My Fondest Childhood Memory
Homework, said my teacher,
Is to write a poem,
About your fondest
Childhood memory
Immediately, I began to shake
And within minutes
A cold sweat had
Come over me
I had dreaded,
Absolutely dreaded,
This day,
This moment in time.
I thought perhaps
I might find an excuse
Such as dogs dying
Or broken water pipes
I wondered
If I dropped the course
Would I get
A rebate?
And then
It dawned on me
The perfect line...
I'm afraid
I've had amnesia
All these years.
poem by Dee Daffodil
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
First Homework
Tis the day I got my first batch of homework
From where you ask?
From my first grade class of course
I wonder how I should start
From the days my siblings warned me of this
I have always forever dreaded this
And now the time has finally come upon me
to open the books of doom
So as I sit there waiting patiently
Hoping a way to succeed
I decided to finally start this
For else the end is near
As I finished the homework I see
i realized it's not so bad
maybe I'll enjoy this once in a while
The dreaded homework no one seeks
poem by Venus Fire
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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One Thing Leads To Another
How many times have we
thought of one thing that led us to another
within our memory store.
We think of one thing
and our memory links us to another
that may have happened years before.
We sit for a few minutes
as our memory takes us on a trip
through the corridors
of our childhood many years before.
We remember moments
that delighted us at the time
before growing up
took those pleasures away.
Each memory hold a precious moment
we will never see again
except in our memories
when they will take us
down that road again.
27 March 2009
poem by David Harris
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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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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!
After years in white theaters I dreaded working in colored houses. The noise, the stomping, whistling, and cheering that hadn't annoyed me when I was young was now something I dreaded.
quote by Ethel Waters
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Writers Block
He was going to write a brilliant poem
probably the best one he'd ever done
but when he sat down at his desk
the inspiration just wouldn't come.
No matter how hard the poet tried
to get some ideas down onto the page
nothing worth writing about arrived
leaving him on the verge of rage.
Then an Eureka moment hit him
while listening to the ticking of the clock
he'd write a poem on the frustration
of that dreaded writers block.
He ended up writing five verses
about a poets worst nightmare
when your wanting to write a masterpiece
but end up pulling out your hair.
So the moral of this poem must be
that writers block isn't so bad after all
as you can use it as a poetry subject
instead of sitting there staring at the wall!
poem by Kevin Halls
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There Are Those Who Wait Years To Write A Poem
THERE ARE THOSE WHO WAIT YEARS TO WRITE A POEM
There are those who wait years to write a poem
The fruit slowly ripens inside and then as with Rilke
It suddenly falls -
There are those who write a few lines
And come back time after time
And find the poem after many efforts-
There are those who cannot wait to write a poem
And once conscious of it must write it down as fast as possible
Before it is lost-
And there are those who only in the present writing
Find the poem -
The page suffers many methods and modes
But what truly makes a poem worthy
Is another question.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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No homework
No homework, no homework, no homework
it would be lovely, it would be great,
it would be as good as chocolate cake.
No homework, no homework, no homework,
oh the things I would do, it would be fun,
it would be a cupcake bun.
No homework, no homework, no homework,
an amazing day, but next day at school,
a pop quiz and now the teacher says hurray.
poem by Ben Mannion
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All I Can Do Now Is Write Another Poem
All I can do now is write another poem-
The poems are small,
And do not require the long hours and long years
Of the books-
Like the world as a whole
I seem to have a shorter attention span
And less patience-
A poem can be written and given a name
In minutes not years-
Though some would say a great poem
Takes the travail of years of waiting
And years of work-
But I did not say
‘All I can do now is write another great poem'
Perhaps I have in all the years of the nights never written one-
I can write the poems I write
My kinds of poems
In a fairly short time-
All I can do now
Is write another of my kind of poems-
Whether they be worth anything,
Or not.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Afraid Not Scared
Look at this ocean with everyone drowning
Idiots screaming and everyone sinking in slowly
We're surrounded
In the yellow lights of the city wasted as bodies
In bed with somebody a touch away with nothing to do
We're surrounded
I'm really dying here
I'm really dying here
And I'm afraid, no I'm scared
She started freezing, lungs all collapsing
The momentum is passing, but the moment is eating us whole
We're surrounded
Put the guns in the water, they're turning to vodka
Triggering nothing we're sinking the sea takes the ship
And I'm really dying in here
I'm really dying in here
I'm afraid. I'm afraid. No, I'm scared. No I'm scared.
I'm just scared. Just let me down.
I'm getting really cold and I'm cold and I'm looking at you
You're not moving
I'm getting really cold and I'm cold and I'm looking at you
You're not moving
I'm getting really cold and I'm cold and I'm looking at you
And you're not moving
song performed by by Ryan Adams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Am Too Tired To Write A Good Poem
I AM TOO TIRED TO WRITE A GOOD POEM
I am too tired to write a good poem
I am too cold also
I have been out all day in the cold and the rain
I have been doing errands since early in the morning
I babysat for four hours in the afternoon
I went out again in the cold and rain to buy a few groceries
I tried to write and could not
I read and overate a few times
I tried to write
But I could not
I am very tired now
A poem should not be a simple clear description of one’s own mood at the moment
I am too tired to write a good poem
But I try to write
And this is the result
A poor poem indeed.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Solitude
Tim he was a good friend
Yea was a brother of mine
We were imaginary comic book superheroes
Kids wasting time
We were prisoners of our youth
We were growing up strong
til the day he was taken away
For something he did wrong
Tim came round just the other day
And boy he had some stories to tell
His mama kept him locked up in a rehab
Although the doctors said he was well
He said yeah I been through the anger
And the hatred towards my mom
And I put all that behind me
Just tell me what was it like to go to your prom
He said thank you mom for fixing
My clouded broken mind
But excuse me if I seem a little rude
While I was missing my childhood, my brother and my prime
You enjoyed the convenience of my solitude
Well growing up these days just aint easy
And the kids theyre doing the best that they can
So mama you better think twice
Before you lock your kid up and throw away the key
cause soon your little boy is gonna be a man
He said thank you mom for fixing
My clouded broken mind
But excuse me if I seem a little rude
While I was missing my childhood, my brother and my prime
You enjoyed the convenience of my solitude
Tim left town yesterday
He left me with these words
He said yeah I know this lifes got a lot to give
But my childhood is gone
And Im not afraid of dying
Im gonna grab the world by the horns and learn how to live
He said thank you mom for fixing
My clouded broken mind
But excuse me if I seem a little rude
While I was missing my childhood, my brother and my prime
You enjoyed the convenience of my solitude
song performed by by Edwin McCain
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Poem Just For You
Today I decided to write a poem just for you
So I sat down with pen in hand, and began to
Carefully consider in which way I could express to you
All the things you mean to me,
First I thought to write a poem about your radiant smile,
All about how you easily outshine the sun.
Or perhaps a poem about our friendship,
All about the kind things you do that fill my heart.
A poem about how grateful I am to have you in my life
All about how I thank God every day for putting you here.
But I decided to write this poem on something else
All about something that is a poem in itself
A poem that simply says I love you
A poem just for you.
poem by Matt Windseth
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The Cat Poem - with discussion
I must not write a poem
because I want to write a poem.
I must try to write the poem
when the poem has to be written.
Yes but what if my cat dies?
Yes, what if my cat dies
and I know my cat lived a
good and honest life
I can write a poem?
I can can’t I
I can have a cat poem can’t I
Life of an honest cat and that
Yes I know, I said the cat was honest
but I didn’t say that I was, and
I lied about the cat
________________________________
Discussion:
The poem begins as a slightly
finger wagging exercise in telling
people not to write just because
they want to write a poem - it must
be DRIVEN by the poem's insistence
on being written. The poet is
unable to sustain this arrogance
hence the cat. Then, using the
cat as an excuse, writes the poem
but in the end has to admit that
the cat was just a device to break
the rule outlined in the 4 opening
lines. (Secretly of course the poet
believes or at least hopes that the
poem is good enough to excuse itself
and be allowed to break the rule.)
But of course it isn't
poem by by unknown author
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Teachers Pet
I think that I'm the teacher's pet.
But trust me, I'm no poodle.
I know the answers to the tests
and like to read an oodle!
I always do my homework
and I hand it in on time.
When it's time for poetry,
I like to write in rhyme.
I'd never throw a spit wad,
pass a note or talk in class.
I'd never dream of talking back
or giving teachers sass.
It's true I'm not a poodle,
but there's nothing I regret.
I guess that I'm the perfect one
to be my teacher's pet.
poem by Selam G. Sekuar
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Poetry Is Like A Beautiful Work Of Art
A poem has no write or
wrong,
How to write your poem
is up to you,
Visualize a perfect poem
That readers will love,
Adjust a poem as much as
you want,
Remember a poem is like
art,
You write it with meaning
and passion,
Add as much as your heart
desires,
Short or long it does not
matter,
Add a picture with your
poem,
Add a quote or a verse,
it is a poet's decision,
Always be proud of your poem,
Let the words flow when you
write,
A poem expresses a feeling,
thought and emotion,
Add a frame and hang it up
on a wall,
share your talents with the
world,
Poetry is like a beautiful
work of art.
poem by Derek James
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There Is No Poem I Can Write
THERE IS NO POEM I CAN WRITE
There is no poem I can write
That can solve the problems of my life-
A poem may save for a moment
Or give hope for a brief time
I may make me believe in myself again
For an instant-
It cannot make money
Or improve the situation
Of those I care about-
It cannot even now
Shake me from my despair
My sense of myself going down
A poem can be only very small help now
Very very small
It cannot even make me wholly believe
In the so- called poem I am writing now.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Shake The Tree
Id love to take this lying down
But the world we know has lost its crown
All night talk n jazz cigarettes
Is never gonna change this killer town
I see her walking
In perfect time
She gives me reason
To carry on
Round the corner comes salvation
Made to order is what you found
Why oh why do we fool ourselves
Is it just the need to carry on
I see her walking
In perfect time
She gives me reason
To carry on
Shake the tree you find
Shake dont cut it down
Glamour takes its toll on you
Throw away whats out of view
Pearls of wisdom hang around your neck
They warm to the touch of your perfect skin
High, high, high, high
High, high, high, high
I see her walking
In perfect time
She gives me reason
To carry on
Shake the tree you find
Shake dont cut it down
Shake the tree you find
(I see her walking in perfect time)
Shake dont cut it down
(she gives me reason)
To carry on
I see her walking
In perfect time
She gives me reason
To never say die
I see her walking
In perfect time (shake)
She gives me reason (the tree you find)
To never say die
Shake the tree you find
song performed by by INXS
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Villanelle on Depression
Depression is a fact of life for me.
As much a part of life as food and air,
It hovers like a dreaded entity.
It scatters joys like useless stale debris,
And sews the ashes of my dreams in gloom.
Depression is a fact of life for me.
It poises like a shadowing banshee
With somber wings just waiting to enshroud.
It hovers like a dreaded entity,
And I can almost always guarantee
Secreted in my spectral holidays
Depression is a fact of life for me.
My life becomes a frequent abductee
Purloined by mirthless bird of prey
It hovers like a dreaded entity..
A vulture pouncing when my back is turned,
But hidden, and not easily discerned.
Depression is a fact of life for me
It hovers like a dreaded entity.
poem by B.V. Dahlen
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Her Last Poem
She sat beneath a shaded tree
She thought for a while
She thought about her life
For the first time
She wrote her first poem
She sat in her desk at school
She smiled a lot
Because smiles meant happy
And she wanted happy
She frowned when no one looked
She sat with her friends at lunch
She wondered what they thought
Did they think about her?
She wondered if they wondered
If her smiles were real
She sat beside the boy in school
They held hands
And he thought she was beautiful
Just a girl
And not much else
She sat on her bedroom floor
She let herself feel
And she felt like nothing
But feeling is all she wanted
And so she was nothing
She was alone
She was tired
She was afraid
And she was nothing
She sat on the bathroom floor
She pulled out the razor
She carved mor nothing on her wrist
She pretended to be ok
Because ok was all she wanted
Drip drop
Blood
Tears
No difference really
She sat beneath a shaded tree
She let go for a while
She thought about her death
For the first time
She wrote her last poem