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Ikvaran kaur May 15
You have boxes of cereals
I have boxes of crime,
Don't worry about it
I am not like that serial killer vine.

My boxes are not illegal
But regarded as trek,
I designate them as crime
Because it's done on beck.

The first crime is universal
Which is eating during a class,
And if you get caught
You will get a detention to pass.

Second needs a little courage
Which is bunking the lab,
And you will roam the whole school with friends
Without hiring a cab.

This crime is something planned
Distracting teacher from her study point,
Asking tales about their life struggle
Because we got bored from her english coined.

This crime is nothing less than others
Which is cheating during a test,
Not everyone will accept that
Because not everytime it did help them to score their best.

If you start to count them all
It will take your whole life to wind,
You created memories that are crime
Which you won't ever mind!
Trefild May 6
I got to meet a pedagogue
who might let out of his
effing gob
some mockeries
something like this
"perhaps, he has a paralysis"
when in the course of classwork
you're not taking
notes of what's on the blackboard
that snot's painting
I got to meet an insolent boy which
might start an altercation
since that ***** is annoyed with
3 out of 5 you've rated
his "top significant" work with
despite the case that
it's simply according
to the teacher's direction
chitragupta Jul 2019
I remember walking back from school
the tenner for the bus ride in my pocket
There would be a row over why I had taken so long
But I'd gulp the sondesh down, and it'd be forgotten

The grey haired proprietor of the sweetmeat store
wore a perennial smile on his face
And sometimes I wondered if he had ever been sad
How could he with those sweets on his silver trays?

I learned to grasp the concept of gravity
when a piece of sweetmeat went down my throat
And then a lesson on quick mathematics
when the shopkeeper stretched his palm for what I owed

But sadly the chemistry book had no formula for me
to turn sugar and milk to that special treat
The report card was skewed, and the scolding that ensued
Was only remediated by my favourite sweet
Throwback to college days when I used to miss home :(

My love for sweets hasn't faded all this time
I'll just cross my fingers and hope you like this rhyme
Francie Lynch Jul 2019
Two lads, I'd say, of thirteen, just passed;
One in barefoot with a backpack;
One in shorts, shoes and black socks,
Pulled up over bloated calves.
One athletic, lean and gearing;
One more leaning towards academia.
Both waiting to enter high school.

They met in JK.
They slept on their towels, in their tents,
At each other's house on weekends.
They served together, lived as one;
Their mothers loved them as sons.
That's how close they'd become.
Their worlds will change,
Once this season's done.

One will be the talk of his circle,
The other, the talk of his;
But there's a Venn where the rings entwined
Before they turned thirteen.
Their hybrid youth,
Their cloned friendship,
Memories already determined.

Around fires and bells,
Or a covered porch on a rain - washed day;
They'll dig up some old moments
Of the other when they were young.
Buried treasures for days of leisure,
Apart, yet part of their sum.
JK: Junior Kindergarten
Abhishek kumar Nov 2018
We were together for years
We sat beside each other for months                  
We talked for days
We shared the lunches
We fought at times
But that didn't lasted for long

Everything was normal between us
Until someone announced the day of farewell
I felt a panic in heart
But didn't knew for what
I do know that the situation must have been  same at the other  end

But we did figured it out
It was the fear of separation
The farewell could have been same as it was for other
But Condition wasn't similar between we two
Because we knew the fact
That there will be many years
Between this day and the day when we will meet next
Saroj Basnet Sep 2018
With trembling legs i boarded the bus,
Looking at the monsters around me...
Taking the corner seat,
Lost myself in the cover of book....
I m gonna write in years,

Legs denied the initial step....
But the gentle hand holds my hand,
Taking my fear away...
To Mary-Go-Round & See-Saw,
Charm started flooding my face...
N so i made the cover of my book,

Day by day shivering legs got stronger..
Monsters now seems to be human,
N corner seat faded away...
As tiny-tot reforms to be kid,
Every new day was an adventure....
To write down a new chapter.

Jumping to school from kindergarten,
Slowly playgrounds enlarged..
From See-saw to indoors,
Mary-go- round to outdoors....
Alphabets become theories...
Lovely rhymes turned out,
To scientific logic ...
Brain has increased,
Memory is still in childhood..
N this took me to new phase,
A new chapter of my book.

Learning in this phase....
Numeral hands help me to grow,
Guide my through my path...
Taught me to live,
Embracing the happiness...
I made memories with them,
Print them in My heart...
Making another superb chapter.

Visualising the decline..
In length of smooth road,
Adventure seems to...
Be scattered n different,
But still with hope to be together...
I give the full stop,
To be best gift ever.."My School Days".
I really miss those days......N now with time it has become the fading memories captured within the words.
Francie Lynch Mar 2018
We were marched into the room,
Told to disrobe, to leave our belongings behind.
The room was locked.
Hard to concentrate;
Harder to look straight
In our anxious states.
We lined up, entered en masse,
Into the showers.
We were Southsiders;
Italians, Poles, Irish and mixed,
Nervous whispers, shielding tensions,
Standing by the poolside.
The whistle blew,
And thirty boys dove
In the comfort of the pool.
It was a different era when Grade 9 boys were required to take swimming as part of the Phys Ed. programme. We weren't allowed to wear bathing suits. This would never happen today.
Francie Lynch Sep 2017
Outside is calm,
The shrieks have ceased;
The sounds of laughter
Left our streets.
The chalk lines faded
Like summer tans,
The derelict castles
Lie in the sand.
The swings sit still,
The splash downs vacant,
The parents have gladly abdicated,
Relinquished reins and riding crops,
The mowers, rakes and garden tools;
For the kids are finally back at school.
for Pradip Chattopadhyay

What is the magic that pulls us ever back
To gather in a circle of remembering
And sharing in the glow of friendship
That time and miles can’t dim.

Why do we make our plans and get the things
We need to guarantee that we will get here
Out of the hubub of still busy lives
And the lethargy of quiet ones.

What is the reward for walking native streets
And looking at the things that made us “us”,
When most of us have sunk our sturdy roots
In places very different from here.

Who have we beome as life and time
Have lifted us and pulled us down-
A few to never rise again-
But most to stand astride the life we made

And tell the world and one another
That the soil of Longview nourished us
And helped us grow to be the trees
That make the forest beautiful.

That Cowlitz County lumber cut straight and true
And built a sturdy framework
That the young can climb to find their way
To make the world a better place.

We stood up proud and did our job
Now we can enjoy what we created
And share it once again with those
Who were with us at the starting of our journey.
ljm
Pradip posted one about a Reunion from a different perspective, and I was just finishing this one for my HS reunion in Sept.  (I'm their "official poet") so I couldn't resist throwing this one up.   (Please don't throw up- it's messy)This is sappy as all get-out, but there are 5 previous ones just as sappy, and you'll never have to see them.  Please forgive me this indulgence.
Francie Lynch May 2017
I watched a rarity across the street,
Walking like an endangered species
On his way to school, alone.
Don't his parents realize,
As ours did,
That single men live on his way,
Looking out windows
With coffee and cigarette;
Married couples are household occupied,
Labourers, professionals and unemployed
Are behind closed, locked doors,
Busily preparing for another day.
Cars drive by, one slows behind him,
To ensure her carrier pigeon fledges along.
The lad in question pays no attention,
Playing catch-up with his shadow.
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