In true education, anything that comes to our hand is as good as a book: the prank of a page- boy, the blunder of a servant, a bit of table talk - they are all part of the curriculum.
quote by Michel de Montaigne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Instead of a national curriculum for education, what is really needed is an individual curriculum for every child.
quote by Charles Handy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Curriculum
Bright sunny skies,
Shine high.
With clouds minimized!
And I know why,
Your eyes...
Are clear,
And particular!
On a flight like a kite.
Excited by height.
And delighted your life,
Has a new insight.
And I,
Enjoy this ride you find...
Particular!
That curriculum chosen,
Is your own.
Oh, oh.
That curriculum chosen,
All alone.
Oh, oh.
That curriculum chosen...
That you've shown.
Oh, oh.
That curriculum...
Nobody but you've got it!
That curriculum chosen,
Is your own.
Oh, oh.
That curriculum chosen,
All alone.
Oh, oh.
That curriculum chosen...
That you've shown.
Oh, oh.
That curriculum...
Nobody but you've got it!
Those bright sunny skies,
Shine high.
With clouds minimized!
And I know why,
Your eyes...
Are clear,
And particular!
Nobody but you've got it!
That curriculum chosen,
Is your own.
Oh, oh.
That curriculum chosen,
All alone.
Oh, oh.
That curriculum chosen...
That you've shown.
Oh, oh.
That curriculum...
Nobody but you've got it!
That curriculum...
Nobody but you've got it!
That curriculum...
Nobody but you've got it!
That curriculum.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Theme for English B
The instructor said,
Go home and write
a page tonight.
And let that page come out of you--
Then, it will be true.
I wonder if it's that simple?
I am twenty-two, colored, born in Winston-Salem.
I went to school there, then Durham, then here
to this college on the hill above Harlem.
I am the only colored student in my class.
The steps from the hill lead down into Harlem,
through a park, then I cross St. Nicholas,
Eighth Avenue, Seventh, and I come to the Y,
the Harlem Branch Y, where I take the elevator
up to my room, sit down, and write this page:
It's not easy to know what is true for you or me
at twenty-two, my age. But I guess I'm what
I feel and see and hear, Harlem, I hear you:
hear you, hear me--we two--you, me, talk on this page.
(I hear New York, too.) Me--who?
Well, I like to eat, sleep, drink, and be in love.
I like to work, read, learn, and understand life.
I like a pipe for a Christmas present,
or records--Bessie, bop, or Bach.
I guess being colored doesn't make me not like
the same things other folks like who are other races.
So will my page be colored that I write?
Being me, it will not be white.
But it will be
a part of you, instructor.
You are white--
yet a part of me, as I am a part of you.
That's American.
Sometimes perhaps you don't want to be a part of me.
Nor do I often want to be a part of you.
But we are, that's true!
As I learn from you,
I guess you learn from me--
although you're older--and white--
and somewhat more free.
This is my page for English B.
poem by Langston Hughes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dubrovnik 1972.
Dubrovnik seemed
a second home,
and you, in a street
cafe, sat drinking coffee,
with that book on
Schopenhauer open
on the table, a cigarette
smoking in an ashtray
unattended, thinking
of the girl in the hotel
restaurant the night
before, the waitress
who smiled at you as
she served and went
by your table, and your
brother said, I don't
fancy yours much,
indicating with a nod
of head, another
waitress over by a
nearby table, plump
and spotted, wearing
a scowl instead of a
smile, and all the while,
he eyeing, as young
men do the beauty
that had caught your
eye going by, but all is
fair in love, so men
have said, so picking
up the book on
Schopenhauer, and
further reading,
holding the cigarette
between the fingers
of the hand not
turning pages, you
inhaled with deep
concentration the
smoke and words
spread across the
page, written by a
philosopher of a
foreign tongue
and different age.
poem by Terry Collett
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The House Was Quiet and The World Was Calm
The house was quiet and the world was calm.
The reader became the book; and summer night
Was like the conscious being of the book.
The house was quiet and the world was calm.
The words were spoken as if there was no book,
Except that the reader leaned above the page,
Wanted to lean, wanted much most to be
The scholar to whom his book is true, to whom
The summer night is like a perfection of thought.
The house was quiet because it had to be.
The quiet was part of the meaning, part of the mind:
The access of perfection to the page.
And the world was calm. The truth in a calm world,
In which there is no other meaning, itself
Is calm, itself is summer and night, itself
Is the reader leaning late and reading there.
poem by Wallace Stevens
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Education Celebration
(An 'Education Week' Rap)
Education, education;
There's nothing quite like education!
It gives you hope and lets you cope
And offers great remuneration.
Education, education;
The path to many a great vacation;
A fancy car and caviar;
A life of fun and relaxation.
Education, education;
Provides a firm and strong foundation
For better lives improved by drive,
By effort and by motivation.
Education, education;
Sing aloud in exultation!
And when you pass that final class
We'll shake your hand in admiration.
Education, education;
Requires a lot of perspiration.
You can bet - a lot of sweat,
And just a pinch of inspiration.
Education, education;
Let's all sing in jubilation!
For, those who strive and have the drive
May someday own a 'corporation'!
Intro to “An Nou Tout Klere”
Besides God
For God is first in all
Education is the key
To get out of poverty
Education without that home formation
Is a complete fatal-collateral-malediction
It’s like a house built with no foundation
And masquerade will be the only promotion
Education is a crucial point in life to maintain balance
Getting a real job without it would be like a pending chance
Deviz nou, aprè san zanzèt nou ki te koule
Se pou n monte pi wo, pi wo, pi wo
Paske bagay yo pa ka rete konsa fòk sa chanje
Alòs mesaj Ayiti voye pou nou aswè se:
“An nou tout klere”.
MarieLove
06/22/07
Marie S. Brévil
Created for and Presented by Barbara Saint Cyr
Book page: www.xlibris.com/ITSMYSTORY.html
Author page: www.xlibris.com/MarieLove.html
chk my web site www.marielovebooks.com
poem by MarieLove Brevil
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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On Browning’s Sordello
“SORDELLO'S story,” the Sphinx yawned and said,
“Who would has heard.” Is that enough? Who could,
'Twere not amiss to add, has understood:
Who understood perhaps has profited.
For my part I could tell a tale instead
Of one who, dreaming of no likelihood
Even that the “Book” was going to end for good,
Turned the last page, and lo the book was read.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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That is a good book which is opened with expectation and closed with profit.
Amos Bronson Alcott in Table Talk
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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With Michigan's economic future on the line, we can't afford to have our 500 local school districts marching in different directions. Instead, we need a high standards, mandatory curriculum to get all our students on the road to higher education and a good paying job.
quote by Jennifer Granholm
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nobodys Diary
If I wait for just a second more,
I know Ill forget what I came here for,
My head was so full of things to say,
But as I open my lips all my words slip away
And anyway,
I cant believe you want to turn the page,
And move your life onto another stage,
You can change the chapter you can change the book,
But the story remains the same if youd take a look.
(chorus)
For the times weve had I dont want to be - a page in your diary babe,
For the good, the bad I dont want to see - a page in your diary babe,
For the happy, the sad - I dont want to be another page in your diary.
Perhaps if I held you I could win again,
I could take your hands wed talk and maybe then -
That look in your eyes I always recognise,
Would tell me everything is gonna be fine,
Youre gonna be mine
For a long time...
(repeat above chorus)
song performed by by Yaz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nobodys Diary
If I wait for just a second more,
I know Ill forget what I came here for,
My head was so full of things to say,
But as I open my lips all my words slip away
And anyway,
I cant believe you want to turn the page,
And move your life onto another stage,
You can change the chapter you can change the book,
But the story remains the same if youd take a look.
(chorus)
For the times weve had I dont want to be - a page in your diary babe,
For the good, the bad I dont want to see - a page in your diary babe,
For the happy, the sad - I dont want to be another page in your diary.
Perhaps if I held you I could win again,
I could take your hands wed talk and maybe then -
That look in your eyes I always recognise,
Would tell me everything is gonna be fine,
Youre gonna be mine
For a long time...
(repeat above chorus)
song performed by by Yaz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Too Good To Be True
Her imagination ran wild
Could this really happen to me?
She could barely hold back the tears
It was too good to be true
It was too good to be true
It was too good to be true
Everything that shed waited for
Everything that shed dared to dream
Suddenly was outside her door
It was too good to be true
It was too good to be true
It was too good to be true
There was no talk of giving in
And just as hope was wearing thin
Her eyes were like a child again
Too good to be true
Morning on the outskirts of town
Sitting in the traffic alone
You dont know what it means to be free
It was too good to be true
song performed by by Tom Petty
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Right to education
Right to education
Is a right to live,
Without education we spontaneousy get
A right to die,
Not physically but morally,
Illiteracy is our moral death,
For being illiterate we can't even talk life,
Education is a soul rests
In the body of human being,
So without education,
We are only human animals,
Education takes us to height of humanity.
poem by Mohammad Akmal Nazir
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Life is short
It seems you forgot, our life is short.
There is no time to beg or extort for support.
Learn how to live yourself.
Take a book from the shelf and…
Delicately leafing page after page
you will find a wood sage.
People are like books,
some of them are good,
some of them are bad,
some of them are just mad,
some of them are not sassy,
they look more glassy,
they are not gassy,
they are classy
like books on the shelf
waiting for a warm hand.
Milliards of people are on the Land,
each one needs the right hand
so that to open it like a book and read.
If you manage to do it
you’ll succeed to learn a lot.
Remembering that life is short
you’ll learn how to burn the useless things,
how to leave the one without a gun
who troubles brings,
how to live with those you adore,
And… much much more.
Larisa R (Odessa, Ukraine)
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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The Last Page
I always dread the last page in a book,
especially when the book was good.
So I close it up and put it aside
but some of those pages you can't hide.
They've become a memory to keep.
So the book just goes to sleep
for a while.
And some time in the future out it comes
just like a trusty old friend.
I open it up and start it once again
reading it from beginning to the end.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Talk About The Good Times
(words & music by jerry reed hubbard)
Well I remember when I was as children
The time the people used to treat the neighbor like a fellow man
And all their singin and big prayer meetins
When a man was proud to walk up and shake his neighbors hand
Oh you talk about the good times,
Talk about the good times
Oh if you ever needed help a friend was there
Some good neighbor
Help lift your burden
Mmm, and the simple joys of life a friend would share
Times are harder and the people are changin
Now most folks couldnt tell you who their neighbors are
All their guns are loaded, the front doors are bolted
Aint this ol world takin hate and fear just a little too far
Oh you talk about the good times,
Talk about the good times
I wish I could go back to the days Im speakin of
When a friend would meet you
And a smile would greet you
What this ol world needs now is a little old fashioned love
My granddaddy God rest his soul now
Well we had a big long talk together the day he died
Said son this world is full of hate and venom
An I cant wait to leave this ol place and rest on the other side
Oh you talk about the good times, talk about the good times
Talk about the good times
Im gonna see all the friends I knew in the good ol days
Well have a big hand shakin
An sit and talk together
Sit down by the river jordan and sing our blues away
Oh you talk about the good times, talk about the good times
Talk about the good times
Im gonna see all the friends I knew in the good ol days
Well have a big hand shakin
An sit and talk together
Sit down by the river jordan and sing our blues away
Oh you talk about the good times, talk about the good times
Talk about the good times
Im gonna see all the friends I knew in the good ol days
Well have a big hand shakin
An sit and talk together
Sit down by the river jordan and sing our blues away
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Round Table
we have this round table
and we put all our hands
on it when we eat and
drink and just talk for
hours and hours and
listen. And we ask what
is happening: Karding
broke a leg and Delia
is looking for the money.
Always it is the money.
Always she is short of
the money. And there
were jewelries hanging
on her neck and arms
and fingers, and we all
ask at this round table:
what is happening?
Nothing, don't mind at
all, this is just a part of
the round table, some
wine glass that broke
and must be swept at
once. We keep away the
sound of a crying pig.
We eat pigs here at this
round table. Then we shifted
the talk about our dead
parents. We pray. We
remember we keep on
saying this. We finish eating
the pig. We drink a very
cold water. Our throats
are irritated and we step
out of the room wanting
to pull away our tongues.
when we come back the
round table is empty.
and we laugh about a
joke that we remember.
our childhood games
the river, and the boat
that father made for us.
we turn off the tv and we
begin to talk about the
beautiful flowers in mother's
old garden, the secret one.
we agree. we miss it.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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God Servant
temple free
god was waiting
for is servant
servant was
not come
god also sad...
servant will bee comes
good happy...
why...?
god only no
i don't no
YOU no...
tell me to god
and me...
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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If There Are Lessons In Life
there's gotta be a curriculum too
and a teacher and a student
and other roles as well
I guess
such as
the principle
the monitor
and the board of sages
and education
and titles of trust
I'm sure there are all these
and much more
but it's simply NOT it
it's not it
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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