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A rhetorical question finds me ask
king (to no one in particular) why I bask
with recollection the names of blank
exclamatory staid grade school crank

key teachers approximately
     42,0480,000 breaths aye drank
fifty years ago (most whose names frank
lee listed below),

     when the need to access
and retrieve
     immediate necessary information
     analogously interleaved

     among coaxial bracts
during examinations relegated
     as hopelessly lost
     into interstitial invisible cranial cracks

irretrievably buried
     during examinations, which age
(feels like a million years ago)
     often found me seized and caged
with sudden inability to remember

     any vital answers as gauged
evidenced by nothing writ
ten on paper (even including my name),
     thus loosely similar as aye sit
to compose poetry,
     and/or prose tempted to quit

asper defeated by resignation,
     and sinking sensation in the pit
of my stomach (more so regarding orbit
ting like an unsound garden  

     black hole son around cold (mit
ten necessary) awful days grudgingly
     handing over like a lit
till insignificant being,
     a test paper devoid of academic grit

analogously surrendering
     (while feeling fit
tubby tied, sense internally emit
ting abnegation sans chafing at the bit,

yet no sooner did buzzer indicated test
time over, then (of course),
     an instantaneous pest
that blocked chunk dramatically
     flowered gloriously invoking nest

head treasured mother lode
     of learned information invest
ment accounting for principle ball lanced
     formerly figuratively barricaded facts
     suddenly at my behest

ironically retaining to this day
dogged details amazingly,
     now gracing lix spittle fist size gray
dictating academic failure

     forcing laying down pen hay
for ma forgotten requisite thoughts may
king skepticism about self thrive, ray
zing mailer demons impossible to slay,

when into scaly claws, sans first
to sixth grade Precambrian relic
(Missus Batson, Missus Rittenhouse,
Missus Wells, Mister Stout, Missus Shaner,
or Miss Rinderle).

Invariably the majority
     of elementary grades didst accord
accredited ancient authenticated creatures bored
(with exception of sixth)

     freely exercised diabolical chord
churlish ******* animalistic
     zealous yakking, wickedly,
     aye (a basket case) deplored

unprintable (epithets) this then
     (unprincipled urchin) puny pupil felt lord
did over whacked, sans receiving end,
     viz fiendishly gruesome
     hellish instructions mean teacher scored.

Assignments buttressed with ultimatums
harkening back to Jurassic period earlier
in the dawning primate consciousness.

Lesson material kindled justifiable license
in league garnered insignia heft brought pupils
to heal predicated, via warped weft woven
wonderfully wrought writs welcomed whips
with warranty whenever recalcitrant ruffian
refused respecting reptilian rubric representative
saber rattling, where...

(The Idler Wheel Is Wiser Than the Driver
of the ***** and Whipping Cords Will
Serve You More Than Ropes Will Ever Do),
which loosely rendered regularly warbled

wishy washy verse curmudgeons freedom
granted to interpret as one decrepit, hawkish
insignia certified one beaming Eve and/or
stud deed brute soffit.

Education often relied on the weekly reader,
and letters to or from Aunt Emma to this Jack,
oh napeswho never wrote back
sheesh, alas and alack.

Nefarious mean linkedin kickstarter jawboning
torturous treatment tolerated, asper imps
of pervert, mutant Ninja Turtles duty bound
antsy youthful yokel yodelers weathering ululating
sing-song quintessential precepts.

adieu:
math a hew
scott harris a gentile Jew
all ways felt like new
kid on the block isolated

     in his hermetically sealed queue
pay perm ash shay watched per view
whew
at last in conk clew shun to you
from one primate within the human zoo.
Abbas soni Jun 2018
“Sorry”,they said,
“No matter how many times,
You shook your head,
Provided with all the necessities,
Now move ahead.

No matter what you say,no matter what you feel
Now get up and be brave,
With time,all your wounds may heal
You wouldn't be taken care of,
So better look for your own meal

There wouldn’t be a lullaby singer;make it a habit now
There wouldn’t be anyone to wake you up,
You have to adjust anyhow,
And don’t be a mischievous kid,
Now take a faithful vow.

Come to us now;it's time for goodbye,
They said they’ll love you like we both,
Albiet it’s a lie.
But you have to be independent now,
Go son! It’s a goodbye”.
How a 10 year old poor kid is sent away from his parents for studies!
Constantine Jun 2018
Poems are lovely
simple words painting vivid images
lovely paintings of girlies who
have long since left me
with only words left to express
nothing left to leave my mouth
only write
soon, i will serenade my love to show her
how someone can truly love another human
Stella Jun 2018
I’m just a kid
A kid who was exposed to reality
Way too early
I’m just a kid who had responsibility ****** upon them
Way too quickly
I’m just a kid who had to figured out how to deal with actuality
Way too soon
A kid who doesn’t fear death
A kid who doesn’t doesn’t bat an eye at shootings
A kid who is lost
And can’t find their way back to a safe place,
That’s who I am.
And it not my fault.
It not my fault I’m fascinated with death
It’s not my fault I’m morbid
It’s not my fault that I’ve become emotionless.
So quit making it out that I’m the problem.
The real problem,
Is the messed up world we live in.
Yeah... ok. I hope you like it. Thanks for reading.
mysa May 2018
get up, kid
wipe the dirt from your pants
wipe the blood from your cheeks

get up, kid
bare your teeth with your chapped lips
bare your fists with your bruised knuckles

get up, kid
scream
scream and let your throat go raw
but don't stop
       don't stop
       don't stop

get up, kid
make me proud
zero May 2018
Swing until the world stops.
You could eat the moon like a piece of cheese
on a *******; although it's dry and choking
you munch through and smile,
hurriedly knotting shoes and off.

Friends in long socks, pink dresses
and school shorts on hot days. Passing
around carrots and milk like kisses.
I kicked the ball into Millie's legs,
she laughed after crying a bit.

We found a magic cave under a rock
where an Ant Queen ruled and subjects
were sent to prison for telling a
best friends secret; (she fancied
Jasper because he had nice eyes- don't tell him)

Shrill ringing of the bell. Moans of anguish;
math and religion next. "Quick!
Sneak under the fence and into the
field next to the school!" Loves me, loves
me not falls onto deaf ears.

Float, float, floating away....
only kool kids skipped lessons.

-Kinac.xo
Sarah Isma May 2018
This is the end of our childhood
and loss of innocence,
A kid grown but stuck young in the state of mind,
We are responsible yet reckless,
We are bright but almost always
never right,
We are so free yet chained to these
**** awful lies.
i'm still not over the capability of myself knowing that i- can't ever go back to when things were as they was. I have to move on, grow up and leave things behind. I can't be in my own paradise forever because... i just CANT
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