Two Bicycles
when I was a little boy
of 14 years of age,
I desired to have a
‘Admiral' small 18' bicycle
to attend school,
roughly 4 kms. away.
promise after promise,
for every Christmas and birthdays,
yet, the cycle never turned up
my school days, were by then over
I joined a college hostel in a small town
Fees, books, dress, hostel deposit and allied
my father had paid them all, without any murmur
at the end of the degree course, I passed out with distinction
joined the bank at a remote village, as cash-cum-accounts clerk
by the grace of bank, festival advance Rs.150-
cycle advance of Rs.300
………the dream came true, after a lapse of nine good years
Brand new ‘Raleigh' Green, in colour-full other fittings
with dynamo, my name and address painted in bold yellow
on touching the cycle, my nerves trembled
and tears rolled down, as I pedaled down to my home
for seeking my parents' blessings, with an unbiased mind.
Louis Santhana
poem by Santhana Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Red BMX Bicycle
There was a small boy
In the countryside
Who had a small red BMX bicycle
Kept in the store besides the herbicides
Every evening like a cycle
He would ride down the dusty road
The sun a yellow ball
on the west side
Glittering under the sun`s rays
Was that small
RED BMX BICYCLE
There was a smaller boy
In the countryside
Who had nothing…
Totally nothing
He was a friend to the small boy
Every evening like a cycle
He would wait by the dusty road
To have a chance
On the small red BMX bicycle
His face would be all smiles
Even after falling off that
RED BMX BICYCLE
One day at dusk
The smaller boy
Stood next to the small boy
And asked
“When you grow up, would you give me this bike? ”
The small boy without thinking
Said YES..
There was a smaller boy
In the countryside
One night
He had a bad stomach ache
His mum wiping the tiny streams of tears
That fell from his small face
That was pale…
Due to dust from the dusty road
As he played with his the small boy
And rode on that
RED BMX BICYCLE
There was a small boy
In the countryside…
Now HE is all grown
And in the university
Far away in the city
That RED BMX BICYCLE
Now long gone
Given to some relative, I guess
If I could go back
To those days…
Those days with beautiful sunsets
Back in the countryside
Waiting for my chance
On my red BMX bicycle
Watching that smaller boy fall off
I would give him…
I would hand him that bicycle
And never expect it back
And watch him ride
Towards the beautiful sunset
On my red BMX bicycle
But if I can go back
All will be in vain
Because on that night…in the dark
He struggled with pain
His small heart couldn`t keep on
Outside there was rain
The gods possibly wanted to cleanse
All the evil that night
That took him away
Now I reminisce
As I keep moving on
About that smaller boy
And our small
RED BMX BICYCLE…
poem by Paul Oguda
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Live life to the fullest
Remember when you were little?
It seems so long ago.
There were a lot of big changes it seemed.
Like your first christmas, first birthday, first everything.
Then you learned to walk and talk
And finally went to school for the first time.
It seemed to take forever just to turn 13,
To finally become a teenager.
Just a few short years later,
Guess what, you turn 16.
Now you have more freedom,
and a brand new car.
A couple of years later,
You graduate high school and turn 18.
Finally it is time to say your goodbyes.
To leave your parents house and go to college.
Now you have graduated college,
And have a full time job.
Maybe you have even started a family.
So where did all those years go?
Just live your life and try not to grow up too fast.
poem by Dawn Wheeler
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Un-Forgiveness (Break The Cycle)
It's a never ending cycle
That stems from generation to generation
The small child cringes
As he listens to the parents argue
That same child runs in fear
Afraid to get more bruising from his dad
Then you see him crying in shame
As his father yells how useless he is
Then it starts all over again each and everyday
He grows up thinking oh yeah I am a man
My father taught me well
Now I can be a man
He now has children of his own
Whom he beats up every day
He now has children of his is own
Whom he yells and screams at
Just like his dad
He now has a wife
Whom he argues with every single day
She hides from the world
Behind sunglasses of her shame
The cycle is never ending
When can you make it end?
First thing is accepting
The mistakes you made in life
Then it's mending bridges
That will heal the family right
How can a person learn to forgive?
If you cannot let go of past sins
The hardest part of all
Is to stand your meager ground
Let it be known and heard
You no longer bow to the cycle of shame
Let it be known and heard
You broke the cycle of shame for life
poem by Kaila George
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sunday Cycle Rides
Quite often, on a Sunday morning,
Dad and I would take a cycle ride.
Up the steep hills, we would struggle,
But, down them, we would glide.
We’d cycle to villages like Monxton,
Abbott’s Ann and St Mary Bourne.
We’d pass fields of lowing cattle,
As well as fields of golden corn.
Once, as we were passing some sheep,
I gently applied my brakes and stopped.
I stood watching the cute little lambs,
As they leapt, and jumped, and hopped.
We would cycle along the back roads,
And whiz along winding, country lanes.
I felt happy enough when the sun was out,
But not so much so, when it began to rain.
Along the roads, we’d pass babbling brooks,
And horses with rhythmic clip-clopping hooves.
We’d pass village greens with duck ponds,
And pretty little cottages with thatched roofs.
But our cycle rides abruptly came to an end,
When, one day, my Dad suddenly died.
Nowadays, I don’t even own a bicycle,
But I really miss our Sunday cycle rides.
poem by Angela Wybrow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Love 1939
Love 1939
Written on every tree
In bold the name of me
She accepts
My proposal and she writes
I love you too
As usual we teens do
In nineteen thirty nine
I leave her safe under the tree, pine
My cycle
Buckle tight to the bark
And I promise to the soil to return back quick
The cycle is eaten up half
As the missing time of mine considerably enough
The rain of pain here was so severe
Unable to bear, my love, at first turned to stone
And then washed away into the river.
poem by Abdul Wahab
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The De Facto Orphan
THE DE FACTO ORPHAN
I have lot of kith and kin
And sadly, living parents
Yet, I lived a life, full of pains
Lonely, as that of an hapless orphan
My boyhood days in the dark boarding halls
Youthful phase was spent in a disciplined hostel
Parents were prompt in paying the mess- bills
As an unfailing donor servicing the cause of or an orphan
They never knew the times I wept
Nor the nights that went unspent
Like a soldier coming home on an annual warrant
I returned to the ‘barracks' with moods so silent
Politely signing on the dotted- lines of the reports of progress
Duties of my parents ended there itself
Inwardly I am sick, in search of love, affection and parental caress
Banished from the family web, I prefer to be listed as an ORPHAN
Louis Santhana
poem by Santhana Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Never-ending Cycle
Time is a never-ending cycle
in this life of ours.
It moves with quick rapidity
in our pleasurable hours.
It drags along in slowed down seconds
and takes away our powers.
It amuses and it bruises
and repeats its same old scene.
We quicken with laughter and ache with tears
and wonder 'What does this mean? '
The question is ingrained in us
in a cycle that's never ending.
The only answer I can find
is the cycle is mind-bending.
poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
My dear uncle
To my dear uncle Prabahkaran,
I lost my parents, brothers and sisters.
Only I was survived
And I am eight years old female child.
My father is a Buddhist and mother Christian
And I am an innocent.
All my books and uniforms burnt
And I cannot go to school now.
I am not angry with you
If possible please adopt me,
Treat me as your child
And send me to a school.
I promise you one day I learn Tamil well
And solve your problem; “misunderstanding”
Not with guns uncle,
With my little knowledge I gained from your school.
Please don’t believe these Norwegian peace-broker uncles
They dream of our future Oil –Rigs?
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
College Kids
Someone please save us, us college kids!
What my parents told me is what I did
They said go to school and be a college kid
But in the end I question why I did
Im poor, Im starving, Im flat broke, Ive got no cash to spend
Sell all my books for front row tickets to dave matthews band
My girlfriends at another school, I know this year will test her
I called, found out she had three other boyfriends last semester
And thats why I say
Oh no! not for me, not for me
Call it torture, call it university
No! arts and crafts is all I need
Ill take calligraphy and then Ill make a fake degree
80 grand later I found out that all that I had learned
Is that you should show up to take your finals and your midterms
The party scene is kinda mean, I think its sick and twisted
The navy showed up at my dorm and claimed that I enlisted
And thats why I say
Oh no! not for me, not for me
Call it torture, call it university
No! arts and crafts is all I need
Ill take calligraphy and then Ill make a fake degree
Dont get excited. shell say no without a doubt you see
And Ive decided college girls just wont go out with me
They make me nervous and they always catch me off my guard
Like cell phone services I drop out cause college is too hard
Its time to call my father
Cause its his alma mater
Good grades arent what they seem
I think he knows the dean
Its time to call my father
Cause its his alma mater
He says hes proud of me
But college always was his dream
And I would always say its not for me
Oh no! not for me, not for me
Call it torture, call it university
No! arts and crafts is all I need
Ill take calligraphy and then Ill make a fake degree
Someone please save us, us college kids!
What my parents told me is what I did
They said go to school and be a college kid
But in the end I question why I did
Do what will make you happy
Do what you feel is right
Only but one thing matters
Learn how to live your life
[in background:]
(phi, beta, delta, cappa
Someone please save us, us college kids!
What my parents told me is what I did
They said go to school and be a college kid
But in the end I question why I did)
Do what will make God happy
Do what you feel is right
Only but one thing matters
Learn how to live your life
song performed by by Relient K
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
My Cycle Days
The childhood days
which were full of craze.
i spent my day,
fighting with my cycle,
i just hate it.
hating them,
still making them best friend,
this makes my childhood days my cycle days.
poem by Aashka Thakkar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Two Sections A & D
I was a dull boy, in studies
during high school days
In 9th standard - D section - where
below average minds were only dumped
since, all my co-students
were also of same mold,
teachers used to be strict and harsh
still, we struggled to get even pass marks
Sections A and B, full of proud students
with an air of superiority, as intellectual breeds
they never mingled with the pollutants 'D'
the co-ed girls of our own class too
preferred only boys from the ‘bright sections'.
In quiz, Chess or inter-school meets
those veterans brought prizes and laurels
to the broad smile of our HM and teachers, while
we remained sidelined, as wastes & useless
after 25 years or so, I met my girl-classmate
in a car parking lot, with her family all around
proudly, she announced that her two sons are M.D.s
from the womb of ‘Section D' - two brilliant Medicine guys!
in turn, I gave my visiting card, Manager of a leading bank;
my daughters both are engineers, one is presently doing Ph.D in US
after a short chit- chat, they left.
Seated in my car, I just rewind,
TRUE - that ‘dull last bench', had not fared, initially, well
but, is now the spring-board for our wards to shine
Louis Santhana
poem by Santhana Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Small Town
Well I was born in a small town
And I live in a small town
Probly die in a small town
Oh, those small communities
All my friends are so small town
My parents live in the same small town
My job is so small town
Provides little opportunity
Educated in a small town
Taught the fear of jesus in a small town
Used to daydream in that small town
Another boring romantic thats me
But Ive seen it all in a small town
Had myself a ball in a small town
Married an l.a. doll and brought her to this small town
Now shes small town just like me
No I cannot forget where it is that I come from
I cannot forget the people who love me
Yeah, I can be myself here in this small town
And people let me be just what I want to be
Got nothing against a big town
Still hayseed enough to say
Look whos in the big town
But my bed is in a small town
Oh, and thats good enough for me
Well I was born in a small town
And I can breathe in a small town
Gonna die in this small town
And thats probly where theyll bury me
song performed by by John Mellencamp
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
A day of 1971
The school is three kilometers away.
Akmal was hastily walking towards the school as he was already late.
The school starts at midday.
Mother was insisting him on for long to go to the school.
But Akmal was little reluctant today.
He was experiencing something new in the whole surroundings.
His small psyche could not exactly guess what it was but something very strange was happening around him.
On his way to school Nepalda was chatting with some of his friends at a corner. Nepalda may be five to six years senior to Akmal.
Once Nepalda was Akmal’s house tutor.
Nepalda called Akmal, ‘Hey where are you going today? School? School is closed today. Don’t go’, declared he.
There was enough reason to believe Nepalda for Akmal. After all he was his teacher and he has a good reputation in the society. At least his parents consider Nepalda as a gentle young man.
When Nepalda was saying that the school is closed then he has no reason to proceed further. Yet to be sure he asked Nepalda, ‘Is it true? Our school is closed? ’
‘Yes, my boy. I am not joking with you. ’ Nepalda replied. Then he murmured, ‘Be careful. Go to home and remain in the home. Don’t come out. There may be some exchange of fire. We are ready….the army is advancing…we are ready to obstruct them…go home’.
Akmal understood nothing but he could guess that he has to return to home quickly.
It came to his mind that he did not do his home work today. So certainly he was going to be punished today if the school was open.
He was happy that the school is not open and today nobody will ask him to sit for study in the evening, he expected.
poem by Kazi Ahmed
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The School Days are near!
Same shrieking morning alarms,
Same morning fear!
The school days are near, The school days are near!
Sleeping in the bathroom,
From out, Mom shouts, '' DO YOU EVEN HEAR? ''
The school days are near, The school days are near!
So drowsy I am,
Confused, don't know what to wear!
The school days are near, The school days are near!
And entered into the school,
Murmuring silently, '' Oh dear! Oh dear! ''
The school days are near, the school days are near!
And if the first period is Maths,
Not again those equations linear! !
The school days are near, the school days are near!
A look at the load of books,
From the corner of my eye drops a tear!
The school days are near, the school days are near!
Gosh! When will vacations come?
We'll have to wait an year!
The school days are near, the school days are near!
Hoping when we go,
We'll find joy, sheer!
The school days are near, The school days are near! ! : D
poem by HudaM DeGratePoet
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
What Parents When Old, Want From Their Children …
When you were small, a helpless kid,
Just imagine what parents did,
From feeding to keeping you clean –
A routine that had always been!
And now when parents are quite aged,
They feel like birds both that are caged;
Just give them half the love they gave;
Don’t lose your temper / misbehave!
When you were small and could not bathe,
Mom bathed you with towel to swathe,
And wiped you dry and combed your hair,
All your mischief, she had to bear!
When parents are now pretty old,
Or have a fever, catch a cold,
Should not the children care for them,
And treat them for each new problem?
When you were just a little child,
And parents scolded you so mild,
To show you what was wrong and right,
And chalk a future that was bright!
And now when parents have gone weak,
To walk, your assistance, they seek,
Oblige them with a heart all glad:
Old age is less happy, much sad!
When you were craving for good food,
Your mother cooked it as she should,
And heaved a sigh of great relief,
When you’d slept, in disbelief!
And now, when parents ask something,
Be kind and courteously do bring,
They cannot buy whatev’r they feel;
They cannot run or walk or kneel!
When you’d joined school for the first time,
And could not say even a rhyme,
Your mom had taught you how to write,
And sang a ‘lullaby’ at night!
And now when parents cannot read,
And reached a stage, they cannot feed,
Shouldn’t children help them with these chores,
And see that they don’t get bed-sores?
When you were children very small,
And appeared each, a tiny doll,
Your parents helped to dress you up,
And without spilling, drink from cup!
When parents elderly now need,
A blanket when it’s cold indeed,
Should children not offer the same,
Avoiding saying words of shame?
As children, you knew not to talk,
And parents taught you how to walk,
And told you stories, sang you songs,
Correcting you in all your wrongs!
Now old-aged parents, need your love,
And not the warmth of any stove!
They want their children to converse,
And not a filled wallet or purse!
You turned a man, woman o’er years,
While parents wiped away your tears,
And found a partner good for life,
Ensuring days, devoid of strife.
When parents are now bed-ridden,
And tell you truths that were hidden,
Shouldn’t you mitigate suffering,
Without causing some bickering?
Yes, children, you cannot return
The love what parents’ hearts did burn;
Thank God for giving such great souls,
Who led you to heavenly goals.
The least that aged parents ask,
Is see their children do God’s task,
And live in harmony with all
Relatives, neighbors, till Lord’s call!
So, do your duty to parents
In ripe old age in ways you can,
And get their blessings on kindred,
That stays generations hundred!
Attend on parents in good cheer;
Be kind to them and always near;
Not all offspring get this chance rare,
To have parents old-aged, to care!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 5-12-2008
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
School and teachers
You go to school
everyday
just to be told
you can't do it that way
you have to do it my way
it is in the rules
and you think
school isn't cool
teachers think they're all that
and that they can control us
but sometimes I wish my teachers
would get hit by a bus
I know that sounds mean
but I haven't even said
that school everyday
I always dread
It feels like a prison
with no escape
why oh why
am I bound to this fate?
Of course we have to go to school
we have to all week
but couldn't school be more fun
instead of really starting to reek!
But we have to go through it
all 12 grades
and we have to go to college
what a bad day!
The days drag on
they never end
until the bells rings
and I run as fast as I can
It's almost christmas break
and I can't wait
because more days at school
I just can't take.
School sucks
and I think it is bad
and even though we are tortured
it isn't all bad
I guess what i'm trying to say is
school can sometimes be good
and you learn stuff
and that's is sorta good
so school is boring
and is not really fun
but we will get through it
and then for joy we will jump
poem by Shelbie Bozeman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Tin Bank
Speaking of banks, I'm bound to say
That a bank of tin is far the best,
And I know of one that has stood for years
In a pleasant home away out west.
It has stood for years on the mantelpiece
Between the clock and the Wedgwood plate--
A wonderful bank, as you'll concede
When you've heard the things I'll now relate.
This bank was made of McKinley tin,
Well soldered up at sides and back;
But it didn't resemble tin at all,
For they'd painted it over an iron black.
And that it really was a bank
'Twas an easy thing to see and say,
For above the door in gorgeous red
Appeared the letters B-A-N-K!
The bank had been so well devised
And wrought so cunningly that when
You put your money in at the hole
It couldn't get out of that hole again!
Somewhere about that stanch, snug thing
A secret spring was hid away,
But _where_ it was or _how it_ worked--
Excuse me, please, but I will not say.
Thither, with dimpled cheeks aglow,
Came pretty children oftentimes,
And, standing up on stool or chair,
Put in their divers pence and dimes.
Once Uncle Hank came home from town
After a cycle of grand events,
And put in a round, blue, ivory thing,
He said was good for 50 cents!
The bank went clinkety-clinkety-clink,
And larger grew the precious sum
Which grandma said she hoped would prove
A gracious boon to heathendom!
But there were those--I call no names--
Who did not fancy any plan
That did not in some wise involve
The candy and banana man.
Listen; once when the wind went 'Yooooooo!'
And the raven croaked in the tangled tarn--
When, with a wail, the screech-owl flew
Out of her lair in the haunted barn--
There came three burglars down the road--
Three burglars skilled in arts of sin,
And they cried: 'What's this? Aha! Oho!'
And straightway tackled the bank of tin.
They burgled from half-past ten p.m.,
Till the village bell struck four o'clock;
They hunted and searched and guessed and tried--
But the little tin bank would not unlock!
They couldn't discover the secret spring!
So, when the barn-yard rooster crowed,
They up with their tools and stole away
With the bitter remark that they'd be blowed!
Next morning came a sweet-faced child
And reached her dimpled hand to take
A nickel to send to the heathen poor
And a nickel to spend for her stomach's sake.
She pressed the hidden secret spring,
And lo! the bank flew open then
With a cheery creak that seemed to say:
'I'm glad to see you; come again!'
If you were I, and if I were you,
What would we keep our money in?
In a downtown bank of British steel,
Or an at-home bank of McKinley tin?
Some want silver and some want gold,
But the little tin bank that wants the two
And is run on the double standard plan--
Why, that is the bank for me and you!
poem by Eugene Field
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
In Loving Memory
A long time ago,1976 to be exact
a friend said I should go along
to a writing class he had joined.
Therefore, I did and met someone,
who was to change my life.
However, I did not know it at the time.
For the first couple of years he was simply my tutor.
However, as the years rolled on,
he became my mentor,
and most of all my friend.
For every year, we knew one another
the friendship grew stronger than before.
Before I met Maurice,
he had published four novels
and I have every one.
He started with A City Called Holy,
next came The Splendour and the Havoc,
and then The World and the Flesh,
and finally Across the Frontier.
He also wrote plays,
produced, directed and acted
in them with his wife Peggy.
When I met him his books
were out of print,
but through the years,
I found them one by one.
After a friendship that lasted
over seventeen years Maurice died.
However just before he passed away,
he told me how his local library
had approached him, wanting to know
if he had any copies of his books,
as they only had one left.
He did not and felt sadly about that.
As he told me, I made a promise to myself.
Not matter how long it took,
or how much it would cost,
his local library would have,
those books of his they did not have.
More than ten years passed from the time of his death,
until I was finally able to fulfil my promise.
I collected through the years
the books the library was missing.
In January 2006, I presented them to his local library.
It was a way of saluting a special friend,
helping keep his name alive.
I did it because of the special gifts,
through the years he gave me.
His friendship, his knowledge and help
with my writing no one had ever given before.
Therefore, any success
that I may ever achieve
can be contributed to him.
A gentleman of words,
my tutor, my mentor,
and lastly a very kind and special friend.
(For the late Maurice Callard)
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Domino College
By: jimmy buffett, dan fogelberg
1986
Found myself a matchbook
Beside some hotel bed
Opened it up and looked inside
And this is what it said
Chorus:
Get on back to school
Domino college, back to school
Boneyard full of knowledge
W-w-w-orking vacation in a third world nation
Back to school (going back to school, going back, back to school)
Fly down to miami
Get yourself a boat
Fill it full of suntan oil
And rent yourself a goat
Aint no registration
Aint no student loan
You may not learn to read or write
But you will surely learn to roll dem bones
Chorus:
Get on back to school
Domino college, back to school
Boneyard full of knowledge
W-w-w-orking vacation in a third world nation
Back to school (going back to school, going back, back to school)
They dont rap your knuckles
If you cut the class
They just track you through the jungle boy
Then they kick your ass
Its a different kind of domino theory
They teach you down in butler town
If you lose you buy the booze
And then the student body all falls down
Chorus:
They cant get back to school
Domino college, back to school
Fountain of knowledge
W-w-w-orking vacation in a third world nation
Back to school (going back, back to school)
Get on back
Make your parents hate you
Be a big disgrace
Act just like a domino
And fall on your face
Chorus:
You cant get back to school
Domino college, back to school
Fountain of knowledge
There aint no graduation from this kind of education
Back to school (going back, back to school)
W-w-w-orking vacation in a third world nation
Back to school (going back, back to school)
Be true to your school
-- spoken:
Oh, jan & dean be true to your school. big six, big six, whose got it? goddamn robert when you gonna play man, hey man, say, you know whose turn it is.
Coda:
Back to school (going back to school) repeat and fade
song performed by by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Slipped Away
Good morning son
It's off to school you go
Mom's gone to work you know
Mom when are you coming home
There's a bank robbery that's going on
Ooh this very morn
Mom's gone to wrok for sure
Mom when are you coming home
Officers the bank is being held
By two gunmen that don't mean well
Mom's on the job can't you tell
Mom when are you coming home
Mom when are you coming home
To see your son
Daughter don't be a policeman
Please be a school teacher instead
You're so good with the children
Mom when are you coming home
Teacher please excuse these boys from class
Their mother gone from a gunshot blast
Another cop shot down on patrol
Mom when are you coming home
Mom when are you coming home
To see your son
The gangsters killed our mother dead
All is lost from our family
They tried to save our mom in vain
She drowned in blood and she was not saved
The bank is open and the robbers jailed
And mom won't be coming home
The way they run their world so wrong
How can us brothers get along
Mom when are you coming home
song performed by by G. Love & Special Sauce
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!