My Bullying Days

I bully people all day long,
And each time I do so,
I sing a joyful song.

I always feel good
Whenever I beat the crap out of some guy.
It frequently makes them feel
That they want to die.

So, that pretty much concludes
My very, very, very short poem...
But what makes me be at my happiest
Is when I bully my mummy at home.

poem by Stephen Cahill Furlong
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Boredom

I was bored one day, had nothing to do.
The only thing I could do
Was one big poo.

I was lying on my bed as lazy as a pig.
All I could give my girlfriend
Was one big dig.

I was daydreaming about the time
My Uncle Billy was shot dead.
Oh how I wish that bullet full of lead
Hit me instead.

A few days later, I found myself sitting there,
Bored in school, writing this poem.
If only, if only
I wrote this poem at home.

poem by Stephen Cahill Furlong
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Why I Love You

The reasons why I love you
Are very simple but very true.
Every time I see you, you make me happy.
Every time I talk to you,
I feel like the luckiest chappy.

There are days when I can hear your name
Entering my open ears.
They always make me want to
Scream out joyful cheers.

Every night, I close my eyes
And the first thing I see is your beauty;
This reminds me always
That you are quite the cutie.

Another reason why I love you
Is because you are the only model
For the portrait I would paint.
Why is that?

[...] Read more

poem by Stephen Cahill Furlong
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

A Day At School

I get up out of bed
Every morning to go to school.
It has to be done by many,
Whether or not anyone finds it cool.

I walk up through the school-entrance
To swipe in my card.
Not everyone does it like they're asked to
Because, for an unknown reason,
They might find it rather hard.

I sit there in the classroom,
Forced to do work all day.
Everybody else hates it,
Even though I myself think it's okay.

I earn my freedom during lunchtime.
I cycle home to chill.
But when one o' clock comes,
It's not really much of a thrill.

[...] Read more

poem by Stephen Cahill Furlong
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Laura

In my last year, I couldn't but fall in love with the School Angel;
Her presence in the room had made my heart race,
Banging and thumping like a loud wedding-bell.
The way she looks at me can only make me smile;
She is whom I'd leap to from as far as a country-mile.
Five days out of seven, two-hundred and ten minutes a week,
I sat up front often to watch her teach and play with her hair,
So brown, so long, so sleek.

As far as education is concerned, love is quite distracting
Because when teachers state your name,
They expect attentive and rapid reacting.
But my passion for Laura, though she is some years older than me,
Has only improved my work in English and to see almost daily
A beautiful, wise, and marvellous teaching lady.

poem by Stephen Cahill Furlong
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

If Trees Could Talk

If trees could talk, what would they say?
That would definitely be question of the day.
They'd say, "Help us! Help us! We're being chopped down! "
That wouldn't help as our oxygen would frown.
They'd say, "Help us! We're being turned into furniture! "
That doesn't sound like much of an adventure.
They'd say, "Help us! Our branches are losing leaves! "
That shouldn't be the case until Christmas Eve.

If trees could talk, what would they say?
They'd say, "We watch the children who like to play."
There are some nice things too that trees would utter,
Like, "We're as important to life as bread is to butter."
Sadly, trees are like some of us; they speak in silence.
But do they really deserve to be treated with violence?

poem by Stephen Cahill Furlong
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Isolation: 25 June 2010

The people are all excited whereas I feel like sh*te;
There's a birthday-bash at Jenny's gaff tonight.
The sun is setting down but her home has brightened up.
Everyone will be there, each with their own plastic-cup
To drink from, eat some cake, and sing the birthday song;
It's a party we've been waiting for all year long.

I think of my friends arriving there, even Alan my dream man,
The birthday-girl greeting them and bringing their own cans.
But I am at home, staring at the stars with tears in my eyes.
I wasn't even invited, to my surprise.

On Facebook, she'd told me that her party was 'full',
Which, to anyone with a mind, was just a load of bull.
It was because I loved her that she didn't want me there.
I'd never felt so left out - it just isn't fair!
I have taught myself a lesson and she has lost my respect.
And because she's caused me such deep isolation,
Her dignity, to me, has been permanently fecked.

poem by Stephen Cahill Furlong
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Dream Date

My dream date
Is an experience I must wait
For to absorb the perfect day,
But only when I have found my soulmate.

Underneath an entirely cloudless day
And never a sign of an oncoming storm,
We two surround ourselves with an admirable view
That's not contaminated by another human life-form.

Around us, there are no other sounds
Apart from our voices and the birds a-whistling.
I lay down next to your pretty face
And notice your bright smile a-sizzling.

After a sandwich each, we throw on the iPod
And through the meadow we waltz to R.E.M
While you have that single rose in your mouth,
Passionately grinding through its stem.

[...] Read more

poem by Stephen Cahill Furlong
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

I Want To Tell You

Your eyes are the stars of my sky;
Your breath is my wind.
And from the moment you first said hello to me,
My heart had suddenly opened.

Nearly every day, we sit in classes together;
Yet I still cannot tell you the truth.
I do not wish to ruin what good we already have
Simply because you are just too cute.

I want to tell you something,
But the words just won't come out.
But feelings, desire and romance
Is what it's meant to be about.

With your sweetly scented dark hair
And the heavenly voice of a kitten,
I received a personal visit from the love-bug,
By whom I was strongly bitten.

[...] Read more

poem by Stephen Cahill Furlong
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Substitute

I remember once in history class
Came the temporary absence of Mr Whyte.
And the substitute teacher who came to replace him,
Oh my! Wasn't she such a beautiful sight.

As she stepped through the door,
All of the students' eyes were fixed upon her.
Her long brown hair caressed her face,
Her eyes were blue with flavour.

Laura was dressed all in black,
Her trousers were loosely pizazz.
And though she was dressed like a serious business-woman,
Her pretty face still made my head play romantic jazz.

I was fifteen and believed in love at first sight.
However, after reading through few pages of Living History Two,
My classmates slowly began to see the nervous teacher
As tedious, unhumorous, and absolutely no fun, too.

[...] Read more

poem by Stephen Cahill Furlong
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!