Let schoolmasters puzzle their brain, With grammar, and nonsense, and learning, Good liquor, I stoutly maintain, Gives genius a better discerning.
quote by Oliver Goldsmith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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From 'She Stoops to Conquer' A Song
Let school-masters puzzle their brain,
With grammar, and nonsense, and learning;
Good liquor, I stoutly maintain,
Gives 'genus' a better discerning.
Let them brag of their heathenish gods,
Their Lethes, their Styxes, and Stygians:
Their Quis, and their Quaes, and their Quods,
They're all but a parcel of Pigeons.
Toroddle, toroddle, toroll.
When Methodist preachers come down
A-preaching that drinking is sinful,
I'll wager the rascals a crown
They always preach best with a skinful.
But when you come down with your pence,
For a slice of their scurvy religion,
I'll leave it to all men of sense,
But you, my good friend, are the pigeon.
Toroddle, toroddle, toroll.
Then come, put the jorum about,
And let us be merry and clever;
Our hearts and our liquors are stout;
Here's the Three Jolly Pigeons for ever.
Let some cry up woodcock or hare,
Your bustards, your ducks, and your widgeons;
But of all the birds in the air,
Here's a health to the Three Jolly Pigeons.
Toroddle, toroddle, toroll.
poem by Oliver Goldsmith
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The Puzzle
friends are like a puzzle
fitting together in so many ways
sometimes it seems like a piece is missing
sometimes it seems like everythings just right
sometimes it seems like things are falling apart
friendship like a puzzle is hard to figure out
sometimes puzzle pieces disappear
and sometimes they never come back
so my puzzle, your puzzle, our puzzle must be completed
there is only one thing that can complete the puzzle
a piece of every friends heart
our puzzle is what holds us together
my puzzle is complete
all friends are happy
all hearts are here
the friendship puzzle is complete
poem by by unknown author
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The Bison
The Bison is vain, and (I write it with pain)
The Door-mat you see on his head
Is not, as some learned professors maintain,
The opulent growth of a genius’ brain;
But is sewn on with needle and thread.
poem by Hilaire Belloc
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One good father can do more than 100 schoolmasters.
A Cinquain
Poser
A difficult question
to judge brain potency
brain racking experience
puzzle.
poem by Tribhawan Kaul
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Sonnet 63: Oh Grammar Rules
Oh grammar rules, oh now your virtues show
So children still read you with awefull eyes,
As my young dove may in your precepts wise
Her grant to me, by her own virtue know.
For late, with heart most high, with eyes most low,
I crav'd the thing which ever she denies:
She, lightning Love, displaying Venus' skies,
Lest once should not be heard, twice said, 'No, No.'
Sing then, my Muse, now Io Paean sing,
Heav'n's envy not at my high triumphing:
But grammar's force with sweet success confirm:
For grammar says (oh this, dear Stella, weigh,)
For grammar says (to grammar who says nay?)
That in one speech two negatives affirm.
poem by Philip Sidney
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Learning
I'm learning to say thank you.
And I'm learning to say please.
And I'm learning to use Kleenex,
Not my sweater, when I sneeze.
And I'm learning not to dribble.
And I'm learning not to slurp.
And I'm learning (though it sometimes really hurts me)
Not to burp.
And I'm learning to chew softer
When I eat corn on the cob.
And I'm learning that it's much
Much easier to be a slob.
poem by Judith Viorst
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Lessons Learned Too Late
All his life he studied his books
and learned all kinds of facts.
He buried his nose and rubbed his eyes
never noticing the way the world acts.
He graduated at the top of his class
and the world was his to own.
He landed a job in which you use your brain.
'A Genius' was how he was known.
Along came destiny and took him by surprise.
His head started pounding
and he lost the sight in both eyes.
His memory was failing
and the facts he once knew
all became distant.
They were all through.
All his life his eyes had been weary
and they never took time to see
that life is more than learning facts.
It's about learning how to be
a complete human being.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Ninja Shuriken
Now the time
is come. For us
ninja to fight.
Just because the Samurai
are strong, doesn't mean we're not
Stronger. Ninja are fast and sneaky. We
have abilities that would blow your mind.
Unless of course, you know our ways. We are
real in every way. You just got to believe
in us. You got to
know, that we're strong. Stronger than the Samurai.
Enjoy watching the fight. For the
ninja has this battle won. Samurai will be defeated.
________________________________ __________
Authors Note: I know the grammar part for the now the time is come is wrong. Cuz is should be are and I'd prefer it that way but This is an acrostic poem and I couldn't think up a sentence for I to go along with the story, so I used wrong grammar for it. Trust me, I didn't want to do that but I did. Guess it's a good thing that grammar ain't all that important when it comes to poetry. That's what my teacher said and I believe her. She did go to college and Idc what anyone else says about my grammar on here. My teacher said grammar ain't that important when it comes to poetry/poems and so I'm gonna listen to her.
If you read down, it says ninja shuriken.
poem by Ninja Soul
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Written for my Son ... upon his Master's First Bringing in a Rod
OUR master, in a fatal hour,
Brought in this Rod, to shew his pow'r.
O dreadful birch ! O baleful tree !
Thou instrument of tyranny !
Thou deadly damp to youthful joys !
The sight of thee our peace destroys.
Not Damocles, with greater dread,
Beheld the weapon o'er his head.
That sage was surely more discerning,
Who taught to play us into learning,
By graving letters on the dice :
May heav'n reward the kind device,
And crown him with immortal fame,
Who taught at once to read and game !
Take my advice ; pursue that rule ;
You'll make a fortune by your school.
You'll soon have all the elder brothers,
And be the darling of the mothers.
O may I live to hail the day,
When boys shall go to school to play !
To grammar rules we'll bid defiance ;
For play will then become a science.
poem by Mary Barber
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Missing puzzle
They talk of the puzzle that has the missing piece,
But none mention the piece with the missing puzzle,
It's hard when there is nowhere to turn for release,
And searches for acceptance lead to refusal,
It pains me to hear puzzles constantly complain,
For the piece with a missing puzzle cries in vain,
They try to fit in places that they never can,
And end up with a life like that of a cursed man,
They can pretend they are another puzzle piece,
And then try forcing themselves into a puzzle,
But it will hurt them until they crave for release,
And acknowledge their prospective host's refusal,
They will surely be doomed to tiresomely roam,
In a vain search for a place that they can call home,
Till they declare themselves a puzzle of their own,
And then learn how to be content being alone.
poem by Christian Lacdael
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8th Grade Graduation
A puzzle together
a puzzle apart
each piece belongs to my heart
each piece is differant
each piece is great
But now they have to take on the long expected fate
They knew it would come
the day was here
the day they dreaded at the beginning of the year
The day they would be pulled apart
the whole would be broken
they knew it from the start
A piece here
and a piece there
how could life be so unfair
The beautiful picture the puzzle protrayed
is now forgotten
the pieces have strayed
They went away
fell beneath the wooden table
the puzzle would never again be stable
But that puzzle is forever in my heart
the memories of each piece
will never fall apart
-For my eighth grade class on graduation-
poem by Summer Song
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A leader is born; so is a genius.
Left brain thinks in linear way
It ploughs deep and narrow.
Right brain thinks in non-linear way.
It ploughs wide and shallow.
Either one is to dominate one.
The first scores in curriculum.
The other does in multi-fields.
The first ranks in I.Q.
The other ranks in personality.
A genius is not a born leader.
A leaser is not a genius.
People respect the left brainy
and suspect the right brainy
19.07.2001, Pkd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Poetry and the crossword puzzle
Poetry is like a crossword puzzle the right pieces must be in the right places to understand the meaning.
It can be very deceiving.
To the one who is over achieving
Still I'm only learning
In the eyes I'm seeing as I'm reading
Focus now and you'll start retrieving
Poetry is like a crossword puzzle the right pieces must be in the right places to understand the meaning.
It can be very deceiving.
To the one who is over achieving
Still I'm only learning
In the eyes I'm seeing as I'm reading
Focus now and you'll start retrieving
If I start bleeding you'll know why
I did just too much with my eye's
They have been compromised
Poetry is like a crossword puzzle the right pieces must be in the right places to understand the meaning.
It can be very deceiving.
To the one who is over achieving
Still I'm only learning
In the eyes I'm seeing as I'm reading
Focus now and you'll start retrieving
Poetry is like a crossword puzzle the right pieces must be in the right places to understand the meaning.
It can be very deceiving.
To the one who is over achieving
Still I'm only learning
In the eyes I'm seeing as I'm reading
Focus now and you'll start retrieving
If I start bleeding you'll know why
I did just too much with my eye's
They have been compromised
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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Abruptly Turned Off
When the pieces are forced to fit...
With a bothersome puzzle,
Now being resisted.
Become a wasted adventure.
Will those doing it ultimately discover...
For them this has been no benefit?
And all conflicts they have created,
Have finally come to an end.
While those of a higher consciousness,
Await patiently for the ones to lose what they've done.
With minds that are finding,
What they sought will not be won!
And,
All signs they ever had any consciousness...
Any at all,
That had existed...
Vanishes!
As if a switch...
That had enabled all of their nonsense,
Had abruptly turned them off.
To be out.
For good.
Never again,
To have them and their deeds turned back on.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Grammar is a piano I play by ear. All I know about grammar is its power.
quote by Joan Didion
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Face My Nemesis
Amid the office noise I am learning @
is called ‘arobase' - a quarter to three is
trois heures moins le quart, three minus a
quarter - enough to shut my brain down,
numbers have a deadly impact on me
Stop all synapses firing at once, I turn
into a dunce, stare vacantly at pages
of information I can't understand, why
should life be thus, as a mathematical
genius I could have been rich
In a universe that can be described in a
world famous mathematical equation
where E is energy, m mass, c the
speed of light, whatever it means -
everything is relative
And I must face my nemesis, numbers
expressed in French in a minefield of
arobases while telling time, I'm sinking
into the depths of my black hole brain,
information goes in - but never
Comes out again…
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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The Wisdom Of Eld
We spend our lives in learning pilotage,
And grow good steersmen when the vessel's crank!
Gap-toothed he spake, and with a tottering shank
Sidled to gain the sunny bench of Age.
It is the sentence which completes that stage;
A testament of wisdom reading blank.
The seniors of the race, on their last plank,
Pass mumbling it as nature's final page.
These, bent by such experience, are the band
Who captain young enthusiasts to maintain
What things we view, and Earth's decree withstand,
Lest dreaded Change, long dammed by dull decay,
Should bring the world a vessel steered by brain,
And ancients musical at close of day.
poem by George Meredith
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Grammar school never taught me anything about grammar.
quote by Isaac Goldberg
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To a Lady of Quality, Fitting Up Her Library
Ah! what is science, what is art,
Or what the pleasure these impart?
Ye trophies, which the learn'd pursue
Through endless, fruitless toils, adieu!
What can the tedious tomes bestow,
To soothe the miseries they show?
What like the bliss for him decreed,
Who tends his flock and tunes his reed?
Say, wretched Fancy! thus refined
From all that glads the simplest hind,
How rare that object which supplies
A charm for too discerning eyes!
The polish'd bard, of genius vain,
Endures a deeper sense of pain;
As each invading blast devours
The richest fruits, the fairest flowers.
Sages, with irksome waste of time,
The steep ascent of knowledge climb;
Then, from the towering heights they scale,
Behold contentment range-the vale.
Yet why, Asteria, tell us why
We scorn the crowd when you are nigh?
Why then does reason seem so fair,
Why learning, then, deserve our care?
Who can unpleased your shelves behold,
While you so fair a proof unfold,
What force the brightest genius draws
From polish'd wisdom's written laws?
Where are our humbler tenets flown?
What strange perfection bids us own
That Bliss with toilsome Science dwells,
And happiest he who most excels?
poem by William Shenstone
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