"schoolchild" poems - Hello Poetry

I thought I knew what love looked like now every time I log on I get lost in your eyes I thought that I was stronger than ever but your smile makes me feel weak I thought I had matured and grown you make me feel like a schoolchild crushing Whatever it is, it won't matter Whatever it is, it can wait 2yrs4hrs Whatever it is, I don't care. Will I be enough? Are you real? Are you warm to the touch? What does your hair smell like? I thought I was crying until you made me look now it's fine we have time

0

Oct 2, 2014

Oct 2, 2014 at 7:21 PM UTC

blessedbylight

2yrs4hrs

I thought I knew what love looked like now every time I log on I get lost in your eyes I thought that I was stronger than ever but your smile makes me feel weak I thought I had matured and grown you make me feel like a schoolchild crushing Whatever it is, it won't matter Whatever it is, it can wait 2yrs4hrs Whatever it is, I don't care. Will I be enough? Are you real? Are you warm to the touch? What does your hair smell like? I thought I was crying until you made me look now it's fine we have time

21

The air turns thick, heavy with heat. The clock goes tick tock, tick tock, over, and over again. We count every second with bated breath waiting for our freedom. The sun shines brightly through the doors beyond, beckoning us. It whispers, "Come join the world filled with laughter and light. Shade your tired eyes and bask in my warmth and glory." We wish with all our hearts to finally escape our monotonous prison and run into the land of joy.

0

Sep 2, 2016

Sep 2, 2016 at 6:22 PM UTC

kavyashs

Thoughts of a Bored Schoolchild

The air turns thick, heavy with heat. The clock goes tick tock, tick tock, over, and over again. We count every second with bated breath waiting for our freedom. The sun shines brightly through the doors beyond, beckoning us. It whispers, "Come join the world filled with laughter and light. Shade your tired eyes and bask in my warmth and glory." We wish with all our hearts to finally escape our monotonous prison and run into the land of joy.

20

Winter lingers like a petulant schoolchild: Clouds jostle for position, darkening with rain. A sudden chilled wind rushes from the storm’s Leading edge, stirring birds to flight. Natural drains roar with the shower-fed torrent. Trickling streams become dark-mirrored cascades. Wind-blown branches whip sharply, some toppling Under the relentless beating. A fleeting slice of sunlight rolls across the distant hills. The first stirrings of wildlife crash through the thickets. Robins race for food. Songbirds raise tentative voices. The charged air is filled with the smell of wet Foliage. The rains would soon resume. His usual crossing point had already vanished. He settled back in his Lean-to shelter, finished his meal, and pondered the Approaching darkness.

0

Feb 19, 2017

Feb 19, 2017 at 6:09 PM UTC

stan-patty

Untitled

Winter lingers like a petulant schoolchild: Clouds jostle for position, darkening with rain. A sudden chilled wind rushes from the storm’s Leading edge, stirring birds to flight. Natural drains roar with the shower-fed torrent. Trickling streams become dark-mirrored cascades. Wind-blown branches whip sharply, some toppling Under the relentless beating. A fleeting slice of sunlight rolls across the distant hills. The first stirrings of wildlife crash through the thickets. Robins race for food. Songbirds raise tentative voices. The charged air is filled with the smell of wet Foliage. The rains would soon resume. His usual crossing point had already vanished. He settled back in his Lean-to shelter, finished his meal, and pondered the Approaching darkness.

17

the theme of this person-to-be is footprint. for years I hated my figure and for years I went undetected. I had female heroes both sad and sad reboots. for a fee one told me I was fleeting. the fee included the thumbtack moon my heel had liberated from a schoolchild’s diorama. we come as babies so none can ask us what we remember. the theme of this person-as-is is mouthpiece. her red phone has been tapped by those my blood is filming.

0

Jan 16, 2014

Jan 16, 2014 at 3:48 PM UTC

barton-d-smock

isochronal character

the theme of this person-to-be is footprint. for years I hated my figure and for years I went undetected. I had female heroes both sad and sad reboots. for a fee one told me I was fleeting. the fee included the thumbtack moon my heel had liberated from a schoolchild’s diorama. we come as babies so none can ask us what we remember. the theme of this person-as-is is mouthpiece. her red phone has been tapped by those my blood is filming.

2

from father, footrace, fistfight (poems, June 2014) (available on Lulu) duologue we’ll start here, turtle. this is what I say to the grey thing I’ve been talking to. the only buffer between engagement & constant engagement is life during wartime. I conceive of a dropper but hold it empty above my eye. because it is the one word without a beginning suffering because it is the one word without a beginning is not limited by its vocabulary. we wanted a sophisticated god but in immediate unison called it god. this is the grey cream that gives her privacy. I am drawn to a sort of journalism by association, a campestral formlessness attached for example to the term carpet bombing. how is death, here? in an orange ball of yarn she is not ahead of? she has to stop, turtle. to declaw an electrocuted kitten she didn’t electrocute. isochronal character the theme of this person-to-be is footprint. for years I hated my figure and for years I went undetected. I had female heroes both sad and sad reboots. for a fee one told me I was fleeting. the fee included the thumbtack moon my heel had liberated from a schoolchild’s diorama. we come as babies so none can ask us what we remember. the theme of this person-as-is is mouthpiece. her red phone has been tapped by those my blood is filming. impossible beast the whole town was in the parade. the newer babies had a float to themselves. at some point I was shot by a gunman so disoriented he mistook himself for my father. I swooned as if trying to avoid landing on a board member second-guessing her proposed location for purgatory. somewhere in the darkness the firehouse caught fire. I followed my blood but to me it seemed a celebrity’s sadness. my mother found me in her bed with a part of her heart. she was bright with the rumor that my sister’s snake-bitten neck had some takers.

0

Sep 15, 2015

Sep 15, 2015 at 11:28 AM UTC

barton-d-smock

(lack)

from father, footrace, fistfight (poems, June 2014) (available on Lulu) duologue we’ll start here, turtle. this is what I say to the grey thing I’ve been talking to. the only buffer between engagement & constant engagement is life during wartime. I conceive of a dropper but hold it empty above my eye. because it is the one word without a beginning suffering because it is the one word without a beginning is not limited by its vocabulary. we wanted a sophisticated god but in immediate unison called it god. this is the grey cream that gives her privacy. I am drawn to a sort of journalism by association, a campestral formlessness attached for example to the term carpet bombing. how is death, here? in an orange ball of yarn she is not ahead of? she has to stop, turtle. to declaw an electrocuted kitten she didn’t electrocute. isochronal character the theme of this person-to-be is footprint. for years I hated my figure and for years I went undetected. I had female heroes both sad and sad reboots. for a fee one told me I was fleeting. the fee included the thumbtack moon my heel had liberated from a schoolchild’s diorama. we come as babies so none can ask us what we remember. the theme of this person-as-is is mouthpiece. her red phone has been tapped by those my blood is filming. impossible beast the whole town was in the parade. the newer babies had a float to themselves. at some point I was shot by a gunman so disoriented he mistook himself for my father. I swooned as if trying to avoid landing on a board member second-guessing her proposed location for purgatory. somewhere in the darkness the firehouse caught fire. I followed my blood but to me it seemed a celebrity’s sadness. my mother found me in her bed with a part of her heart. she was bright with the rumor that my sister’s snake-bitten neck had some takers.

41

Sailing serenely through every depression The rich are spreading now, Invading even the remotest of our off-shore islands, A plague the world can never control. What shall we do with them, these parasites? Those who resent the schoolchild’s lunch, And envy the widow’s mite. The answer, alas, was given long ago: The rich will always be with you, Persistent, like a rotting mold; For the rich are always hungry, The rich are always poor, And the rich are always cold.

0

Aug 28, 2016

Aug 28, 2016 at 5:11 PM UTC

roy-robbins

The Rich

Sailing serenely through every depression The rich are spreading now, Invading even the remotest of our off-shore islands, A plague the world can never control. What shall we do with them, these parasites? Those who resent the schoolchild’s lunch, And envy the widow’s mite. The answer, alas, was given long ago: The rich will always be with you, Persistent, like a rotting mold; For the rich are always hungry, The rich are always poor, And the rich are always cold.

13