"classwork" poems
Sine waves, perpetual motion
Centripetal force, density of the ocean
Associates, Bachelors
Student Ambassadors
Register, register, schedules, grades
Grants and scholarships, tuition is paid
No snooze button, turn off the alarm
Losing some sleep. It's ok, though, no harm
Friendly teachers and **** instructors
Digital logic and semiconductors
Homework, classwork, essays, papers
Last minute class of procrastinators
Get up, get blazed. 'Fore school, 'nutha blunt
High while accepting student of the month
Higher than you, and my grades, too, are higher
How smart would I be if I put out the fire?
Gen. Ed., English, Mathematics, Psychology
Now on to the good stuff, much richer chronology
Top of my class, highest grade in the program
In just a few years, I'll have money in BOTH hands
This hand-to-mouth **** ain't for me
I'm tired of living week-to-week
Broke, tired, and hungry day after day
But when payday comes, it'll be here to stay
You don't have to do as I do
But my feet are too small to fill these big shoes
If you think I can't fill them, then surely you're trippin'
But do whatcha do, cause my burgers need flippin'
Nov 24, 2010
Nov 24, 2010 at 7:51 PM UTC
One button down,
Shoulders back,
"Your shirt's too low."
Too low for what?
One big burp,
Lots of people around
"That wasn't ladylike."
Why do I have to be?
Doing my classwork,
Wondering why I bother,
"So you can get somewhere."
Where?
Word *****
It's exactly what I think.
"Don't be rude."
What if it's the truth?
Hot, passionate lips,
Hands in my shirt,
"Be conservative, reserved."
What way is that to live?
My shirt is gone,
My hand in his pants,
"Don't be a ****
What exactly is that?
One more cigarette,
Sparking lighter.
"Each one kills you more."
Is that meant to be bad?
Feb 13, 2013
Feb 13, 2013 at 8:57 PM UTC
our time together today
makes me want
to write pretty poems
and sweet nothings,
doodle initials inside hearts
all over classwork
and notebook covers,
but I can't focus
cannot concentrate enough,
For every time you laughed today
every time you made me smile
every time I caught you staring
every. single. time
you touched me
runs and replays
through my mind
and blocks out
my concentration on anything else
but you,
but us...
-IrisMadden
Feb 13, 2017
Feb 13, 2017 at 7:12 AM UTC
I wait for your confident strut into the classroom
With your signature grey sweatpants and fit t-shirt
It's nothing special, yet you make it memorable
You start a conversation with the classmate next to you and I happen to overhear the conversation and chime in
You listen to my points and even beam at some of my remarks
Are my remarks that great?
I'm not so sure, but you make me happy that I said them
I steal a glance at times while you work on your classwork and smile to myself wondering how I got so lucky with the seating arrangements
Even though this will probably never lead to anything I'm glad to have someone to look forward to
Someone who I can smile with just for a second and then go on with my day
Sep 9, 2021
Sep 9, 2021 at 6:36 PM UTC
got to meet a pedagogue
who might let out of his
wretched 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
got to meet an insolent boy which
might start an altercation
since that ***** is annoyed with
3 out of 5 you'd rated
his "top significant" work with
despite the case that
it's simply according
to the teacher's direction
May 6, 2020
May 6, 2020 at 11:29 AM UTC
*Tell my favourite teacher that I'm still her darling boy
who used to look up to the rainy sky, miss home and cry
still as cunning and playful but now prose and poetry are the toy
and if she saw me play she would wonder and sigh
at that boy who made everything he touched filthy
for I find crisp clean pages and on them throw mud of words
who's still of indifference, condemned and guilty
Her little boy whose fascination was chasing butterflies and birds
tell my teacher I'm still her child, still not biting my tongue
but regurgitating all the bitter truth the world detests
busting in rage at hypocrisy and puffing pride out my lungs
I'm still bearing the eminent enmity my bluntness begets
tell her I'm still firmly clinging to the slipping dreams she instilled
barely floating, with waves of reality attempting to drown my talent and have her killed*
**tell her I'm still doing pieces out of my daily struggles and torments
and posting them on social media, I'm that brave
even attempting to do double Shakespearean sonnets
writing about my illusive dreams and the unreachable I crave
someone tell my favourite teacher that I'm still her son
going against the currents of injustice instead of flowing with the river
taking the bull by his horns, doing whatever I can
yet sometimes giving in to detestable ways,corroding my liver
tell Victorious that I'm still impossible to comprehend
loving fictional writings while holding my classwork in contempt
why loath lectures,but love learning,why not pretend?
not even university education could be exempt
I think about my teacher everyday,she's still my Mama
but I hardly talk to her for my life's preoccupied with karma's drama**
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 7:56 AM UTC
every day i would go to class
i'd walk to my desk,
hands swinging along,
earphones in ear, blasting music
i'd take my seat
next to my friends
say hello, with a warm hug
smile at them
find the humor in each situation and laugh
it stopped.
i walked to my desk
no music,
total silence, a picture of sadness
i took my seat
only glancing at my friends
for the briefest hello
they asked whats wrong
i said nothing
they cracked some jokes
i didn't laugh
i walked to my desk
huddled up inside myself
i took my seat
didn't spare a glance for them
i poured myself into my irrelevant classwork
they said hi
i politely returned the greeting
i quietly did my work
finished it, packed up my bag
said good bye and left
i walked to my desk
their eyes trailed after me
questing my behavior
i said nothing
and i was gone.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 11:02 PM UTC
pained & broken
bruised & scabbed
but not defined,
by my relapse.
hold me tight
soften the blows
treat me so,
too many now know
Nov 29, 2016
Nov 29, 2016 at 9:40 PM UTC
I'm applying for a poetry college scholarship, through blue mountain arts, and I want to know which one you guys think I should submit. Of course punctuation and spelling will be reviewed and fixed where necessary, and possiblyyy the flow might get tweaked but not much.
If you would like to participate, make a comment on the poem that says "yes".
None of my classwork thought bubble entries though please.
thannks thanks thanks!!!
Dec 19, 2016
Dec 19, 2016 at 3:57 PM UTC
10/24/16
you can do it
you are worth it
I love you dear,
scars included;
sunshine pouring through the pane
clouded air, foggy brain
cup 'o chocolate & warm duvet
cover my head and hide away
now a cave where creatures lurk
darkness seeps through
creeks and smirks
pained delirium through tired eyes
dukes up now, patience thin
fighting sleep, leaded lids
all in the end
to give up and make friends
Nov 29, 2016
Nov 29, 2016 at 9:34 PM UTC
I fought it all alone,
and this is where it got me.
I'm sorry, but it seems
that the world
has forgot me.
Nov 29, 2016
Nov 29, 2016 at 9:42 PM UTC
(same day as III)
I'm broken & hurt
disdain & depressed-
but I must say,
I just don't know
what to do next.
I;m selfish I know.
Too easy to gloat.
for lack of better words,
I'm that kid you shouldn't know.
I have never known family,
for I have never been it.
too scared to love-
my heart is nowhere in it.
The world would be much nicer,
if I was just not in it.
wasted flesh, lies, and broken resolve.
they must have been right-
to call me a dog.
I've fought it. I've tried.
all of those lies.
it's easy. I'm fine.
just don't look me in the eyes.
or better yet do
and point as you do.
nose now full size
they've known of all my lies.
no better than the last
I think I'll just go.
Cupcakes my only facet
sorry--
that's the last of it.
and it seems I'm not the only one
with plans to just go.
No,
it's ok- really.
another broken story.
but I still feel I'm not worth it-
to wake up in the morning.
I'm sick of feeling
like there's nothing left
for me.
Nov 29, 2016
Nov 29, 2016 at 9:53 PM UTC
There are gladiolas,
black-eyed Susan
growing in wooden barrels
behind the chain-link, below the razor-wire.
The Powerhouse
they call it,
the building that houses
the generators, the boilers,
whatever else it takes to keep
these cinder-block cell-houses
warm, cool, or otherwise
habitable.
As I make my way up toward
the building I work in,
I pause to look at these blooms.
I must.
For it is in seeing them
that I may be seeing the
only beauty offered that day.
There is so little here
that is beautiful,
one might say.
The floors are scuffed,
the walls,
the paint, chipped away
or graffitied with pen-caps
or makeshift knives,
not looking for that space between a cell-mate's ribs
just then.
There is rust on the window sills,
on the bedposts bolted together,
bunkbeds for the bruiser or the bruised.
Still,
the gladiolas, those black-eyed Susan's
persistence in palpable,
as is the potential of every single
human being housed inside.
The perspective shifts.
There's beauty in that potential,
presented in the form of actualized,
engaged participation in today's classwork
or
small-group discussion.
'What's this?
A breakthrough?
Sir, is that a teardrop?'
Real,
not tattooed.
Beautiful.
More so than any gladiola
or
black-eyed Susan here
could hope for.
***
-JBClaywell
©P&ZPublications 2020
Aug 7, 2020
Aug 7, 2020 at 1:25 PM UTC
my name is depression,
Because these lows seem to define
my entire mental illness.
my name is depression when I’m lost,
Blacking out from the heavy weight of my mind
My name is depression
When my manager notices I’m not motivated,
And suddenly my career is on the line.
my name is depression
when I’m in the middle of an episode
And can’t be bothered to do classwork
And suddenly I’m threatened with being kicked out of college.
And I’m defined by all of this, purposeless.
My goal is rise above the chemicals in my brain,
Without therapy or medicine.
Because I’ve always taken pride in being independent.
But it’s time for me to ask for help.
Apr 16, 2018
Apr 16, 2018 at 1:23 AM UTC