"schoolmate" poems
We, the same from and of flesh and pumping blood,
our skin sweating in touch, together, the scent
was always the same,
you and I, one younger, one older,
the way it was meant to be,
in fights and tears and pup-tent shared lamp-lit fears,
we rolled our heads beneath the stars above
upon the grassy knolls, our pillows kept,
not ever knowing that one of us would be
covered beneath the soily breath,
the one of one of us, still left,
watering the fields of your footsteps,
now dressed up as dreamy memories,
the tossing heart of guilt and pleads,
for just one more day, ****** -one more
day...
I had still some things,
I wanted to say.
____
My schoolmate Tim and I both lost out brother Mikeys.
This poem is for them.
Jan 1, 2011
Jan 1, 2011 at 5:06 AM UTC
He was never my classmate,
Neither was he my schoolmate,
As we have met on OkCupid,
Which is where we got suited.
He soon became my tablemate,
Then got promoted to bedmate,
Ranging from late-night nosh
To some naughty oh-my-gosh.
He was my almost-roommate,
Now, a hopeful housemate,
Since he would visit me daily
And keep me company gaily.
He was frequently my seatmate,
As well as invaluable playmate,
For we traveled places together
And cloyingly wrestled each other.
He has always been my helpmate,
And is presently my best teammate,
As he has cheered me up from afar,
As we chat as if there is no au revoir.
He will one day become my inmate,
Plus my hard-working workmate,
Since we will both have mini-me’s
Forcing us to slog away on our knees.
He is undoubtedly my soulmate,
One who is to become my lifemate,
For he is a romantic yet **** geek,
A keeper with charms all too unique.
Jun 20, 2016
Jun 20, 2016 at 10:00 AM UTC
Another college tour, another favor. This time it was an old schoolmate, George and his parents who were taking the official tour. I was going to babysit his little sister Mary (5) while they walked around.
It was good to see someone from home and sad in a way. For a moment, I had a tugging feeling, like there was a hook deep inside me and the reel was back home.
When I first saw George I remembered a time, in 10th grade, before COVID. I was leaving school early and waiting to be picked up. Twenty track boys, fresh from their daily run, were lounging, seductively around. George, in particular, in a pose rather like Michelangelo’s Adam. *** I remember thinking at the time.
I smiled at that long-ago tableau. “What?” George asked, he was watching me. “Nothing,” I smiled, “Just looking forward to babysitting”
Mary and I exercised to a video, had a pizza delivered and colored - crayons aren’t easy to find in the modern college environment so we used high-lighters to create delicate, watercolor-like masterpieces.
As we drew, Mary said, off-handedly, “You’re really nice,” as if the nature of my character had been in some dispute. Still, I still felt warmly complemented.
When the tour was over, we were walking up science hill toward their car and the sun was declining to sunset. “How do you like it,” George asked, confidentially, head lowered, voice low enough not to be overheard by his parents who were walking a few yards behind us with Mary. “There’s a LOT of reading,” I said, shruggingly. “but I’m keeping up.” Last year I was a junior, this year I’m in college. It seemed absurd.
How do you conjure a vision for someone of what college would be like, when college experiences are so individual? The writer's dilemma, interpreted by a babysitter.
As we reached their car, the caroling bells started ringing (5pm) from Harkness Tower. It was the perfect send-off. Again I felt the pull of homesickness but my phone plinked and the emotion didn’t even last as long as dusk.
Dec 8, 2021
Dec 8, 2021 at 7:39 AM UTC
I catch myself thinking about you
A lot
But we are just friends
Aren't we
You probably don't think about me as much as I do
But that's fine
We are just friends
And you probably don't care about me as much as you care for your schoolmate
We are just friends
But why does it hurt when I catch you talk to her
When I see how happy you are when she is near
But we are just friends
Even if I wanna be something more
Dec 28, 2019
Dec 28, 2019 at 5:44 PM UTC
Hello Self,
How are you?
How the hell have you been?!
Long time no see..
You see,
everything has changed since you were last around-
I don't even know where to begin.
How was it, off on your journeys?
Did you learn the secrets of another realm?
Have you brought anything back for me from that distant place
where you can go, but I oughtn't follow?
I feel like I don't know you anymore-
like I must get re-acquainted with a distant schoolmate:
Your face is no longer familiar...
You're so much taller than when you left
yet so much smaller than I seem to recall.
You once told me of your great plans. Your secrets. Your hopes. Your ambitions.
Your fears.. our fears. Our dreams and our fears.
It seems I've forgotten all but a few of these precious, irreplaceable things
but the ones I do remember I cling to with my life.
I may not embody what you had once hoped I would,
but I believe that the skills I've gained and the pain I've suffered
have given me the tools I've needed to endure this beautiful and abrasive life I've been granted
and to become the person that you see before you now:
I may still be young, at only 21, but that isn't to say I haven't experienced a lifetime.
I am indeed quite imperfect, but I don't think that is to say that I'm unworthy.
I have made mistakes, but those mistakes are partially responsible for my perspective.
I haven't forgotten you, my oldest Friend.
I welcome you back with open arms and a warm heart.
I haven't forgotten you, my oldest Friend.
I truly hope that you have also not forgotten me.
Jan 30, 2013
Jan 30, 2013 at 7:45 AM UTC
More than thrice I dreamt of you,
The little girl with whom I used to play;
You whom I no more can view,
Your child-like image in my dreams so gay.
Now and then of you I dreamt:
A sweet child standing beside the school-gate;
Oft, too, in our classroom realm
Laughing together, forgetful of hate.
Why I dreamt of you: or loved
Deep in my subconscious the lady-child
Who resent’d me, with me strove;
My childhood playmate I fain reconcile.
But change I must the word “love”
For my love was nought but mild affection
And this I would like to prove
Mild affection was not infatuation.
I thought of you with kindness
And without any inward youthful fire;
My schoolmate, your aloofness
Did I silently regard and admire.
Perhaps, your image with me
Is still the one formed in Primary Four;
Innocent and young were we
Sitting side by side near our classroom door.
My memory is fresh and bright,
Of days and years by the wind blown away;
My message, hope, is no fright;
Perhaps, you think my head has gone to lay.
But I write with affection,
My ink mixed with the early morning dew;
Here I send, not in fashion
My message of goodwill
And God bless you!
P/S:
To our future I drink here
A glass of water clear – cool, refreshing;
May one day your face, my dear,
I see with the warmth of old remaining
May 29, 2019
May 29, 2019 at 2:50 AM UTC
Goodbye, addiction, my killer vice
I've come to realise it destroys ones life
Because a little starts a web of lies
As your true inner self slowly dies
And the person inside hides from itself
Blaming the cards you were dealt
Coming from within the drug of deception
In my search for meaning I just couldn’t wait
Took a gamble with an old schoolmate
Behind the now derelict, but once busy hardware shop
I blew it all up, until my head was about to pop
Then my heart felt like it was jumping out of my skin
That’ll be the last time, never again
Until my mind craved the drug of deception
And while in a crazy trance I saw
Three headed creatures, six eyes or more
Creatures stalking without a cause
Creatures nearing without a pause
Creatures appearing from nowhere on my trip
My mouth tight lipped
Caused by the drug of deception
"Help" said I, "I want them to go
Caused by a lost souls woes
Take notice my friends, save yourselves
Take my advice for it could help yourselves."
But my addiction like so many in life
All fall into the drug of deception
All of us in society at times have troubles
Try and find a way out of your mystery puzzle
The choice is yours alone, so never ever handball
All of us in some way, are marooned on an island
Wandering around trying to contact the mainland
But it’s free to move to another thinking way
So instead live every moment, of every single day
Better than being lost to the drug of deception.
Nov 18, 2020
Nov 18, 2020 at 9:11 PM UTC
there are no blue birds here from where I’m from
only small brown birds, flocks of ‘em
recon a fat schoolmate from years ago got one for
a pet with a string on its neck
makes me wonder how to get one
when one is so hard to catch
with tiny hands; tiny feet; tiny knees;
tiny shoulders; tiny ankles; tiny head
now they’re all grown
I still never got the chance to capture one
and cage it until it cries in despair
hoping for a chance that it may
turn blue as blue as my room
brown bird, whenever I see one
I stare at it like I too can be so elusive
so isolated but free in an elusive but
vulnerable way
I never saw him again, the small brown bird
with a string on its neck nor the fat schoolmate
Dec 14, 2016
Dec 14, 2016 at 11:32 AM UTC