English Class
Harper Lee displays a blah blah blah blah blah...
My body hurts.
It hurts.
My head
My body
My mind.
I'm tired
And hungry
But I can't eat
Eating makes me sick.
Can I go home?
No.
No.
NO.
My family will ask
Why?
Poems on the topic: school
Poems on the topic “school” on Poets.by.
Cheltenham Elegy #524
When he drives around Elkins Park in
the dead of night, he thinks, this is how
I like the human race— asleep. When three roads
fork at Myers, he goes down Mill Road.
By the time the car climbs Harrison Ave,
he has the thought that the sleeping human
race is the holy one. He pushes past the old
derelict high school on High School Rd, wonders
if its still haunted. It flashes on him: the day
he broke in, smack in the middle of the Nineties,
with buddies now long dead. He found a hammer,
stole it, never used it— it sat in his closet
until after graduation. He was smashed then, too.
What Fifty Said
When I was young my teachers were the old.
I gave up fire for form till I was cold.
I suffered like a metal being cast.
I went to school to age to learn the past.
Now I am old my teachers are the young.
What can’t be moulded must be cracked and sprung.
I strain at lessons fit to start a suture.
I go to school to youth to learn the future.
Mr. Brown
The truth is the basketball coach
assigned to teach geometry disliked
both sports and angles. Plays
he drew on chalkboards looked like
problems, problems like plays. He
calculated the area of the rectangular
court to be most pleasant when
empty and only echoes cheered.
He coached his classes best when
a fire-drill called time-out and he
might stand shyly in the courtyard
next to her, the English teacher—close
enough to look, for instance, at her ears,
or smell her sweet breath,
care for her tender shoulders.
His job was an amorphous shape between
Her Confession
Reluctantly I joined
the school systems, the
workforce, the more
or less normally regulated
life. Some discomfort
and no enthusiasm were
involved. I saw what was
expected and operated
along those lines. These
are not systems I invented,
nor have I the power
to invent others. One joins.
That’s all. Society is strange.
It is not something I
take to easily. Reluctance
has made me wary but steady.
Avalanche
In my hometown, an avalanche ran over
an empty shack, crossed the highway,
crushed the schoolhouse. The children
were all home eating boiled peas,
scratching themselves, wanting to go
outside in the snow once more before
bedtime. That evening’s event ended
schooling in the town. Children ever
since have traveled twelve miles to go
learn in the next town.
Cameras remembered the sight
of snow versus building. People
would recall the sound without
describing it. They couldn't go
around talking about how loud
snow could be—how long the sound
School
His seat was by a window. So he dreamed.
How could he study while the sunlight gleamed
In small, sweet shapes, like wild things tame enough
To dart to him and touch his hands for love?
While there were profiles carved in every cloud
To mark as grim or ludicrous or proud,
And agile shadowings to writhe and crawl
Like ghostly spiders up and down the wall,
He could not help but turn their way to look.
His eyes, that would not follow down his book
The muddy trudgings of deliberate words,
Reflected blue and silver flights of birds.
You would not think there was so much to trace
Of wonderment on just a window space.
But once, when a frail scrap of paper moon
Enchanted him from ten o'clock, till noon,
Lines from "The Soul's Destroyer"
We went together side by side to school,
Together had our holidays in fields
Made golden by June's buttercups ; in woods,
Where under ferns fresh pulled I buried her,
And called her forth like Lazarus from the grave;
She'd laughing come, to shake her curls until
Methought to hear full half a hundred bells.
A grown-up world took playful notice soon.
Made me feel shame that grew a greater love;
She was more chary of her laughter then,
And more subdued her voice, as soft and sweet
As Autumn's, blowing through his golden reeds.
In her sweet sympathies she was a woman
When scarcely she was more than child in years ;
And yet one angry moment parted us.
And days of longing never joined us more.
Big Brother
Our brother Clarence goes to school.
He has a slate and a blue school-bag.
He has a book and a copybook
And a scholar's companion and a little slate rag.
He knows a boy named Joe B. Kirk,
And he learns about c-a-t cat,
And how to play one-two-sky-blue,
And how to make a football out of a hat.
We climb up on the fence and gate
And watch until he's small and dim,
Far up the street, and he looks back
To see if we keep on watching him.
Describe a feeling — we’ll find a poem
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