Algebra II Tests And Sunny Skies
He sits.
A calculator is set off to the side
As he furiously scribbles on the page in front of him,
Trying to finish.
There’s nothing but the buzz of fluorescent lights
In this classroom after school.
Paper shuffles and a breeze startles the blinds,
His concentration dissolving as they smack into the wall.
And he sits up again,
Concentrates,
Chewing a stick of gum quietly,
He focuses.
Thinks of his prison of parabolas,
He erases, then scribbles some more,
Finishing his test,
Wishing for naught more than the freedom of a soccer field.
poem by Melissa Nikolova
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Scribbles On A Page
Scribbles on a page…
scribbles on a page…
back of a yellow notebook
torn pages out
let me go home
God!
let me go home
Scribbles on a page…
scribbles on a page…
my little black writing pad
bent cover-spine
let me go home
God!
let me go home
(i think i need a break)
(i think i need to sleep)
poem by Michael Romero
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Chewing Gum
chewing gum
wondering where i've been and what i've done
wondering where i'll go and where i'll run
hide myself away from everyone
chewing gum
doesn't ['does it'] bother you that you're not the one
keeps you up at night in a fear of dream
to count the silver bullet of your misty
it's yours to keep
chewing gum
innocence lost in electric smiles
perfectly cast in desperate clouds ['colds']
loving with under
city lights
with all their {miles}
and all i need
is you
by my side
by my side
by my side
chewing gum
wondering where i've been and what i've done
wondering where i'll go and where i'll run
hide myself away from everyone
chewing gum
got myself a piece of
chewing gum
got myself a piece of
chewing gum
got myself a piece of
chewing gum
got myself a piece of
chewing gum
song performed by by Smashing Pumpkins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When my handsome friend writes
when he scribbles his feeling on paper
The women get
Hysterical
Half men too.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Little Miss Nobody!
Amid the hustle and bustle of the school playground,
One young girl sits all alone.
As quiet as a mouse, she watches, but doesn't join in.
No-one pays her any attention.
She tells herself she prefers it that way,
But she is lying - to the world and to herself.
She's so lonely it tears at her insides,
But she steadfastly refuses to let it show.
What a jolly time her tormentors would have
If they knew how much their teasing hurt her.
How mortifying that would be!
So, she sits, quietly, patiently, till the bell rings to go inside.
But the classroom brings no solace, either.
She sits as far to the back as possible.
The teacher asks the class a question.
She knows the answer, but won't raise her hand!
Heaven forbid!
Everyone would look at her - notice her!
Better to try to be invisible, a non-person!
Soon, the school day will be over.
Hopefully she will be able to avoid the recognition
Of those that taunt her, long enough to get her coat
And be on her way without incident.
Maybe she'll be gone before they see her
And decide to play their cruel games with her.
The favourite is the one where one of them 'accidentally' touches her,
Then runs around, screaming that he or she has caught a nasty plague -
Or disease, or fleas. or whatever -
And has to touch someone else to pass it on!
That one's always good for a laugh!
For everyone else, anyway!
For her it's like a knife through her heart!
Every time!
And it never gets old! ! ! !
But none of them know!
None of them will EVER know how caustic their gibes are!
She'll make sure of that..........even if it kills her! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
poem by Dawn Ferrett
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Gone young
I stopped for some minutes
Looked away from my scribbles, littered
Pieces of papers on the table and
A glass of water that fattens the thumb
Only time knows how long;
As I glazed through the window
At the orange sun
Hanging on the west side
Little Jamie was kicking football around
With the others
He was only five,
Bare, tiny mosquito legs
On tiny rocks, stones and silt
Dogs frolic around the corner
With their undefined business
After a moment in time
I turned back
At the future soccer mockery
Jamie was gone
Like the fading light in April
That was the last I saw him
My tiny, mosquito legged star player
News came few days later
Stray bullet went through him
As hot knife through butter;
My tiny mosquito legged player
With reverie and ambition
Fizzled like smoke in the wind
I remember you Jamie;
My mosquito legged star
Faded dreams
On rocks, stones and silt
On my scribbles and poetic rubbish
Fit for publication
Adieu!
poem by Chika Nwokeoma
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It is still an unending source of surprise for me how a few scribbles on a blackboard or on a piece of paper can change the course of human affairs.
quote by Stanislaw Ulam
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To His Daughter
A little girl sits on the wall
Colouring something on the other side.
The wind shines her hair as she holds up
A flapping paper to my window.
What is on the paper I don't know.
The hornbeam bends over near her head.
Its two-coloured leaves are like her hair.
poem by Henry Money
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The Old Man
He sits quietly murmuring
Talking only to himself
His eyes sunken and dark
A look of tiredness across his face
His head is slightly bowed
Resting upon his hand
He sits alone in almost darkness
Except for a small table lamp
In the far corner of the room
There is little in the way of light
Old books gather dust
In piles around upon the floor
Those stories he once read
The worlds to which he escaped
Now stacked without order
Like memories becoming forgot
A glass of vintage wine
Held in his thin, bone like fingers
Softens his pallet, soothes his throat
While he sits alone each night
In quiet conversation with himself
Another old man growing grey
Wishing on yesterdays
poem by Matthew Holloway
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School School School
Every school has a name but
school is so lame
school what can I say
school im there like every day
school is like a prison, you can nver escape
school is like having a detencion every day
school you tell us to do schoolwork and at home we have to do homework: (
school, school, school
work, work, work
study, study, study
test, test, test it all goes trough my mind
what else should i do
might the principle think; .
My school
My rules
My way or the hard way
This is what i think
Im
Victor Arambula
poem by Somebody U Will Never Know
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If Someone 'Is' Dismissed
Do not believe for one second,
One dismissed sits and fidgets...
Wishing their presence is missed.
Too many perceive they have the power to do this.
As if the one that has been dismissed,
Sits making adjustments...
In a chair doing nothing,
But looking at thumbs as a twisting of them is done.
Do not believe for one second,
One dismissed sits with wishes to be enlisted...
Into a clique of forget-me-nots full of 'wannabees'.
And usually they are the ones issuing approvals,
To those fearing rejection.
Too many perceive they have the power to do this.
As if the one that has been dismissed,
Sits making adjustments...
In a chair doing nothing,
But looking at thumbs as a twisting of them is done.
Do not believe for one second,
One dismissed sits and fidgets...
Wishing their presence is missed.
How foolish would this be...
If someone sat seeking for an authority,
To approve the choosing of what they do...
And 'who' they should do it with.
If someone 'is' dismissed,
They should be glad of it.
Since there has been a lifting from them,
Any kind of restrictions.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Early Works - The Victors Have A Ball
Coloured lights shine across the cloister
on the dancers on the floor.
While on the stage a soloist is singing
of life’s lost cord.
In the corner sits a young man
with a moustache on his upper lip
trying so hard to look hip.
While an old, man is saying freedom
with happiness to all.
Let wars die of stagnation
and the victors have a ball.
The silkiness of a wayward light
makes shadows on the door
while creatures in their lustfulness
gather by the hoard.
In the room of bedlam, a young man sits
eating a stick of rock
and breaking it into bits.
While an old, man is saying freedom
with happiness to all.
Let wars die of stagnation
and the victors have a ball.
Date unknown.
Author’s note:
I have a feeling that this bit of nonsense was written in 1967. It is a guess, but because of certain things written in it sounds about right for that era.
poem by David Harris
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Girls School
Sleepy head, kid sister
Lying on the floor
18 years and younger, boy
Well she knows what shes waiting for
Yukis a cool school mistress
Shes an oriental princess
She shows films in the classroom, boy
The put the paper on the windows.
Ah...what can the sisters do
Ah...girls school
Head nurse is sister scala
Now shes a spanish doll
She runs a full body out call massage parlour
From the teachers hail
Ah...what can the sisters do
Ah...girls school
Well now, roxannes he woman trainer
She puts the kids to bed
She gives them pills in a paper cup
And she knocks them on the head
Ah...what can the sisters do
Ah...girls school
Ah...what can the sisters do
Ah...girls school
She shows films in the classroom, boy
The put the paper on the windows.
Ah...what can the sisters do
Ah...girls school
song performed by by Paul McCartney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Captain
this is my ideas for captain
a girl in a flower dress
whos face is a real mess
she scribbles my words
she scribbles the real words
i'd rather these were not my words
i'd rather
that these were not my words
you say what
you are the captain what
Cos' I know how to live a lie
I know that you know I try
I know how to live a lie
I know you don't even try
I know how to live a lie
I know I don't even try
I know how to live a lie
you don't live a lie
and you don't try
and you live a lie
song performed by by Idlewild
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A conservative is a man who sits and thinks, mostly sits.
quote by Woodrow Wilson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A conservative is a man who just sits and thinks, mostly sits.
quote by Woodrow Wilson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Manhattan
Shakey Davey's got a twelve gauge in his hand
It's sawed off to the limit
He's got a vague plan
There's this liquor store on Madison
There's another one down on Washington square
He's pretty sure no one's ever seen him
Down around there
The first one's birdshot the next four are double aught buck
The last one's a slug just for good luck
He's got his works in his pocket
He wants to score as soon as he's done
He can't wait to get straight to get long gone
He puts on his long coat scribbles off a short note
Sits himself down and waits for the sun to go down
It's right around midnight and there's still too damn many people on this street
He's walked all the way from Battery Park he's got sweaty hands and burnin' feet
He's desperate for a fix
His body's screamin' "Get me high"
He bursts through the door and lets one fly
Sunrise in the park and Davey's cold as stone
He got some bad merchandise and he was all alone
Two more unsolved mysteries a iot of paper pushed around
Most folks are just wakin' up in this great big town
song performed by by Bob Seger
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Freedom
I used to think you understood
Taught me right and learnt me good
Made things simple for my brain
Told the truth and made it plain
But the implications I mistook
Until I found out whose side you took
And now with paper in my hand
Im beginning to understand
So this is freedom - {they must be joking}
They must be joking - {if they think its true}
So this is freedom - [i doubt their truth}
So this is freedom - {for me and you}
From the front page news to the interviews
Its sink the reds and left the blues
They pretend theyre differing points of view
But its only different shades of blue
But the implications I mistook
Until I found out whose side you took
And now with paper in my hand
Im beginning to understand
So this is freedom - {they must be joking}
They must be joking - {if they think its true}
So this is freedom - [i doubt their truth}
So this is freedom - {for me and you}
[guitar solo]
So this is freedom - {they must be joking}
They must be joking - {if they think its true}
So this is freedom - [i doubt their truth}
So this is freedom - {for me and you}
F.r.e.e.d.o.m.
They locked us up once
So theyll do it again
C.h.a.i.n.e.d.
They locked up my friends
Now theyre coming for me
song performed by by Housemartins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Going West
He sits in his rocking chair,
his dreams cemented in the past.
He wishes he had been a pioneer
packing up everything
and travelling west to start again afresh.
That is for the young men,
but he is an old man who thinks
things like that cannot be done now.
He is too old to start again.
He never tried it when he was young,
now time has passed
and all he can do is rock to and fro.
Wishing he had done it then.
Someone once told him
a long, long time ago
that nothing was impossible.
He smiled at the suggestion,
now he wonders of its validity.
Standing up he takes a deep breath
of the air around him
and coughs a little bit.
He smiles to himself, he is going to do it.
He is going west to the sunset,
the place where all his dream lay awaiting for him.
He will do it tomorrow,
then he sits back in his rocking chair
and thinks of all the beauty there he will find.
25 January 2009
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Manhatten
Words and music by bob seger
Shakey daveys got a twelve gauge in his hand
Its sawed off to the limit
Hes got a vague plan
Theres this liquor store on madison
Theres another one down on washington square
Hes pretty sure no ones ever seen him
Down around there
The first ones birdshot the next four are double aught buck
The last ones a slug just for good luck
Hes got his works in his pocket
He wants to score as soon as hes done
He cant wait to get straight to get long gone
He puts on his long coat scribbles off a short note
Sits himself down and waits for the sun to go down
Its right around midnight and theres still too damn many people on this street
Hes walked all the way from battery park hes got sweaty hands and burnin feet
Hes desperate for a fix
His bodys screamin get me high
He bursts through the door and lets one fly
Sunrise in the park and daveys cold as stone
He got some bad merchandise and he was all alone
Two more unsolved mysteries a iot of paper pushed around
Most folks are just wakin up in this great big town
song performed by by Bob Seger
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pen-pusher's penitent
With the ink of blood
he scribbles on a scratch paper in the midnight
to move the mountains.
A penniless, wealthier in heart
lives near by the pauper's graveyard.
Day time a gravedigger
and a handsome lover to the girl
who comes to collect
withered flowers of the wreaths.
To the poet Roy.Storey
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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