I’ll Learn One Day What They Know
I ran into Tammy Alderman today.
She asked me, “Do you know
Jerry West died last month of a heart attack? ”
I told her, “No, I didn’t know.”
She then asked, “Do you know
Paul Graff died a year ago
With a brain tumor? ”
I said, “No way! Not Paul!
He was a complete sweetheart,
I knew him from kindergarten!
I’ll think about him now
For the rest of the night! ”
From my teens on,
I’ve gazed at death
With lustful eyes,
But my grade school
And high school pals
Have perished instead!
Like Allen Ginsberg wrote
In a poem from the1970’s,
“I never learned to die.”
From the Master’s poem: Ode to Failure
poem by Uriah Hamilton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
It's a sick day off
It's Monday,
I said, ' I can't go to school today.'
Mom asked, ' Why can't you go son? '
' Well I have the flu and chicken pox. I need a warm cinnamon bun.'
'Eat a cinnamon bun, rest, and be ready for school tomorrow while rising with the sun.'
It's Tuesday,
I said, ' I can't go to school like yesterday.'
Mom asked, ' Why not Nate? '
' I have the mumps and measles and I think it is because of what I ate.'
' Well you're going to miss you school debate.'
Mom said back, ' Go to rest and hopefully you can go to school tomorrow with your sister Kate.'
It's Wednesday,
I said to Mom, ' I can't go to school like Tuesday.'
Mom asked, ' Why not my sweet boy? '
' I'm coughing and I got a headache also say I can't play today to my best friend Roy.'
' Go to bed dear child so you can go to school tomorrow with joy.'
It's Thursday,
I said, ' I can't go to school like Wednesday, Tuesday, and Monday.'
Mom asked, ' Why not lad.'
' I'm giddy, dizzy, and feeling pretty bad.'
' You must be feeling bad that's why I feel so sad.'
Mom said back, ' Rest now and it won't be so bad.'
It's Friday,
I said, ' I can't go to school again today.'
Mom said, ' Don't worry there is no school today.'
' No school! I'm going out to play now.'
poem by Saimun Shahee
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I Sent My Child To School Today
I sent my child to school today
With his little lunch box
When he came home he said his friend
Had gotten the chickenpox,
I sent my child to school today
And asked him what he learned
He told me about firemen
They taught him how not to get burned,
I sent my child to school today
He said, 'Do you know what they taught me? '
He told me they taught him numbers
As well as his ABC’s,
I sent my child to school today
A smile on his face
I gave him a kiss and a hug
And said, 'See ya funny face! ',
I sent my child to school today
His smile bright and wide
But an older child brought in a gun
How did he get it inside? ,
I sent my child to school today
As in every day
But the child with the gun started shooting
The reason? No one could say,
I buried my child after school today
All I can do is cry
I lost my child at school today
And nobody can tell me why.
poem by Doug Hollywood Davis
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Last Night, I Died
Last night, I died
And there was no one there
There was no one for me to speak to
Except for GOD; who I did in prayer.
I asked GOD then to forgive me
And please, erase the sins of this man
Then I asked him to watch over my family and friends
And then I asked him please; hold my hand.
And as I lay there dying
Unto GOD I freely spoke
I thanked him for all the gifts he gave me,
I thanked him for all the words I wrote.
Then I closed my eyes and had memories
But not of the bad times, only the good,
Then I thought of the people I loved and trusted,
Not because I had to, but because I should.
And while I was there still alone
Awaiting for death to take my life,
I began to cry, but not for me
But for my son, and the woman I call wife.
Then I thought in Heaven who would walk with me
When I arrived, in my new home,
Then I thought who would be with me
Or in Heaven I thought, Would I walk alone.
And as I awaited For my life to end
I worried as I began to think of everyone else,
The sting of death really didn't bother me,
But only knowing, I would die by myself.
And then at last death it came,
And there for me, no one had cried
Because no one knew that I left this world
Because no one knew, last night I had died.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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A Poem Is Just A Poem
a poem is just a poem and if it is just a poem
it must be just a poem just like another poem
a poem is nothing but just a poem otherwise
it cannot be my poem; it may speak about
anything, or something, or about everything,
but my poem is just a poem just like anybody's
poem, which is just but a poem, like any other
poem, for a poem to be a poem it must just be
a poem: it has nothing to do with my love, and death
my life, or bliss, but as i have told you, once, twice
thrice, eat some rice, and be that wise, a poem is
just a poem, just like your poem. Why do you insist
on asking, what is happening to me? I am not a
poem, for i am but just the composer of the poem,
need i tell you again, that a poem is just a poem?
just like any other poem, which is just a poem
it is just a voice in my head that i have heard
someone comes and speaks and i listen so
this poem is not actually my poem but the poem
of someone else's: theirs not mine, from a mind.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Back In The Days
When I was in high school, [1]
When I was in high school, [2]
I was very loud. [1]
I was very shy. [2]
I had a lot of friends, [1]
I had little friends, [2]
my parents were proud, [1]
my parents lived a lie. [2]
When I was in high school, [1]
When I was in high school, [2]
prom was coming next week. [1]
prom was soon coming up. [2]
Daddy bought me a dress, [1]
Momma took me to a shop, [2]
So nervous I couldn't breathe. [1]
bought me a black tux. [2]
When I was in high school, [1]
When I was in high school, [2]
I was the prettiest of them all. [1]
I wasn't noticed well. [2]
There's this boy I barely noticed, [1]
The prettiest girl in school... [2]
is so handsome and so tall. [1]
so pretty and so swell. [2]
When I was in high school, [1]
When I was in high school, [2]
he reached to hold my hand. [1]
I reached for her hand. [2]
As nervous as he was, [1]
My heart shook; my voice was weak, [2]
he asked me to the dance. [1]
I asked her to the dance. [2]
When I was in high school, [1]
When I was in high school, [2]
after the prom I got the news. [1]
I'm to go to war next week. [2]
He was drafted in the army, [1]
I wish there was a way, [2]
and to be sent off too soon. [1]
all I could do was pray. [2]
When I was in high school, [1]
When I was in high school, [2]
I watched him be taken away. [1]
I told her, 'I love you.' [2]
That tall and handsome man, [1]
Tears fell down her cheeks, [2]
is still in my heart to this day. [1]
her hand in marriage; can't take me away. [2]
poem by Heather Cropper
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Reeling For Cod
She asked if I would donate
To her desires to be humped,
On a bed as 'screwmates'.
And if I'd be home alone at eight?
She would bring someone else,
She knew I'd appreciate.
I asked her if it was sperm she wished,
To raise a child in a manner she saw fit?
And she said no!
'It's not that at all!
I'm wishing to be neighborly...
And my friend's name is Paul! '
Of course I was stunned,
By her approach and thoughtlessness!
I told her I liked sex...
But with one not another she selects.
And she said Paul had a tremendous 'rod'...
And he would just like to watch us,
As she closed her eyes...
Fantasizing fishing,
Using his 'rod'...
On a boat reeling for cod!
Needless to say...
I said okay!
Since today nothing is sacred.
And her arrangement was not that odd!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Poem Pals
When I woke up, I looked outside and what a sight I saw
There was no place for them to hide near to my neighbour's door.
The Poem Pals were back again! With poems in their hands
That God has sent out to all men and women in His lands...
When they saw me, they waved hello! I waved back and made tea.
I asked them in to get to know what was the mystery...
They told me straight, 'He's busy now, his T.V.'s on the blink!
And so us guys he won't allow, he's hardly time to think...'
So off I went and they went, too, 'Good luck! ' they said and smiled.
The problem sorted, he said, 'Phew! ' and calmed down, now quite mild.
I told him of the Poem Pals, 'They visit me as well,
They're full of wonders, full of tales, what stories they could tell! '
'You see them, too? ' He was amazed! 'Oh, yes, they're all my friends! '
'Thank God for that! ' he quickly praised, with no need for pretence!
They stood in line, the first one in, his poem now to share,
So that my neighbour could begin to make the world aware...
The poem penned, we watched him leave with smiles upon his face!
Another poem to receive from God above by grace.
The second guy came with his verse, as proud as proud could be,
With extra time he could rehearse, reciting perfectly...
The third guy ran inside at last, determined to be heard,
I'd never seen him run so fast, now he could read each word!
The fourth guy walked in, bid good day explaining what to write
And then when done, he walked away, his face a pure delight!
The fifth guy was hilarious, his poem made us laugh!
Not one of us stayed serious as he walked down the path.
The sixth guy walked in bold as brass, saluted us in turn,
As if he thought we were first class, with nothing left to learn...
The last guy heaved a long, long sigh... for sad his poem was.
It told why Jesus had to die upon the cruel cross...
His poem was the best of all, of that there was no doubt.
It shared the Gospel by Saint Paul, who loved the Lord throughout.
So finally, we said goodbye, the Poem Pals all gone...
My neighbour's spirit soaring high, because God's light had shone.
The Poem Pals would call again, so poets could be blessed,
In time, to be Fishers of Men, who seek to do their best...
Denis Martindale, copyright, February 2012.
This is a follow-up poem to The Impatient Poem:
tinyurl-dot-com/the-impatient-poem
poem by Denis Martindale
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A Poem Is A Poem
As I sat in my room,
On my little desk chair,
I began to feel
A hint of despair.
I had for my homework,
A poem to create,
And if it wasen't done then,
It would have been late.
My school, my dog,
A tree or my home,
Which of these subjects,
Should I choose for my poem?
You can see for yourself,
That my problem was bad,
No poem could I think of,
My; this was sad.
As I sat there and gazed,
A thought came to mind:
A poem is a poem,
Just as long as it rhymes.
So I wrote down some words,
And tossed them around,
Until they rhymed nicely,
And had a smooth sound.
My poem was all finished,
My homework all done,
It wasen't bad after all,
It even was fun!
Longfellow, Whitman,
Robert Frost too,
I've discovered there secret
That all of them knew.
A poem is no problem,
It takes not much time,
You write down your thoughts,
In a way that will rhyme.
poem by Sarah Stopka
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I'n School
In school:
I was told to sit down and shut up.
I should just shut up and
be quiet
In school I could learn
And I learned
and I faced the master
I learned about the play,
the theatre,
but this was no school of drama
So I lied
I lied about my friends,
the theatre, the girl
and I ran away
I ran away from the master
And I was the master
but I cried when I left
I was told to sit down and shut up
and I left that school because I didn't fight.
I just got up
and left,
quietly.
poem by Alex Ranedo klein
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Grade
We go to school and we learn
We go to school and we laugh
We go to school and we make friends
We go to school to know life
But parents are thinking something else
You should do better
You should do harder
It's just a year or two do your best
Are grade only part of us?
Does school offer us nothing more than grades?
School teach us how to laugh and cry
School is not only for grade
Please Mom Dad respect that
poem by Custous Angelus
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A Not a Poem Poem
A Not a Poem Poem
I will not write a poem
For I am not a poet
I cannot makes things rhyme
I’ve tried for quite some time
So will I write a poem?
NO!
I can’t write poetry
I’ve tried to all my life
Once, I tried to write a poem
About a husband and his wife
It sounded really silly
So I crumbled it up into a ball
That’s why I decided
That I couldn’t write poetry at all
Am I gonna write a poem?
NO!
Well, I’ll try to write a poem
But it will be really bad
It will be absolutely lousy
It will be completely horrible
It won’t be up to snuff
People will say, “Who wrote this stuff? ”
Will my poem be good?
NO!
Can I write a poem?
NO!
Will I write a poem?
NO!
Well, what do you know! ? !
I wrote a poem!
And it’s a pretty good poem, too!
I guess I can write poetry if I try
The next time I’m asked to write a poem,
Will I say no?
NO!
The poem
I wrote a poem that didn't
ryhme,
i wrote a poem that didn't ryhme to the one I love,
i wrote a poem that didn't ryhme to the one I love
more than life,
i wrote a poem that didn't ryhme to the one I love more than life,
of which she did more than like,
the poem was short,
repeated myself alot,
but the one I loved more than life,
felt that love is like the poem I wrote,
full of joy and full of hurt,
the poem I wrote when I was full of hype,
coz the one I loved more than life is the one that now fills in my life all gaps,
the one that brings me up when am down,
a smile on my face from a frown,
music to my ears when we talk,
love in my heart when I'm near,
i wrote a poem that didn't ryhme for the one I love more than life.
poem by Kennedy Musyoka
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I Wrote No Poem Today/ I Wrote No Poem Yesterday
I WROTE NO POEM TODAY/ I WROTE NO POEM YESTERDAY
I wrote no poem today-
I wrote no poem yesterday-
Will I write a poem tomorrow?
Perhaps all my lines are done-
And I must live out
The rest of my life
In silence-
God is Great
Am I a small small small voice still?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Forgetting Wide
Everyday I go outside
And stare into the wide
It's not until I notice the sun setting
I know school is one thingI can't be forgetting!
This poem is called a clerihew poem. I wrote my poem like this because I like to go outside, and sometimes, when I see the sun setting, I realize it's time to start getting ready for school!
poem by Isabella Badger
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August....
August is the month for kids it’s the last few weeks of freedom before a new school year begins.
August is the month where many parents are excited that its here cause they don’t want their kids home alone.
August is the last month before fall begins.
August is the only month that has fewer holidays than most months.
August is the month where most teens are happy because it means that it’s the last school year for most.
August is the month that I really don’t care for but I also like as well.
poem by Natasha Ligons
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Moving Up Scared
Anxiety running through my vines
Like in the colors of a chock rainbow
Being washed off the side walk
A little scared but not enough to show it
I take that big step on my own
You know the step from
I know I'm a little kid to
I'm a big kid now that I'm in Middle School
I slowly walk down the blue carpeted terrifying hall
They made it scary for a reason
Then I met you Breanna
On the first day within the first 10 minutes
Some how you saw right through
My brave little 11 year old mask
The overwhelming lack of security
That was now so present
Making me not think in the right sate of mind
The stories of horror that all those years
My sister has told me and all I can think of
Is complete terror that is invading my body
Walking in those double doors for the first time
Was one of the scariest things I had ever done in my 15 years
I thought I was going to cry
And then did when I heard your voice tell me that
You knew I was scared to go to high school
Just like the first day of sixth grade
And the last day of eighth grade year
You know you always knew
Now it came the year that we were all working for
The year where we see that our teachers
Really do know what they are talking about
Their not crazy old people after all
And we get what their talking about
Some of the pieces of the skeleton of our lives
Start to fall into place
The year where we discover who we
For sure don’t want to be
The year where we think we have it all together
The year where the 4.0 doesn’t matter as much any more
Cause this is the year that you have to figure out where your
Going to live in 6 months after it hits you
Oh no I have to do this year there is no more next year
There is barely a tomorrow
then when you realize that tomarrow is coming too quick
and you dont know how to slow the clock down
you really know that the year has came and you hate to say it
but you have to grow up and be the adult now that
mommy and daddy arnt going to be there picking up the slack
all to soon
The year where you look to your best friend from sixth grade
And you know she is just as scared as you
This time Breanna I knew your scared too
A year to learn to really learn
This year is senior year and here and there it's almost
Scaring me to death
P.S
As a senior teachers always ask me to give advice to underclassmen and my advice is this to have fun join a club and a sport if you can make high school an amazing experience don’t do anything you will regret latter. However most of all try in your classes I’m not saying 4.0 just try, try hard because when your friends, and family are not there for you your education is all you will have.
poem by Mrs. Cynosure
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Losses
It was not dying: everybody died.
It was not dying: we had died before
In the routine crashes-- and our fields
Called up the papers, wrote home to our folks,
And the rates rose, all because of us.
We died on the wrong page of the almanac,
Scattered on mountains fifty miles away;
Diving on haystacks, fighting with a friend,
We blazed up on the lines we never saw.
We died like aunts or pets or foreigners.
(When we left high school nothing else had died
For us to figure we had died like.)
In our new planes, with our new crews, we bombed
The ranges by the desert or the shore,
Fired at towed targets, waited for our scores--
And turned into replacements and woke up
One morning, over England, operational.
It wasn't different: but if we died
It was not an accident but a mistake
(But an easy one for anyone to make.)
We read our mail and counted up our missions--
In bombers named for girls, we burned
The cities we had learned about in school--
Till our lives wore out; our bodies lay among
The people we had killed and never seen.
When we lasted long enough they gave us medals;
When we died they said, 'Our casualties were low.'
They said, 'Here are the maps'; we burned the cities.
It was not dying --no, not ever dying;
But the night I died I dreamed that I was dead,
And the cities said to me: 'Why are you dying?
We are satisfied, if you are; but why did I die?'
poem by Randall Jarrell
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Flick-Knife Incident
After the argument
'Helen said'. 'Granny said'.
'Paul said'. 'Granny said'.
'Larry asked'.
Granny,
Who is Mrs Devereux,
Pulled out a flick-knife.
'! ', 'Helen said'.
'Helen asked'. Granny (lengthily replied) .
'Helen asked'. Granny (abruptly replied) .
'Helen asked'. 'Her grandmother said'.
'Larry said'. 'Paul said'.
'Larry asked', 'Does Declan know? '
'Granny said'.
'Larry said', 'I must go and tell.'
Lily 'addressed Paul'.
'Larry said'. 'Mrs Devereux said'. 'Paul said'.
'Lily said', 'Declan's getting sick...'
'Paul asked'. 'Helen said'. 'Paul said'.
Enough said.
poem by Douglas Scotney
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On my first day in New York a guy asked me if I knew where Central Park was. When I told him I didn't he said, 'Do you mind if I mug you here?'.
quote by Paul Merton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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This Is My Poem
This is my poem of ______. (date)
This is my poem, written by myself.
This is my first poem never written.
This is my last poem now to be written.
This is the poem I would have written
if I had lived yesterday what I lived today.
This is my poem changing white light
into gold-leaf
and blue into violet.
This is my poem like a heaven twisting
and turning inside of me
all night long.
This is my poem of opening a window
to show what was always inside.
This is my poem encompassing everything
hope can bestow or chance agree with.
This is my poem of open-ended freedom.
This is my poem breathing life into motion.
This is my poem written as I wrote it
a living being.
And this is my poem ending;
but only for today..
poem by Patti Masterman
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