Children spend most of their childhood studying and having fun with their peers at school. So to make them ready for the good and bad experiences of their school life, you may read some good poems about schools for kids. Their expectations and experiences keep changing as they transition through primary, middle, and high school, so it is a must to give them motivation now and then. While some children are excited to go back to school and meet their friends and teachers after breaks, others prefer staying home and dread going back to school. Scroll through this post to know about some of the best poems about school to encourage your children to enjoy the best phase of life.
13+ School Poem For Kids
Let your children share their experiences and treasure these poems as memories.
1. First Day At School
A million billion willion miles from home Waiting for the bell to go. (To go where?) Why are they all so big, other children? So noisy? So much at home they Must have been born in uniform Lived all their lives in playgrounds Spent the years inventing games That don’t let me in. Games That are rough, that swallow you up. And the railings. All around, the railings. Are they to keep out wolves and monsters? Things that carry off and eat children? Things you don’t take sweets from? Perhaps they’re to stop us getting out. Running away from the lessins. Lessin. What does a lessin look like? Sounds small and slimy. They keep them in the glassrooms. Whole rooms made out of glass. Imagine. I wish I could remember my name. Mummy said it would come in useful. Like wellies. When there’s puddles. Yellowwellies. I wish she was here. I think my name is sewn on somewhere. Perhaps the teacher will read it for me. Tea-cher. The one who makes the tea. — Roger McGough
2. School Is Not So Cool
School, School, School, A school is not so cool We’re here five days a week 8 hours a day. School, School, School, A school is not so cool. People laugh when we fall we just have to make a call. School, School, School A school is not so cool. We have to work hard to get good grades. I’m not going to do it no more. I do it every day. We can’t go on the grass. We can’t bother another class. We cant save spots at lunch. We have to go as a bunch. We have 3 minutes in the hall. I’m always late, what a ball. We have to pay attention if not, we get detention. School, School, School, A school is not so cool. They have too many rules they play us as fools if we get A’s the parents jump Hip Hip Hooray. If we get F’s we tell them we need to take a rest. We always have homework we never have classwork they have too many rules they need to take it cool. School, School, School, A school is so not cool! — Chantel Braatz
3. September, The First Day Of School
I My child and I hold hands on the way to school, And when I leave him at the first-grade door. He cries a little but is brave; he does Let go. My selfish tears remind me how I cried before that door a life ago. I may have had a hard time letting go. Each fall, the children must endure together. What every child also endures alone: Learning the alphabet, the integers, Three dozen bits and pieces of a stuff So arbitrary, so peremptory, That worlds invisible and visible. Bow down before it, as in Joseph’s dream The sheaves bowed down, and then the stars bowed down. Before the dreaming of a little boy. That dream got him such hatred of his brothers. As cost the greater part of life to mend, And yet great kindness came of it in the end. II A school is where they grind the grain of thought, And grind the children who must mind the thought. It may be those two grindings are but one, As from the alphabet come Shakespeare’s Plays, As from the integers comes Euler’s Law, As from the whole, inseparably, the lives, The shrunken lives that have not been set free By law or by poetic phantasy. But may they be. My child has disappeared. Behind the schoolroom door. And should I live To see his coming forth, a life away, I know my hope but do not know its form. Nor hope to know it. May the fathers he finds Among his teachers have a care of him More than his father could. How that will look I do not know; I do not need to know. Even our tears belong to ritual. But may great kindness come of it in the end. — Howard Nemerov
4. School Just School
School we need it school, friends school you have teachers school is great high school is even better college, PARTIES school you mite find your true love new experiences every day school, dances school just school school who does not love it school is fun school, preps school, classes school, math, science, computer classes school is great love it school just school we need school — Kerri King
5. In School-Days
Still sits the school-house by the road, A ragged beggar sleeping; Around it still, the sumachs grow, And blackberry-vines are creeping. Within, the master’s desk is seen, Deep-scarred by raps official; The warping floor, the battered seats, The jack-knife’s carved initial; The charcoal frescoes on its wall; Its door’s worn sill, betraying. The feet that, creeping slow to school, Went storming out to playing! Long years ago, a winter sun. Shone over it at setting; Lit up its western window-panes, And low eaves’ icy fretting. It touched the tangled golden curls, And brown eyes full of grieving, Of one who still her steps delayed When all the school were leaving. For near it stood the little boy. Her childish favor singled; His cap pulled low upon a face. Where pride and shame were mingled. Pushing with restless feet, the snow To right and left, he lingered;— As restlessly her tiny hands. The blue-checked apron fingered. He saw her lift her eyes; he felt. The soft hand’s light caressing, And heard the tremble of her voice, As if a fault confessing. “I’m sorry that I spelt the word: I hate to go above you, Because,”—the brown eyes lower fell,— “Because you see, I love you!” Still memory to a gray-haired man That sweet child-face is showing. Dear girl! the grasses on her grave Have forty years been growing! He lives to learn, in life’s hard school, How few who pass above him Lament their triumph and his loss, Like her, because they love him. — John Greenleaf Whittier
6. Round and Round
Round and round the playground, Marching in a line, I’ll hold your hand. You hold mine. Round and round the playground Skipping in a ring Everybody loves it When we all sing. Round and round the playground That’s what we like: Climbing on the climbing frame, Riding on the bike. Round and round the playground, All together, friends. We’re sad, sad, sad When the school day ends. — John Kitching
7. Dinner Lady
Today at school I cut my knee. The dinner lady looked after me. She washed away the blood and dirt, then put a plaster where it hurt. — David Harmer
8. Where Do All The Teachers Go?
Where do all the teachers go When it’s four o’clock? Do they live in houses? And do they wash their socks? Do they wear pajamas? And do they watch TV? And do they pick their noses? The same as you and me? Do they live with other people? Have they mum and dads? And were they ever children? And were they ever bad? Did they ever, never spell right? Did they ever make mistakes? Were they punished in the corner? If they stole the chocolate flakes? Did they ever lose their hymn books? Did they ever leave their greens? Did they scribble on the desktops? Did they wear old dirty jeans? I’ll follow one back home today. I’ll find out what they do. Then I’ll put it in a poem. That they can read to you. — Peter Dixon
9. Where Teachers Keep Their Pets
Mrs. Cox has a fox nesting in her curly locks. Mr. Spratt’s tabby cat sleeps beneath his bobble hat. Miss Cahoots has various newts swimming in her zip-up boots. Mr. Spray has Fred his fly eating food stains from his tie. Mrs. Groat shows off her stoat round the collar of her coat. Mr. Spare’s got grizzly bears hiding in his spacious flares. And . . . Mrs. Vickers has a stick insect called ‘Stickers.’ . . . but no one’s ever seen where she keeps it. — Paul Cookson
10. At the End of a School Day
It is the end of a school day and down the long drive come bag-swinging, shouting children. Deafened, the sky winces. The sun gapes in surprise. Suddenly the runner’s skid to a stop, standstill and stare at a small hedgehog curled-up on the tarmac like an old, frayed cricket ball. A girl dumps her bag, tiptoes forward and gingerly, so gingerly carries the creature to the safety of a shady hedge. Then steps back, watching. Girl, children, sky, and sun hold their breath. There is a silence, a moment to remember on this warm afternoon in June. — Was Magee
11. Teacher
Loud shouter Deep thinker Rain hater Coffee drinker Spell checker Sum ticker Line giver Nitpicker Ready listener Trouble carer Hometime lover Knowledge sharer — Paul Cookson
12. The Teacher’s Day in Bed
Our teacher’s having a day in bed – She’s sent her pets to school instead! There’s… A parrot to read the register, A crocodile to sharpen the pencils, A canary to teach singing, An adder to teach maths, An octopus to make the ink, An elephant to hoover the floor, An electric eel to make the computer work, A giraffe to look for trouble at the back, A tiger to keep order at the front, A reed bunting (can’t you guess? to help with reading, of course!), A secretary bird to run the office A piranha fish to give swimming lessons (Glad I’m off swimming today!), A zebra to help with crossing the road, Oh, and a dragon to cook the sausages. I bet that none of you ever knew. Just how many things a teacher can do! — David Orme
13. What Teachers Wear in Bed!
It’s anybody’s guess what teachers wear in bed at night so we held a competition to see if any of us were right. We did a spot of research, although some of them wouldn’t say, but it’s probably something funny as they look pretty strange by day. Our Headteacher’s quite old-fashioned, he wears a Victorian nightshirt, our sports teacher wears her tracksuit and sometimes her netball skirt. That new teacher in the infants wears bedsocks with see-through pajamas, our Deputy Head wears a T-shirt he brought back from the Bahamas. We asked our secretary what she wore but she shooed us out of her room and our teacher said her favorite nightie and a splash of expensive perfume. And Mademoiselle, who teaches French, is really very rude she whispered, ‘Alors! Don’t tell a soul, but I sleep in the . . . back bedroom!’ — Brian Moses
14. Chemistry Class
Chemistry class, chemistry class, The class in which I do surpass! The class I really most enjoy, My teacher, though, I do annoy! Mixing that, twirling this, Adding ‘till I hear a hiss! Prompting looks up from her desk, Towards my beaker, statuesque! Heating up, cooling down, My teacher watches, face a frown! Lovely liquid, yellow bubbles, Teacher’s ready for the troubles! Exploding here, exploding there, Yellow globs in teacher’s hair! It’s dripping onto teacher’s shawl, And creeping down the classroom wall! Fizzle here, fizzle through, Oh no, I think I’m in a stew! It’s eaten through the wooden floor, And dropped below on Mr. Moore! Chemistry mess, much distress, My brew today did not impress! Chemistry is my favorite class, But that’s my last, I think, alas! — Gareth Lancaster
title: “13 Beautiful And Famous Poems About School For Kids” ShowToc: true date: “2023-01-02” author: “Melanie Williams”
Children spend most of their childhood studying and having fun with their peers at school. So to make them ready for the good and bad experiences of their school life, you may read some good poems about schools for kids. Their expectations and experiences keep changing as they transition through primary, middle, and high school, so it is a must to give them motivation now and then. While some children are excited to go back to school and meet their friends and teachers after breaks, others prefer staying home and dread going back to school. Scroll through this post to know about some of the best poems about school to encourage your children to enjoy the best phase of life.
13+ School Poem For Kids
Let your children share their experiences and treasure these poems as memories.
1. First Day At School
A million billion willion miles from home Waiting for the bell to go. (To go where?) Why are they all so big, other children? So noisy? So much at home they Must have been born in uniform Lived all their lives in playgrounds Spent the years inventing games That don’t let me in. Games That are rough, that swallow you up. And the railings. All around, the railings. Are they to keep out wolves and monsters? Things that carry off and eat children? Things you don’t take sweets from? Perhaps they’re to stop us getting out. Running away from the lessins. Lessin. What does a lessin look like? Sounds small and slimy. They keep them in the glassrooms. Whole rooms made out of glass. Imagine. I wish I could remember my name. Mummy said it would come in useful. Like wellies. When there’s puddles. Yellowwellies. I wish she was here. I think my name is sewn on somewhere. Perhaps the teacher will read it for me. Tea-cher. The one who makes the tea. — Roger McGough
2. School Is Not So Cool
School, School, School, A school is not so cool We’re here five days a week 8 hours a day. School, School, School, A school is not so cool. People laugh when we fall we just have to make a call. School, School, School A school is not so cool. We have to work hard to get good grades. I’m not going to do it no more. I do it every day. We can’t go on the grass. We can’t bother another class. We cant save spots at lunch. We have to go as a bunch. We have 3 minutes in the hall. I’m always late, what a ball. We have to pay attention if not, we get detention. School, School, School, A school is not so cool. They have too many rules they play us as fools if we get A’s the parents jump Hip Hip Hooray. If we get F’s we tell them we need to take a rest. We always have homework we never have classwork they have too many rules they need to take it cool. School, School, School, A school is so not cool! — Chantel Braatz
3. September, The First Day Of School
I My child and I hold hands on the way to school, And when I leave him at the first-grade door. He cries a little but is brave; he does Let go. My selfish tears remind me how I cried before that door a life ago. I may have had a hard time letting go. Each fall, the children must endure together. What every child also endures alone: Learning the alphabet, the integers, Three dozen bits and pieces of a stuff So arbitrary, so peremptory, That worlds invisible and visible. Bow down before it, as in Joseph’s dream The sheaves bowed down, and then the stars bowed down. Before the dreaming of a little boy. That dream got him such hatred of his brothers. As cost the greater part of life to mend, And yet great kindness came of it in the end. II A school is where they grind the grain of thought, And grind the children who must mind the thought. It may be those two grindings are but one, As from the alphabet come Shakespeare’s Plays, As from the integers comes Euler’s Law, As from the whole, inseparably, the lives, The shrunken lives that have not been set free By law or by poetic phantasy. But may they be. My child has disappeared. Behind the schoolroom door. And should I live To see his coming forth, a life away, I know my hope but do not know its form. Nor hope to know it. May the fathers he finds Among his teachers have a care of him More than his father could. How that will look I do not know; I do not need to know. Even our tears belong to ritual. But may great kindness come of it in the end. — Howard Nemerov
4. School Just School
School we need it school, friends school you have teachers school is great high school is even better college, PARTIES school you mite find your true love new experiences every day school, dances school just school school who does not love it school is fun school, preps school, classes school, math, science, computer classes school is great love it school just school we need school — Kerri King
5. In School-Days
Still sits the school-house by the road, A ragged beggar sleeping; Around it still, the sumachs grow, And blackberry-vines are creeping. Within, the master’s desk is seen, Deep-scarred by raps official; The warping floor, the battered seats, The jack-knife’s carved initial; The charcoal frescoes on its wall; Its door’s worn sill, betraying. The feet that, creeping slow to school, Went storming out to playing! Long years ago, a winter sun. Shone over it at setting; Lit up its western window-panes, And low eaves’ icy fretting. It touched the tangled golden curls, And brown eyes full of grieving, Of one who still her steps delayed When all the school were leaving. For near it stood the little boy. Her childish favor singled; His cap pulled low upon a face. Where pride and shame were mingled. Pushing with restless feet, the snow To right and left, he lingered;— As restlessly her tiny hands. The blue-checked apron fingered. He saw her lift her eyes; he felt. The soft hand’s light caressing, And heard the tremble of her voice, As if a fault confessing. “I’m sorry that I spelt the word: I hate to go above you, Because,”—the brown eyes lower fell,— “Because you see, I love you!” Still memory to a gray-haired man That sweet child-face is showing. Dear girl! the grasses on her grave Have forty years been growing! He lives to learn, in life’s hard school, How few who pass above him Lament their triumph and his loss, Like her, because they love him. — John Greenleaf Whittier
6. Round and Round
Round and round the playground, Marching in a line, I’ll hold your hand. You hold mine. Round and round the playground Skipping in a ring Everybody loves it When we all sing. Round and round the playground That’s what we like: Climbing on the climbing frame, Riding on the bike. Round and round the playground, All together, friends. We’re sad, sad, sad When the school day ends. — John Kitching
7. Dinner Lady
Today at school I cut my knee. The dinner lady looked after me. She washed away the blood and dirt, then put a plaster where it hurt. — David Harmer
8. Where Do All The Teachers Go?
Where do all the teachers go When it’s four o’clock? Do they live in houses? And do they wash their socks? Do they wear pajamas? And do they watch TV? And do they pick their noses? The same as you and me? Do they live with other people? Have they mum and dads? And were they ever children? And were they ever bad? Did they ever, never spell right? Did they ever make mistakes? Were they punished in the corner? If they stole the chocolate flakes? Did they ever lose their hymn books? Did they ever leave their greens? Did they scribble on the desktops? Did they wear old dirty jeans? I’ll follow one back home today. I’ll find out what they do. Then I’ll put it in a poem. That they can read to you. — Peter Dixon
9. Where Teachers Keep Their Pets
Mrs. Cox has a fox nesting in her curly locks. Mr. Spratt’s tabby cat sleeps beneath his bobble hat. Miss Cahoots has various newts swimming in her zip-up boots. Mr. Spray has Fred his fly eating food stains from his tie. Mrs. Groat shows off her stoat round the collar of her coat. Mr. Spare’s got grizzly bears hiding in his spacious flares. And . . . Mrs. Vickers has a stick insect called ‘Stickers.’ . . . but no one’s ever seen where she keeps it. — Paul Cookson
10. At the End of a School Day
It is the end of a school day and down the long drive come bag-swinging, shouting children. Deafened, the sky winces. The sun gapes in surprise. Suddenly the runner’s skid to a stop, standstill and stare at a small hedgehog curled-up on the tarmac like an old, frayed cricket ball. A girl dumps her bag, tiptoes forward and gingerly, so gingerly carries the creature to the safety of a shady hedge. Then steps back, watching. Girl, children, sky, and sun hold their breath. There is a silence, a moment to remember on this warm afternoon in June. — Was Magee
11. Teacher
Loud shouter Deep thinker Rain hater Coffee drinker Spell checker Sum ticker Line giver Nitpicker Ready listener Trouble carer Hometime lover Knowledge sharer — Paul Cookson
12. The Teacher’s Day in Bed
Our teacher’s having a day in bed – She’s sent her pets to school instead! There’s… A parrot to read the register, A crocodile to sharpen the pencils, A canary to teach singing, An adder to teach maths, An octopus to make the ink, An elephant to hoover the floor, An electric eel to make the computer work, A giraffe to look for trouble at the back, A tiger to keep order at the front, A reed bunting (can’t you guess? to help with reading, of course!), A secretary bird to run the office A piranha fish to give swimming lessons (Glad I’m off swimming today!), A zebra to help with crossing the road, Oh, and a dragon to cook the sausages. I bet that none of you ever knew. Just how many things a teacher can do! — David Orme
13. What Teachers Wear in Bed!
It’s anybody’s guess what teachers wear in bed at night so we held a competition to see if any of us were right. We did a spot of research, although some of them wouldn’t say, but it’s probably something funny as they look pretty strange by day. Our Headteacher’s quite old-fashioned, he wears a Victorian nightshirt, our sports teacher wears her tracksuit and sometimes her netball skirt. That new teacher in the infants wears bedsocks with see-through pajamas, our Deputy Head wears a T-shirt he brought back from the Bahamas. We asked our secretary what she wore but she shooed us out of her room and our teacher said her favorite nightie and a splash of expensive perfume. And Mademoiselle, who teaches French, is really very rude she whispered, ‘Alors! Don’t tell a soul, but I sleep in the . . . back bedroom!’ — Brian Moses
14. Chemistry Class
Chemistry class, chemistry class, The class in which I do surpass! The class I really most enjoy, My teacher, though, I do annoy! Mixing that, twirling this, Adding ‘till I hear a hiss! Prompting looks up from her desk, Towards my beaker, statuesque! Heating up, cooling down, My teacher watches, face a frown! Lovely liquid, yellow bubbles, Teacher’s ready for the troubles! Exploding here, exploding there, Yellow globs in teacher’s hair! It’s dripping onto teacher’s shawl, And creeping down the classroom wall! Fizzle here, fizzle through, Oh no, I think I’m in a stew! It’s eaten through the wooden floor, And dropped below on Mr. Moore! Chemistry mess, much distress, My brew today did not impress! Chemistry is my favorite class, But that’s my last, I think, alas! — Gareth Lancaster
