I was encouraged to read aloud in class and vocalize.
quote by Bob Edwards
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The three bad fools
Every fortnight report shows
Wisdom is the last in the class.
One day the English Teacher asked pupils to write an Essay
using the word 'fool'.
Then after sometimes Teacher noticed that Wisdom has finished first.
'Wisdom read aloud your Essay to the class.'
He stretches his story; When my father was drunk
He shouts along the road and Mom drags him home.
He mutters like a sick man;
'There are three fools I dream always,
A Prime Minister of a remote country, Landlord and our Son.'
Then Mom argues; 'Not three dear and what about you? '
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Prosody?
Prosody:
it’s about - it means - what poetry does,
and how. I guess..
In Greek, it just means ‘tune’. That
should give a clue. In Latin,
the word they used meant
‘song added to speech’.
So ‘poetry’ is pretty well
indefinable. It’s – well—
whatever it means to you.
And how the hell it does that. There
are rules but,
it finds its own. For
one thing above all
really matters: poetry is
what it does. What it does. If
it doesn't do anything for you
that's it. No theories –
just that. Be glad.
Aristotle tried to help
with his ‘Poetics’. Good on drama.
But poetry? Let’s fast forward to
Ezra Pound: poetry’s function is, he said,
‘to charge words with meaning
to the utmost possible degree’.
Now put all this together and
I believe it’s saying,
poetry’s not - never was -
shouldn’t be - couldn’t be -
just words on the page, like this, but, it's
me saying them to you, strongly, here and now,
charging them with meaning
to the utmost possible degree..
So if your child comes home with
as homework, ‘Analyse this poem by..’
- Angelou, Silverstein, Neruda,
Hughes of both hues black and white,
Milligan, Budowski, Pralutsky –
tell them, go back tomorrow and say
politely, ‘Teach, Dad’s a practising poet and
he says, why not have a class comp in
reading that poem aloud, and who
makes most sense of it and keeps us
listening down to the
tips of our toes; and by the time
we’ve all had a go and decided
who’s the best, we’ll remember it
for the rest of our lives and maybe, Teach,
not need to ‘analyse’ it much and
only after that? '
So here’s to the next poem
that you read aloud, or write to read aloud,
charging it with meaning
to the utmost possible degree.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Class has a sense of humor. It knows that a good laugh is the best lubricant for oiling the machinery of human relations. Class never makes excuses. It takes its lumps and learns from past mistakes. Class bespeaks an aristocracy unrelated to ancestors or money. Some extremely wealthy people have no class at all, while others who are struggling to make ends meet are loaded with it. Class is real. You can't fake it. Class never tries to build itself up by tearing others down. Class is already up and need not attempt to look better by making others look worse. Everyone is comfortable with the person who has class because he is comfortable with himself. If you have class, you've got it made. If you don't have class, no matter what else you have, it won't make up for it.
quote by Ann Landers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Today, in class,
Today, in class,
I read aloud to forty little boys
The legend of King Croesus' boasted joys.
They were so young,
Restless, and eager, I believed they'd find
This moral story little to their mind.
But they were pleased
With the old legend, quick to comprehend
Sorrowful wisdom's triumph at the end:
They seemed to feel,
In hush of wonder, hurry of amaze,
The sure uncertainty of all men's days.
poem by Lesbia Harford
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Sonnet V: If I should learn
If I should learn, in some quite casual way,
That you were gone, not to return again--
Read from the back-page of a paper, say,
Held by a neighbor in a subway train,
How at the corner of this avenue
And such a street (so are the papers filled)
A hurrying man--who happened to be you--
At noon to-day had happened to be killed,
I should not cry aloud--I could not cry
Aloud, or wring my hands in such a place--
I should but watch the station lights rush by
With a more careful interest on my face,
Or raise my eyes and read with greater care
Where to store furs and how to treat the hair.
poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay
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The Stanford prison experiment came out of class exercises in which I encouraged students to understand the dynamics of prison life.
quote by Philip Zimbardo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If I Should Learn, In Some Quite Casual Way
IF I should learn, in some quite casual way,
That you were gone, not to return again—
Read from the back-page of a paper, say,
Held by a neighbor in a subway train,
How at the corner of this avenue
And such a street (so are the papers filled)
A hurrying man—who happened to be you—
At noon to-day had happened to be killed,
I should not cry aloud—I could not cry
Aloud, or wring my hands in such a place—
I should but watch the station lights rush by
With a more careful interest on my face,
Or raise my eyes and read with greater care
Where to store furs and how to treat the hair.
poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay
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Sonnet 05: If I Should Learn, In Some Quite Casual Way
If I should learn, in some quite casual way,
That you were gone, not to return again—
Read from the back-page of a paper, say,
Held by a neighbor in a subway train,
How at the corner of this avenue
And such a street (so are the papers filled)
A hurrying man—who happened to be you—
At noon to-day had happened to be killed,
I should not cry aloud—I could not cry
Aloud, or wring my hands in such a place—
I should but watch the station lights rush by
With a more careful interest on my face,
Or raise my eyes and read with greater care
Where to store furs and how to treat the hair.
poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay
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I shall call the class, Heaven
'A class is not just a class
A class is like a temple.'
'Such as the God lives in temple
Same way the students lives in the class
Both are with the shiny face and broad smile.'
'A class is like a flower
That blooms with the light of the students.'
'A class is like a nursery
In which every type of flower planted.'
'In this way the class is a heaven
If we see it with our soul eyes
If we feel it
then we will find us
In the presence of God
And that is our respected Teachers.'
poem by Mahaveer Kumawat
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Johnny Came Marching Home
A book written by Dalton Trumbo
was assigned as class reading
one summer session-
much of it read aloud
by the teacher.
A sweltering classroom
windows open
to summer sun
and sharp
crack of bat-
high school athletes
in full vigor,
running bases
and catching
pop flies!
Perhaps it was the teacher's
voice that involved us
as we identified with
the young soldier's
plight.
Whatever it was worked!
*I can't hear. My left arm!
I wonder what they've done with it!
He had no arms and no legs.
He was blind. It wasn't a dream.
Jesus, Joe there must be some other way! *
All the time the teacher read
we could hear the players
outside chattering away
as they ran and scored runs!
Dust motes in afternoon sunlight
seemed alive.
Then the bell rang
and we sat stunned
Our summer was almost over!
poem by Michael Pruchnicki
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My older sister encouraged me from early on and bought me one of the first guitars I had. She listened to all of the crappy songs that I wrote when I was 8 years old and encouraged me to keep doing it.
quote by Tracy Chapman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We appropriately compared the lifestyle to that of drug addiction and alcoholism - lifestyles that one would be encouraged to seek help to leave - never encouraged to stay in.
quote by Stephen Bennett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Will Live as Long as The Sun
In the basement
back by the sliding door
there is a cabinet full of notebooks
don't waste time on a funeral
say a prayer if it helps you
and read my notebooks if you wish to honor me
you are all in there, believe me
when I am in the ground
don't stand and sob at my stone
read my words aloud
read them because I didn't have the courage to
don't speak of my sad fate
you will have me forever
I am in those books
I will live as long as the sun
If you so choose
poem by Stephen Martin II
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My class
My class is a funny class
When the teacher is not in
Our class is a circus
That will conquer the school
We have acrobats
We have clowns
and we even have elephants
My class is a noisy class
When the teacher is not in
Our class is a market
That will conquer the school
We have hawkers
We have fruiterers
and we even have butchers
No matter what
A circus or a market
We enjoy our class
When the teacher is not in
poem by Sarah Ally
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Class of 08
The class of 08 is the best
The class of 08 is above the rest
The class of 08 passed all there test so
The class of 08 will graduate!
poem by Kamilah Samuels
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Religion can make it worse. Are you supposing that if people were encouraged to believe in a transcendent reality, and to be encouraged by grand rituals and music and preaching, to love their neighbors, then they would put jealousy and frustration aside?
quote by Mary Douglas
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One Summer Afternoon
A book written by Dalton Trumbo
was assigned as class reading
one summer session
much of it read aloud
by the teacher
sweltering classroom
windows open
summer sun
sharp crack
of bat
high school athletes
in full vigor
running bases
and catching
fly balls
Perhaps it was the teacher's reading
that drew us into the story and involved
us in the narrator's plight - whatever
it was worked
*I can't hear. My left arm. I wonder what
they've done with it!
No legs you see. No more running walking
crawling if you have no legs. He had
no arms and no legs.
He was blind. It wasn't a dream.
He thought Jesus Joe there must
be some other way.*
All the time the teacher read
we could hear the players
outside chattering away
shouts as a run scored
dust motes in the afternoon
sunlight seemed alive
Then the bell rang
and we sat stunned
Our summer was almost over
poem by Michael Pruchnicki
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After Auschwitz
Anger,
as black as a hook,
overtakes me.
Each day,
each Nazi
took, at 8: 00 A.M., a baby
and sauteed him for breakfast
in his frying pan.
And death looks on with a casual eye
and picks at the dirt under his fingernail.
Man is evil,
I say aloud.
Man is a flower
that should be burnt,
I say aloud.
Man
is a bird full of mud,
I say aloud.
And death looks on with a casual eye
and scratches his anus.
Man with his small pink toes,
with his miraculous fingers
is not a temple
but an outhouse,
I say aloud.
Let man never again raise his teacup.
Let man never again write a book.
Let man never again put on his shoe.
Let man never again raise his eyes,
on a soft July night.
Never. Never. Never. Never. Never.
I say those things aloud.
I beg the Lord not to hear.
poem by Anne Sexton
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Smiled Smiles to be a Villain
When I saw you for the first time,
You gave me a coy smile that stole
my heart and made it marvel at wonders.
When I sought to enlighten me
with the phone of long, rounded, back vowel,
the professor spat at me blood;
but sunny smiles you drizzled over me.
WhenI read aloud the lines of Shelley in the class,
You let free from your wont lips
winsome smiles from the back
to give thrills to excite me.
When I sent you some sonnets of my madness,
you laid them on the table of the Director.
Tell me Smiley, why you smiled smiles
and then be a villain to probe the author
of the effulgent expanse of love?
----------
poem by Rajendran Muthiah
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Everything vanishes so soon.
Jawahar Lal Nehru, a world class leader.
The Discovery of I ndia, a world class work.
Even now his dynasty rules India.
Barely have five decades passed.
Out of shelf, out of print, the book was forgotten.
It is doubtful if his great grandson has read it.
You and I write for the posterity.
26.09.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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