Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jupiter Jun 2019
you haven't even left yet,
but i'm already missing you.
6 773 kilometers,
Thats an ocean to pass through.

its only been 8 months,
but it feels like my whole life.
now you're going home,
and we've run out of time.

maybe our paths will cross,
or maybe we won't meet again.
maybe we'll write more books,
or maybe this is our chapters end.

these months have been good,
you became my closest friend.
but now my heart is broken,
and i'm not sure that it will mend.

i don't want you to go,
sure we can call and we can text.
but its not the same,
cause who knows when ill see you next.
Google is the gift for
An inquisitive student,
Who is in search to
be knowledgeably potent.

Although it makes
One so dependent,
It bestows erudition
That is too consistent.

Google serves us with mail,
That saves our time to sail.
It’s services like the maps
Leaves a stranded person to bridge the gaps.

Gaps? Yes, it bridges the gaps
With all its possible apps,
The interests of the public
And concepts of the prolific.

When Google well handed
Our queries have added,
Whose possible solutions have multiplied,
For which the efforts been phenomenally divided.

With the transforming technologies
In this world of transience
Google has procured
Its own state of omnipresence.

Thus, Google has become the tool
With which the user can rule.
It endows as a surfing equipment
Hence, Google is the gift for a Student.
Off late, Google has become a man's right hand a guide and what not... well explained in the above poem.
Bob Wax Dec 2019
sleeping in til nine
put contacts in the wrong eye
outside getting rained in
listeing to micheal cera palin

different cold the wet and dark
the body and soul drift apart
coworker said "running late"
no need to worry, there is no hate

o how happy i am again
o so happy my friends
im doing just fine
on my daily grind

feeling out my insides
there's been a lot to realize
just trying to figure this soul out
acting like a **** fool, no doubt

always check the left
never been right i guess
born not normal in the right place
been left to find out, im a disgrace

all because my hands are southpaw
it's become my greatest flaw
not something i can change
not something i want to change
first four, setting, first point of conflict. second four, the body and mind separate. (rest follows the pattern set in second four.) third four, body is talking about delights in my current physical grind, for which i draw a lot of pleasure. fourth four, mind is talking learning about myself, and recalling previous embarrassments (growth). fifth four, body is talking about how i get confused and check for the L made on my left hand, pattern goes LRRL, sometimes i feel like the earth is made to easy for right handed people, and i therefore do not belong. sixth four, mind is talking, (realization and resolution. please reread once or twice and give me some feedback!
WC Wrights Nov 2019
It feels like a cat
clawing its way up my leg
digging into my back
cutting into my spine
producing a shake in my entire frame
traveling up into my teeth
chattering as I wait
for the next bus.
An homage to the early morning bus routine that all students (college and not) go through.
Jay M Nov 2019
Student
Racing about
Scattered here and there
Learning all it can
Then, somehow
Reading a work
So inspiring
A true keeper of knowledge
Hidden among them

Seeking improvement
Of works and self
But so occupied
Barely time for such
In a hurricane of stress
Pressure and emotion
Far beyond itself
The student tried
A deed so selfish
Then reflected
A work resembling the moment
Easing themselves in part
That it was released
But horrified
Of what could have been

Looking up
To their mentor
A keeper of knowledge
Held in high respects
But when seen
At the weakest
Cast away
As one of millions
But the student
Wished
Yearned
To be more than one of millions
Pleading to be taught
To be made an apprentice
Alas
No more
No more

- Jay M
November 6th, 2019
"I see you're smirking still." One eyebrow raised,
an accusation of my happiness.
She sees through me: an addict to the praise
and thanks and jabs and jokes at my expense.
My friends are certain I derive almost
a ****** satisfaction from all this.
It's true my heartbeat does betray the ghost
of some attraction straining to exist.
And just what is it that I want to do?
To be with him, my teacher, scandal? Or
just get attention? Or do I love school
enough that it has really bubbled over?

Or maybe when it comes to it, I am
still crawling from my father's clawing hands.
Jeremy Rascon Oct 2019
Some days I wake up
                                                                  Mind torn from    
                                                           stress dreams
                                                                And no desire to breakdown
                                                                             On campus.
                                                                  So I skip class.
                                                        Trapped in my mental jailcell
                                                I dissect my compulsive thoughts
                                                      Only to see they stitched
                                                               Themselves back together
                                                             And are resistant to leave.
                                          On days I can grasp and hold my will
                                                                           I stew in class
                                                     Noticing my classmates
                                        Who speak louder than I do,
                                        Who answer questions more eloquently,
                                        And speak science fluently,
                                                               I am left to boil in my
                                                 Lack of voice, skill, and knowledge.
                                                             At the end of my first class
                                                                   I am already overdone,
                                             A husk goes to the remaining classes
                                                                                 For me.
                                                                     On days I wake up
                                                                                     Already
                                                                                  overwhelmed
                                                                        I skip class
                                                                                  To avoid
                                                                                                   Meltdown
                                                                      Fighting fire with Magma,
                                                                                this technique is
                                                                     purely self-destructive.
                                                                                           And I know it.
                                        Pressure builds like a volatile volcano…
                                                      I FAIL my classes and ERUPT
                                                   The peak that is my self esteem
                                      Shattered by emails from professors,
                                           The lava oozes down the slopes of Mt. Me
                                               “Maybe I don’t Belong  Here”
                                     Starts the a nearby tsunami forming
                                                                      Underneath my scalp
                                                           It gathers speed and force.
                                                           It decimates the cerebrum.
                                                                                       I have to rebuild...
                                              This land is recycled often
                       Tremors with magnitudes that match
                                                        My GPA
                                            Keep me vigilant and mindful
                                                               that collapse is part
                                                                       Of my nature                   The complex societies that are rebuilt within my mind always thrive
                                              ….at the beginning of next semester.
Mark Toney Oct 2019
A teacher with an always late student
Looked for ways to influence improvement
She tried best she could
But it did little good
Now the student remains mostly truant
11/8/2018 - Poetry form: Limerick - Serving up some more free-range limericks to go! - Copyright © Mark Toney | Year Posted 2018
Next page