School

MEETING POINT

John dismounts
from the school bus
and looks for Elaine
amongst the other

 

moving students.
Trevor talks at his side,
some such nonsense,
he takes no notice,

 

gives a casual nod.
Where is she?
All look alike
in their green uniform

 

and white socks. 
He studies them.
Some in groups,
laughing, talking;

 

some play skip rope,
others chase each other
in games.
Trevor says he off

 

and will see him later.
By the fence.
There see.
Elaine stands

 

against the fence,
eyes lowered,
hands in pockets,
glasses smeary,

 

headscarf over her head.
Should I approach?
What will she say,
after the kiss yesterday?

 

He hesitates,
walks by,
hands in his pockets,
head towards her,

 

looking her way.
What to say?
She moves her shoes
on the ground,

 

shuffles.
Shy.
He walks on by.
Stands still.

 

Looks at the playing field 
beyond the fence.
That kiss.
He turns back

 

and walks
her way again.
Hesitates.
Stares.

 

Go on,
talk to her.
Can't.
Go on.

 

He walks nearer,
watches her
every move,
gestures.

 

Get nearer.
What if she says
go away?
Chance it.

 

He walks to the fence
and stands beside her.
How are you?
Elaine looks

 

around at him,
her glasses
enlarging her eyes. 
She blushes.

 

All right,
didn’t see you
on the bus.
He looks at her eyes,

 

I saw you get on,
he says,
did you sleep ok?
She nods,

 

takes her hands
from her pockets,
holds them
in front of her.

 

Sorry about the kiss,
he says.
Why?
Shouldn't have

 

just done it.
Didn't mind,
she says,
if you meant it.

 

He looks away.
No one looking.
A girl laughs
near by.

 

A boy throws a ball.
I meant it,
he says. 
She looks at him,

 

at his quiff of hair,
the hazel eyes.
Liked it,
she says softly.

 

Should have said,
just happened.
Never mind,
she says,

 

her fingers playing
against her breast.
It's not a joke
you're playing?

 

She asks.
Of course not.
He feels nervous.
His hands lift

 

from his pockets
and one touches
her hands.
She hesitates.

 

Feels his hand touching.
No one sees.
She looks around.
Girls nearby are talking;

 

two more
are showing cards.
A bell rings
from the school.

 

Must go,
he says.
See you later?
She panics,

 

her whole being
seems on the edge
of a chasm.
OK. Where?

 

I'll find you.
He walks off 
and disappears
in the moving crowds.

 

Her hearts thumps;
body sweats.
She looks
at the moving bodies.

 

Nervous,
but no regrets.

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Read

They tried to colour me crazy.
Filling my head with As and Bs
but only As because a B is for low life
dirt pushing fuckers with no dreams.
 
They told me to read.
read books of a history, not mine,
and plays of troubled souls
speaking in tongues and soliloquies
that I dont understand but I nod and agree
as they crank their hands and the climax is saturated
in self satisfaction when their hands plunge deep.
 
Not for me. But for they.
Degree wielding warriors ready to educate
on who to be but remember no Bs if you want to be
somebody recognised by me and she, he, them, they,
won't stop till they colour me crazy. 
Author's Notes/Comments: 

This is not necessarily the title I had in mind for this poem, but it will suffice for now. If anybody has any suggestions for a title then please do tell me. After reading over this poem I have decided it is best performed rather than read but I do not have the courage to go out and perform it. So I will post it here 

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THERE TODAY

And Christina
hadn't seen Benedict
on the sports field
the day before

 

and school without
seeing him
was a long haul
of boredom

 

and frustration
and even
to go down
school passageways

 

between lessons
and not get
a peek of him
was stomach churning

 

with other girls
on about this
and that
and she only

 

wanting a peek
of him
to carry home with her
to hug and hold

 

in her bedroom
dreams
but today
in lunch recess

 

he was there
on the sports field
with that fiend of his
and she thought

 

he hadn't seen her
and he was wandering
the field with his friend
and they were laughing

 

and she so wanted
for him to turn
and see her
sitting there

 

on the grass
with a bunch of girls
and them laughing
and giggling

 

about matters
when he turned
and saw her
and she felt

 

her whole being
explode inside
and a rush
of feelings

 

flooded her
so that she was sure
she'd peed herself
with it all

 

and he came over
and said
didn't see you there
come let's go

 

for a walk and
so she got up
unsure if her legs
would hold her

 

what with the body
having exploded
like it had
and she went with him

 

and he lingered
near her
and their hands
were near

 

and she didn't want
to seem forward
and hold his hand
but deep inside

 

she wanted
to hold his hand
and kiss it
and squeeze it

 

and take it home
with her
but she just
let it hang there

 

near his
and he spoke
of being off
the day before

 

through illness
and that
he was ok today
and he laughed

 

and said
did you miss me?
and she said no
and laughed too

 

but god the words
clung to the roof
of her mouth
and she had to

 

push them out
and he said
he thought of her
laying there

 

unwell in his bed
and she thought
how she'd have
hugged him

 

had she been there
how she would have
sweated the illness
out of him

 

but she didn't say it
but smiled
and felt her insides
turning and turning

 

and he said
he dreamed of her
and she said
what did we do?

 

and he said
sure I cant' say
and blushed
and she touched

 

his hand as they
came to the fence
around the field
and it was electrifying

 

and her heart
seemed to thump itself
against her tit
and O how hot

 

it felt being there
she feeling all
so in love
and a slight wind

 

moved his quiff
of brown hair.

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SYMBOLIC ARROW.

She wonders if he'll really
be on the sports field waiting
for her, or whether it was just
something he said at the moment

 

to impress or set her up for a
laugh for the sake of others
who see her as a frump, some
one to laugh at or ridicule. She

 

eats her school dinner at her
usual pace, trying not to think
too much if he'll be there, waiting,
smiling that smile, that quiff ,

 

that brushed back hair. Elaine,
having finished her dinner,
having been to the loo, having
washed her hands, brushed her

 

teeth with her finger, walks on
the field, eyes down, her usual
stance, pretending she's invisible,
stops by the fence and looks around.

 

Girls in groups sit on the grass,
boys play football, some walk in
pairs. She stands alone, peers out,
looks down, hands in her cardigan

 

pockets. Thought you'd be here,
John says, his voice soft, like snow,
his hand by the fence where she
stands, disturbs her thoughts.

 

She looks at him, eyes bright,
looks behind him in case others
see or look, but none does, he's
alone, gazing, his brows dark,

 

fine lined. Didn’t think you
meant it, she says, to meet me,
I mean. Sure, I did, he  says,
not one to say what I don't mean.

 

She looks at him shyly, words
stuck in her throat, her heart
thumping, her knees shaking,
her stomach churning, feeling

 

undone. Want to go for a walk?
he says, don't need to stay by
the fence all the time. She moves;
her legs reluctant, her feet uncertain

 

of their tread. He moves beside her,
his hand brushing hers, confidently,
gazing at her sidewards. She thinks
others are watching, whispering,

 

gossiping, laughing behind their hands,
pointing at her, the frump, some boy
playing her along. Thought you'd
chickened out, he says, some girls do,

 

all talk, but then when their friends
aren't about they fall away or don't show.
She pauses, looks around, eyes the girls
across the way, none looks or cares,

 

no funny looks or stupid stares. I’m
a slow eater, she says, nearly last to
finish, at lunch, she says, gazing at him,
trying to see if he's having a laugh or

 

this is for real. No rush, he says, glad
you came. He walks on, she moves
beside him, sorting out words to say,
thoughts confused, brain spinning, her

 

heart thumping against her bra and tit.
You like butterflies? he asks. She mouths
words, her tongue stuck to the roof of
her mouth. She unsticks it, yes, I suppose

 

so, she says, like the red and white ones,
I see in the garden. Red Admiral I guess
or maybe the Peacock, he says, hard to
say unless I see it. They reach the fence

 

at the end of the field, stand looking back
at the field and school. You did mean to
meet me didn't you? she says hesitantly.
Of course I, he says, wouldn’t have asked

 

you otherwise. Others might have set it up,
she says looking at her shoes. Set what up?
he asks. You meeting me for a laugh, to
make me look a fool? she says, noticing

 

the scuff marks on the toes. No set up,
just me and you, the field, the sun, the sky,
this moment, he says, lifting her chin
with his finger. She stares at him, her

 

eyes focusing through her glasses, taking
him in, the hair, the hazel eyes, his finger
touching her chin. She wants to look inside
his head, to feel his thoughts, to sense his

 

wishes, I'm not very confident, she says,
I feel such a frump. He smiles, removes his
finger from her chin, draws her nearer to him,
taking her elbow, kisses her lips, so soft it

 

hardly touches, brushes skin, warms, thrills,
shocks and warms again, she feels as if she
might wet or leak, as if her stomach may burst,
her heart rush through breasts in a wild rush.

 

He hold his lips there, skin on skin, barely
pressing, moments still, moving. He pulls
away, not an expert on this kissing stuff,
he says, moving away, taking stock, studying

 

her eyes for fear or love or shock. Never
been kissed or kissed before, she says softly,
hardly audible, voice choked, sensing her
heart racing, her groin on fire. A bell rings

 

from the school, the crowds on the field
disperse and walk school wards, drift away,
in groups or singly or pairs. No one looks
or wonders why or stares. Best go, I guess ,

 

he says, and he's gone, well ahead, half a run,
half a fast walk. She feels her world unpinning,
coming undone, the seams of being coming apart,
revealing a symbolic arrow in a bleeding heart.

 

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NOT A TIME TO DIE.

Elaine thinks
she's dying;
the splash of
red in the

 

lavatory pan
has spun her
sideways, taken
her out of her

 

usual comfort
zone, the outer
world crowding
in. Other girls in

 

the school come
and go, a bell rings,
then silence. She
stares at the lavatory

 

door, someone has
written a poem
in red ink, another
scribbled underneath

 

a rude black ink
remark. The white
is discoloured, the
walls like wise to

 

match. She pulls
off a handful of 
paper, wraps it
around fingers,

 

stares at her hands,
bites her lower lip.
She crosses herself,
from forehead to

 

stomach, from
shoulder to shoulder.
How does one die?
she muses darkly,

 

peeking down at
the pan, redness
spreading, she's
leaking a slow death,

 

being undone before
her eyes. Is this how
one dies? She should
be in maths, at her

 

desk, doing algebra
she's not understood,
looking vacant, biting
her pen. She leans

 

forward, peeks again,
feeling flushed, the
red splash spread.
She feels unwell,

 

pains kick in, the
walls turn white,
crowding in. An
outer door opens,

 

someone sings, the
door clicks shut,
the voice sings
in soft melodious

 

tones. Elaine moans,
pushes her fist into
her mouth, painful
groans. The singer

 

pauses, nears the door,
puts ear to wood.
What's up? she asks,
staring at the whiteness

 

of the door. I’m dying,
Elaine says, I’m leaking
blood. The girl who
was singing mutters,

 

it's just a flood, has
no one said, its a
female thing, so shut
your crying, I’ll go

 

get the nurse, to sort
you out, you're not
freaking dying. And
off she goes, the door

 

clicks shut again, nothing
but silence, disappointed
death and bewildered,
pale-faced, aching Elaine.

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Old School

I grew up in Twinsburg, Ohio I was born in ’52

And like the Old School I attended I’ve gotten older too

 

You might say our structure’s dilapidated and perhaps with age we’ve slowed

Some people might even make the assessment that we’re not up to code.

 

We might not have the same energy as we did when we were kids

And you can bet our plumbing doesn’t work as good as it once did.

 

Just look in any mirror and you’re stuck with the sensation

That our structure has some wrinkles and our roof needs renovation.

 

Although our exteriors may not have stayed pristine, and fresh and polished

There is not a one of us, just ask, who’s ready to be demolished!

 

The Old School I attended in my wonderful little town

Is a lot like me, but the city now, wants to tear her down.

 

The city’s planning director thinks the Old School has past it’s prime

To preserve this 92 year old building is too costly a paradigm.

 

It’s funny but many people travel to Europe just to see

The old and ancient buildings and be part of history.

 

But here in our own country, in our cities, burgs and towns

Since it costs too much to preserve them we’d rather tear them down.

 

My vote if for the Old School to undergo a preservation

So she will stand as a monument to future generations.

 

To relish those memories we had when we were girls and boys

And preserve them for our children and their children to enjoy.

 

For there’s more to this old building than all it’s defects to be mended

You see the history of the Old School lies in the people who attended.

 

We may not all be famous alumni...but do not, my friends, be fooled

We are who we are today because of our Old Schools!

 

So be mindful all you cities when these vestiges of our past you take

 

It’s not just the building you’ve destroyed, it’s your own history you forsake.

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That Place Called School

A place where a person tried to run over me with a car

A place where we apparently can’t bring drugs or we’ll be put behind bars

A place where majority of the kids have no future

A place where no one pays respect to those teachers

A place where I’m stuck eight hours a day

A place where I’m sent to the office if I’m caught getting away

A place where I can’t speak my mind to the idiots who shouldn’t be allowed to live

A place where if I do, I’ll again go to the office for being “offensive”

A place where few are actually themselves

A place where fakes and wannabees dwell

A place where I guess not everyone can be friends

A place where to be cool, you need to keep up with the latest trends

A place where if you’re different you’re labeled a loser

A place where if you’re friends with the different, you’re…..also a loser

A place where I’m shy if I’m quiet, but I’m obnoxious if I’m loud

A place where we all try to fit in with the crowd

A place where people care too much about the little things

 A place where we’re all happy when the bell rings

Girl after a girl: Events unforgettable

 

 

Part I

 

1) With a ‘to’ and a ‘fro’ in her throat,

something she did note,

as on a piece of paper, she wrote

"I can't like you, for you don't know -

I got to go away - to which I can't say No."

Well, every girl is so so pretty.

 

2) With her legs beside me, so stiff

and -to save me- her hands with great mischief,

she conveys to the punishment chief -

"Oh Ma'am? How can he be guilty?

As this is his first moment to my proximity!"

Well, every girl is so so pretty.

 

3) With all her teeth and gums out

and her tiny eyes so stout,

she beckons me with a shout -

"Go! I won't talk anymore to you.

How much I am hurt, you never knew."

Well, every girl is so so pretty.

 

4) With real tears in her eyes

and five of her fingers glued to rice,

maybe yes, twice - she cries -

"How would you know how much I moan!

For, never you, I am disturbed alone."

Well, every girl is so so pretty.

 

5) With a big grin at my face,

but with a big cry, the very next phase,

at my back this time, she says -

"He wouldn't have really scolded me,

If, even little, he had ever read me."

Well, every girl is so so pretty.

 

6) With a rise in all her gaze over the book,

when asked for her verses, she gave me an eerie look.

Soon, she wrote for me; Almost a month it took! -

"Though difficult, try to remember me

for, perhaps many for you, though you're alone for me."

Well, every girl is so so pretty.

 

From a girl, only another girl keeps one away,

but not from past nor future, for there're many more girls, I say.

An event with a girl can give a great kick start

that can lead anyone, till many suns set.

Memories of brain written from heart -

a few of many incidents I could not forget!

 


Part II

 

7) With drops falling down as she bends

her neck, in some reunion -she attends

after a year- she tells our friends -

Long back, He stopped talking to me.

Neither a hello nor a glance – as if I’m his enemy.

Well, every girl is so so pretty.

 

8) With a smile -she leaves the lab- too fake one

and with swollen eyes -returns in- pointing none.

Then, a message leaves her, following the sun -

A friend can be anything, but not a sister!

So, please don’t ever call me so, you mister!

Well, every girl is so so pretty.

 

9) With good red expressions – contorted,

while issues were being sorted

out about my interest in her, her words parted –

Oh, now please stop it! I want no fight.

I understand it and it’s completely alright!

Well, every girl is so so pretty.

 

10) With her ideas so optimistic,

though actions far realistic,

she typed something very mystic -

Had you worked, excellence of now would have been average

Anyways, any failure to be understood needs courage.

Well, every girl is so so pretty.

 

11) With her face full of joy and hope

and beliefs no less than some pope,

she always replies, to my theory of mortality, with nope -

The word End, with someone can also be Never,

for the person may know words like Forever.

Well, every girl is so so pretty.

 

12) With a look so cheerless, that can shrink

one’s heart -though sometimes so cheerful that can kink

it’s beat- she said or typed - I think -

Really miss you as I sometimes also saw my ex in you.

You played big part in my life, though days were very few.

Well, every girl is so so pretty.

 

Lies apart, any girl can make your day,

no matter whether you are a guy, girl or a gay

This is a small tribute to a small part

of all the girls I met.

Memories of brain written from heart -

a few of the incidents I could never forget!

 

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

A saga written as a ode about incidents revolving in mind, involving a few of the girls I met. Their sounds still ring in my head!

Term Paper

Term papers,

they're no fun!

 

Term papers,

they drive me crazy!

 

Term papers,

seem to go on forever!

 

Term papers,

I have little motivation

to write it.

 

Term paper,

why can't it just disappear?

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I have a term paper for my high school english class that I HATE! Please let me know what you think!