afternoon and children were not left
all by themselves so soon…

poem by Margaret Alice
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Ever Dream Of Flying

Ever dream of flying,
With my arms spread out,
And my feet behind me.
I fly like I have done so a million times,
In different dreams and different times.

Ever dream of flying,
Seeing the city bellow.
The houses all lit in the night,
People looking out their windows.

Ever dream of flying,
One minute flying past vast cities.
The next moment I am flying past mountains,
And then Back to my house, my home.

Ever dream of flying,
That it seems so odd not to fly when you wake.
It seems the dream was real and this world,
Was not so real at all.

Ever dream of flying,
Swooping low to help a loved one.
Flying fast to do the heroic thing,
Saving a dear one from catastrophe,
Like a movie, but only a dream.

Ever dream of flying,
Or am I the only dreamer that flies,
Fleeting past new cities,
Seeing the sights by night and by day,
Flying like in a dream.

poem by Rowina Mallick
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Late autumn

The yellow veldt, the skeleton chestnut trees
specs of orange-red aloes in the kopje
are near to the old white house
and in the late afternoon shades draw long lines

while I walk up to the house on the red-brown dirt road
and most of the flowers in the garden are stripped bare
but a few irises are flowering yellow,
purple and cream brown

and the sky is dull blue and the early evening cold
is already on the wind that is rustling everything
and after years I open the garden gate
are coming back to my childhood home

stripped from illusions,
and I am bare from the childhood innocence
but full of hope
and looking through a mature man’s eyes.

poem by Gert Strydom
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School Is Out

School is out
No more getting up early
Just having fun
No more annoy teachers and homework
Summer is here

School is out
Come on and scream with me
I just want to chill out and relax
After long year of school and hardwork
Summer is here

School is out
I can do what ever I want
Staying up late, having party/sleepover
I can be crazy and loud if I want and noone can stop me
Summer is here

School is out
No more lectures from teachers
No more rules or detetion
Hanging with my friends
Going to beach and having all fun I can
Summer is here

School is out
Wohooo, yea
All I want to do is scream and dance
No more never end work and annoy people
It's all about fun in the sun
Summer is here

School is out
No more getting up early
Just having fun
No more annoy teachers and homework
Summer is here
School is out

poem by Christina Phan
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Monday Morning

I love to sleep all day,
Or play all night.
But I must get all ready,
For Monday morning so tight.

I have to go to school,
On this very cold early morning.
Perhaps I wish was a fool,
Who would sleep till tomorrow?

But I am no fool,
On this very early morning.
Hence I must go to school,
So my friend will not be laughing

Waking up this day,
Drives all joy away.
The little ones play,
With gladness all day.

Monday morning it is,
For I have to wake up early
So I would not be caught,
Pouring cold water on my body so dry.

Today is Monday morning,
The most boring of all days.
Which bring back all sorrows,
Running to school so noisy.

Yet I sit in class,
And listen to the teacher.
Who come in a pink dress?
As the pastor preaches.

My face I bury,
Deep, deep in my books.
Which I take no delight in,
Yet still I must read or I would not eat.

How can I be born for joy?
Yet still sit in this cage.
And listen to the other boys,
Who I despise as much as dirt.

Today is Monday morning,
I have to go to school.
For I would not sleep till tomorrow,
Because I would be acting as a fool.

poem by Samuel Donkor
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That's my school

Up at my school
everyone is different
yet we are treated
like an equal

everyone is always smiling
or laughing so hard
they start to cry
that's my school

a lot of people
go through my school
home of the blue jays
to cool for school

standing tall upon the hill
behind all the trees
stands the blue jay's school
yup, that's my school

each person is unique
form the clothes
to the hair
to their personality

each person is free
to express themselves
and be who they want
that's my school

WHS blue jay pride
that's something
that can never be beat
and something that we can't hide

friends come and go
but one thing will live on
the pride we had for our team
just like my school did

no matter where I go
or how far I leave town
I'll always be proud to say
WHS in WashMo is my school.

poem by Shauna Stoltz
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A Common Day

We arrive at school
Then we say hello
We go about our day
We both leave school
Then we say goodbye
We head on home

This is our common day
Like most friends it makes us happy
You could say we have a strong bond
Two buddies just hanging out
A common day for common folk
Just two of a kind

We arrive at school
Then we say hello
We go about our day
We both leave school
You don’t say goodbye
Something is wrong

What has happened?
Our routine has changed
Why did you change it?
Did I do something wrong?
You look sad
I will talk to you tomorrow

I arrive at school
I can’t say hello
You are not there
I leave school
I can’t say goodbye….ever again

Why did you take your life?

poem by Paul Celano
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Weird At My School

1-2-3-4
My father lives in arabia
And I live right here at my school
I took his plane to columbia
So I could sail at my school(? ) *
Its weird at my school
Weird at my school(3x)
My mothers glad that I am here
So she can visit my school
I cant believe shes so pretty
Im a son of a bitch at my school
Weird at my school(4x)
And my best friend, my cousin eleanor
She lives far away from the doors of my school
And often times, you know I fantasize
That I have sex with the nuns at my school
Its weird at my school
Weird at my school(7x)
(transcribed by moses boole)
* : or so I could sell at my school (according to rhys henry mason)

song performed by by Pixies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Sweet School

School is where one learns,
Kowledge is what one earns,
Teachers, friends are a part of school,
Without them, a school, isnt a school,

A teacher's duty is to teach,
And a student's duty is to breach,
When parents get the complain,
The teacher's trust then, gets hard to retain,

Oh! It's recess,
But to her heart there is no access,
Boy tries to impress girl,
But oh! She's a knurl,

Recess is over and class has resumed,
Next exam, God! I am doomed,
I know I won't pass,
Coz I know Im a bass,

Walking back home in the evening,
It feels like my stress is lessening,
Im happy to be home,
Coz there is every place to roam,

Back to school, early in the morning,
I see it is snowing,
I'm back to a place of learning,
Knowlegde is what Im earning,

School is a source of knowlegde,
The best part in my life is being at this stage,
It includes everything,
And it lacks nothing,

Teachers, friends are a part of a school,
Without which a school isn't a school..............

poem by Sherbanu Molu
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Past - Present Day - Future.

Baby - Past
You are smallest & the most cutest baby in the world.
You are fragile, perfect than you could ever imagine.
You are now independent by taking your first steps.
You are growing, speaking, walking & talking.

Child - Past
You start school, you are shy.
You make friends.
You share with your friends.
You have your first sleepover with your friends.

Teenager - Present
You start High School/Secondary School.
You lose old friends and gain new friends.
You go though change.
You move house.
You learn to drive.
You own a car.
You become sexually active.
You have your first girlfriend.
You have your first break up.
You have your first drink.
You have your first cigarette.

Adult Hood - Future.
You move out and become independent.
You have a job.
You settle down.
You travel the world.
You become successful.
You teach your children how you were tout by your own parents.
You have to let go of your children and let them go though life just like I have described in the poem.

Retirement - Future.
You grow old with your partner.
You become old and weak.
You have your children family member by your side.
You finale leave this earth and see heaven for what it really is.

Because who know what happened's after death you could live this over and over again.

poem by Billy AstonWright
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A final house stands at this hamlet's site (In diesem Dorfe steht das letzte Haus)

A final house stands at this hamlet's site,
as lonesome as the final house on earth.
The road, unhindered by the hamlet's girth
keeps walking slowly out into the night.

The hamlet is but a transition side
of two expanses, anxious, terrified;
its walk along the houses mere relay.

And those that leave the hamlet wander wide
and many die perhaps along the way.

poem by Rainer Maria Rilke (19 September 1901), translated by Walter Aue
Submitted by anonym
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The Boys And Girls I Went To School With

The boys and girls I went to school with from me now far away
And even some of them not living now where the dead are they lay
And in distant flights of fancy I fancy I see them yet
And them I still remember and them I won't forget.

The boys and girls I went to school with the years have left them slow
And were I to meet them on the street perhaps them I''d not know
For the years they leave us looking older and there''s no turning back the hands of time
And those I went to school with like me now long past their prime.

Many of the boys and girls I went to school with live distant from Millstreet
And we well might be strangers now if by chance we did meet
In my mental pictures of them they have not aged a day
But reality is different and 'tis always been that way.

Many of the boys and girls I went to school with in Millstreet our Home -town
Have left that green old countryside where Finnow babbles down
For to join with the great Blackwater on it''s journey to the sea
Still their innocence and youthfulness will always be with me.

The changes keep on happening and nothing seems to last
Still we cling on to our memories and we can''t deny our past
And though we may now be strangers were we to meet again
The boys and girls I went to school with young in my thoughts remain.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Baby Daddy

[Wyclef]
Right now if you raising some children that don't belong to you
But you know you're taking care of them
Please report on the dancefloor, let's go now
Do the stepfather dance (to the right)
Do the stepfather dance (to the left)
Do the stepfather dance
Baby mama don't hurt nobody, come on
[Wyclef]
I ain't that baby's daddy, I treat him like he's my own
But sometimes sit and wonder how can I father another man's son (oh)
When ? breaks in the pad
Shorty wanna scream 'I ain't his real dad' now
I may not be your father
But I'm the closest thing to him
[Wyclef]
Girl I love you
And ain't a thing that I wouldn't do for you
You my boo and we be sticking just like glue
But your kid's got me losing my mind
Wanna know if I want you
And if I do then you just gotta come to
Now the family be fighting through hard times
But I'm gon' treat them like they're mine
[Wyclef]
I ain't that baby's daddy, I treat him like he's my own
But sometimes sit and wonder how can I father another man's son (oh)
When ? breaks in the pad
Shorty wanna scream 'I ain't his real dad' now
I may not be your father
But I'm the closest thing to him
[Wyclef]
Fresh pair of Jordan's you had it
When you want a Playstation you had it (Vendetta)
First day of school you had it
Even when I didn't have it
Once upon a time, not long ago
Before the dreads, when I had the afro
When in school I used to pass the love notes
If you like me check yes if not check no
Flip the page now everything changed
The kid don't even have my last name
Sometime I feel like I'm paying child support
Someone please call people's court
[Wyclef]
I ain't that baby's daddy, I treat him like he's my own
But sometimes sit and wonder how can I father another man's son (oh)
When ? breaks in the pad
Shorty wanna scream 'I ain't his real dad' now
I may not be your father
But I'm the closest thing to him
[Wyclef (Redman)]
No, (come on) I can't seem to take this pressure no more (come on)
And ? told me young man that life's too short
So leave ya kids at home, meet me on the dancefloor
[Redman]
Yo Wyclef you a wild boy, check it out
[Wyclef (Redman)]
Do the stepfather dance, to the right
Do the stepfather dance, to the left
Do the stepfather dance (yeah)
Jersey's in the house
[Redman (Wyclef)]
We go, Redman, ganjah the smoke
Listen to the sounds of my nigga funk doc, oh
Wyclef, you know you rule hip-hop, oh
Yo let me handle my bidness (go ahead)
If you love your sons like I do, dress like you and
Air's on his feet, and shinin' his jewels
Brag when he get back to school
Saying my daddy bought me Vendetta 2 for Gamecube
You know kids that try to get fast
That's when I open up a can of whoop ass
Listen, I'm the boss, if you do what I say
Like Nas, the world is yours, let's go
[Wyclef]
I ain't that baby's daddy (Redman)
I treat him like he's my own (we in the house)
But sometimes sit and wonder how can I father another man's son (oh)
When ? breaks in the pad (aha)
Shorty wanna scream 'I ain't his real dad' now (aha)
I may not be your father (ey)
But I'm the closest thing to him (come on)
[Wyclef]
I ain't that baby's daddy (I ain't that baby's daddy)
I treat him like he's my own (like he's my own)
But sometimes sit and wonder how can I father another man's son (oh)
When ? breaks in the pad (breaks in the pad)
Shorty wanna scream 'I ain't his real dad' now (you ain't my dad)
I may not be your father (aha)
But I'm the closest thing to him (yeah)
[Wyclef]
Do the stepfather dance
Do the stepfather dance (eh)
Do the stepfather dance

song performed by by Wyclef Jean
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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