An Instructor's Dream
Many decades after graduation
the students sneak back onto
the school-grounds at night
and within the pane-lit windows
catch me their teacher at the desk
or blackboard cradling a chalk:
someone has erased their youth,
and as they crouch closer to see
more it grows darker and quieter
than they have known in their lives,
the lesson never learned surrounds
them; why have they come? Is
there any more to memorize now
at the end than there was then"
What is it they peer at through shades
of time to hear, X times X repeated,
my vain efforts to corner a room's
snickers? Do they mock me? Forever?
Out there my past has risen in
the eyes of all my former pupils but
I wonder if behind them others
younger and younger stretch away
to a world where dawn will never
ring its end, its commencement bell.
poem by Bill Knott
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Related quotes
And I promise to reserve a seat for my lonesome Master
Still I am going to school and nobody sits in the class.
Peeled walls look so sad like an old fresco
And I think of my old friends.
A piece of chalk and the duster
Still remain in a corner on the rack below the blackboard.
Some letters were missing in the old essays but readable.
Before I step down I hear the echoes of music teacher's melancholy voice
And I never thought a chalk could speak like a parrot.
'Hey! Master I watched your regrets and I want to tell you that some of your friends already stuck in a home for the elders.
Your favorite teacher was retired and she collects her last pension it seems.
But it's glad to see still you look as a student's charisma with your old haversack.
Please come another day after the refurbishment of the school
Then you could see the new students and teachers
And I promise to reserve a seat for my lonesome Master.'
* To Sandra Fowler in gratitude.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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A Piece of Chalk (Children's Poem)
Chalk is happiest when the teachers come to him
Because he can chat about all sorts of subjects
Such as astronomy, geography, science and art
Chalk knows whatever you want to know
Chalk doesn’t like to do just one thing
When he is called on by the teacher
And he needs to follow the teacher’s orders
So Chalk hits the students chatting in class
To give them a big shock and stop their talking
Chalk hopes the seed of wisdom grows in students’ minds
And they can improve their studying a lot
If students want to learn about everything from Chalk
Even though every moment he becomes thinner and smaller
At the cost of his life
He still enjoys his work
And The Teacher Goes Out!
He sits alone; they think he is dull,
In the last desk of the class; he paints
a world of his own-a teacher enters!
His eyes brighten once again, a sheer
hope of determination brings back the
glee as the pupils change their color
from the former noisy bees to submissive
sloths. Once again he hopes the teacher
will look at him, will advise or appreciate
like he glorifies the star pupils.
The teacher stands, there is a bewildering
silence, he turns the pages as he moves
forward, waves of joy arise in the heart
of the urchin for he has waited all these
days to be loved, to be cared and granted
like the other pupils. A question is posed
and the clever ones shout in a hundred
thunders, amidst which his answer is lost
just like the ripples which arise and vanish
quickly. The bell rings and without a single
glimpse into the eyes of the urchin, the
teacher goes out! !
poem by Saket Suman
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Pledge No Longer
after watching films like "The Killing Fields, "
"Apocalypse Now, " "Full Metal Jacket" &
beginning to think long and hard about what
his country had really been doing in Vietnam, Cambodia & Laos,
this high school senior refuses in early morning
home room
to stand up & say
The Pledge of Allegiance
to the flag hanging from the corner of the wall,
where all his classmates, holding their hands over their hearts
mutter along the words that they have repeated
day in & day out,
since they can remember-
his homeroom teacher takes him aside when the rest sit down &
he is told that he needs to say the pledge just like the rest of the kids,
but he sits there staring up at the teacher with
fierce eyes that the teacher sees other classmates already being inspired by at that very moment,
and he utters simply,
"i'm not pledging any longer."
poem by Andrew Delapruch
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Hik-Tee-Dik!
THE WAR-CRY OF BILLY AND BUDDY
When two little boys--renowned but for noise--
Hik-tee-dik! Billy and Buddy!--
May hurt a whole school, and the head it employs,
Hik-tee-dik! Billy and Buddy!
Such loud and hilarious pupils indeed
Need learning--and yet something further they need,
Though fond hearts that love them may sorrow and bleed.
Hik-tee-dik! Billy and Buddy!
O the schoolmarm was cool, and in no wise a fool;
Hik-tee-dik! Billy and Buddy!
And in ruling her ranks it was _her_ rule to _rule_;
Hik-tee-dik! Billy and Buddy!
So when these two pupils conspired, every day,
Some mad piece of mischief, with whoop and hoo-ray,
That hurt yet defied her,--how happy were they!--
Hik-tee-dik! Billy and Buddy!
At the ring of the bell they 'd rush in with a yell--
Hik-tee-dik! Billy and Buddy!
And they'd bang the school-door till the plastering fell,
Hik-tee-dik! Billy and Buddy!
They'd clinch as they came, and pretend not to see
As they knocked her desk over--then, _My!_ and _O-me!_
How awfully sorry they'd both seem to be!
Hik-tee-dik! Billy and Buddy!
This trick seemed so neat and so safe a conceit,--
Hik-tee-dik! Billy and Buddy!--
They played it three times--though the third they were beat;
Hik-tee-dik! Billy and Buddy!
For the teacher, she righted her desk--raised the lid
And folded and packed away each little kid--
Closed the incident so--yes, and locked it, she did--
Hik-tee-dik! Billy and Buddy!
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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For The First Time
For the first time
(kenny chesney/phil vassar)
Theres something sacred when your 17
bout a football jacket and a high school ring
And it sure looked nice when you wore mine
That late october at the homecoming dance
We slipped outside and we took a chance
In the middle of the night it sure felt right
We let go right then and there
We were loved and we were scared
For the first time
Lovin blind we dove right in
For the first
We gave everything and then
Graduation came
And our dreams called our names
With broken hearts we moved on with our lives
For the first time
Well I heard the other day
Youre a sunday school teacher
Got the pta, got a real good life
Youre a real good wife
Im living in this circus world
No I aint married but I got a girl
And Im her man and were making plans
But I still smile when I think of us
Together we learned how to love
For the first time
Lovin blind we dove right in
For the first
We gave everything and then
Graduation came
And our dreams called our names
With broken hearts we moved on with our lives
For the first time
Graduation came
And our dreams called our names
With broken hearts we moved on with our lives
For the first time
For the first time
Lovin blind we dove right in
For the first time
We gave everything and then
For the first time
We moved on with our lives
For the first time
song performed by by Kenny Chesney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Night School in lower depths
The drug addict teacher comes with pornography
And sits on a desk half drunk.
'Hey! You idiot clean the black board.
The idiot stumbles with the matured students his equals
Quarters, Dimes, Nickels and pennies
And he cleans it seems..
Then the teacher asked him to write a sad but a correct sentence.
'No chalk.'
'Then bring it soon.'
He went to the next door pub and had a gulp of cheap liquor returned with a piece of chalk.
He writes; I skipped my golden school days and went for movies, ran behind the stars to get their signatures.
Now I learn from my mistakes
How to sign myself.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Sonnet: A Teacher
I loved to be a Medical-Teacher;
My Teacher Father was my role model;
His scholarliness was his great feature;
His greatness words can never truly tell.
A Teacher tells whatever, he has known;
And moulds the conduct, character of wards;
He guides his pupils like his very own;
And expects never earthly just rewards.
A Teacher stays a Teacher forever;
None can replace his place uniquely held;
His students must be brighter and clever,
And when that happens, he is much reveled.
The students imbibe Teacher's noble thought;
To hand the same to progeny, they ought.
poem by John Celes
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The Perfect school
THE PERFECT SCHOOL
A place where a student worships his teacher as a god,
The heads of the children before their teacher nod.
The place is the school where teachers give education,
It’s a school where there is afforestation.
A school that has all the beauties,
Is a perfect school whose students have all the qualities.
A school whose students will become president and magic vista,
A school whose students will become Rabindranath Tagore and Mother Teresa.
The Perfect School is a school whose trees will always be uploaded with fruits of joy, success and happiness,
A school whose students will never have a future of darkness.
That school will conquer the world,
In that school, music will be sung by birds.
CONTRIBUTED BY:
Gautam Kumar Sharma
poem by Gautam Sharma
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Physical Science
(after Antjie Krog)
Right at the front at the big old green board
the teacher waits with a strong wooden cane
while pretty girls peep at me
and here I am alone in my wooden bench,
where just here I can die in my chair
when the teacher starts to wander around
while the lesson drags on and on
and he is causing great fear among the pupils
before a crooked old finger points at me,
I see scientific formulae in chalk,
how that teacher throws down the board-eraser,
and gives me a hiding until I get all the answers right;
sometimes I wonder from where he comes,
and see the most devious fiend only in him.
[Reference: "Wiskunde" (Mathematics) by Antjie Krog.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Courage
Today I opened wide my eyes,
And stared with wonder and surprise,
To see beneath November skies
An apple blossom peer;
Upon a branch as bleak as night
It gleamed exultant on my sight,
A fairy beacon burning bright
Of hope and cheer.
"Alas!" said I, "poor foolish thing,
Have you mistaken this for Spring?
Behold, the thrush has taken wing,
And Winter's near."
Serene it seemed to lift its head:
"The Winter's wrath I do not dread,
Because I am," it proudly said,
"A Pioneer.
"Some apple blossom must be first,
With beauty's urgency to burst
Into a world for joy athirst,
And so I dare;
And I shall see what none shall see -
December skies gloom over me,
And mock them with my April glee,
And fearless fare.
"And I shall hear what none shall hear -
The hardy robin piping clear,
The Storm King gallop dark and drear
Across the sky;
And I shall know what none shall know -
The silent kisses of the snow,
The Christmas candles' silver glow,
Before I die.
"Then from your frost-gemmed window pane
One morning you will look in vain,
My smile of delicate disdain
No more to see;
But though I pass before my time,
And perish in the grale and grime,
Maybe you'll have a little rhyme
To spare for me."
poem by Robert William Service
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In This Moment
Light is dim
Although in this moment
Light is not a welcome entity-
My mind wants to hide itself
Within the darkness of
This very early summer morning-
In this moment, I foresee no serenity and
I hear voices screaming while
In the fortress of this room
I know I am the only one present.
If only my bed, here where I lay, were a ship, I would journey years backward
To the place I lived in at all times many decades ago-
Now I know that land was non existent, even though
At the time it was my only reality.
In this moment, my only reality is within this room
Where the light is dim and
Outside this window, where the shades are pulled halfway down,
A world surrounds me-a world I cannot call my home.
Here within the place of my thoughts,
There exists a sea cobalt blue in its hue
A sea of tranquility, although it seems as if
All tranquility has just been shattered-
Even though the voices I hear screaming are terrifying and unreal-
The voice of reality is dimmer.
Threatening voices and this bed in which I lie is a boat
Now in the midst of a storm at sea, and although
I can foresee no destiny-here where I lie resting,
All is familiar to me while the real world outside is foreign, and
A threat to my existence.
So here in this moment, I close my eyes to all that I fear and I know that momentarily
I shall drift off to sleep and dream of the past-
Where I lived inside my own world of bliss and harmony-
Here In this very moment where the light of reality is dim,
My eyes are closed and I am sailing upon my magical ship,
Back to the time where fantasy brought me only peace of mind
Unaware of the day I would awaken alive in a planet they call "Earth"
Where my imaginary ship would overturn and I would find myself
Drowning in a sea of madness where there exists no recourse to fear,
In this moment where light has never been dimmer…
poem by Claudia Krizay
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Celebrate Youth
Celebrate Youth
by H-Blockx
Album: No Excuses
I can see the older man
Looking at the younger man
I can see the younger man
Looking at the boy
Over there the older woman
Looking at the younger woman
I can see the younger woman
Looking at the girl
'Cause every man sees
In the younger man the hope
Every woman sees
In the younger girl the dream
Everybody lives
The pride and passion of the young
From the womb to the tomb
We will remember what it means
Refrain:
So celebrate youth - celebrate
Those who have it - young ones
Celebrate youth - celebrate
Give them sight
The future of the world's in the -celebrate
Hands of children - young ones
So celebrate youth - celebrate
Teach them right
Looking in a child's face
There's no pride and no disgrace
There's no struggle there's no fight
I can see the older man
And sometimes in the older man
I still see the young boy
Burning in his eye
And locked up here inside our spirit
Is the child that we are, hear it
Some of us will always fear it
And some will heed the cry
'Cause every man sees
In the younger man the hope
Every woman sees
In the younger girl the dream
Everybody lives
The pride and passion of the young
From the womb to the tomb
We will remember what it means
Refrain:
So celebrate youth - celebrate
Those who have it - young ones
Celebrate youth - celebrate
Give them sight
The future of the world's in the -celebrate
Hands of children - young ones
So celebrate youth - celebrate
Teach them right
Looking in a child's face
There's no pride and no disgrace
There's no struggle, there's no fight
Fight like a youth brigade
Tear down your baricades
I know fear's a blade
Time's up, another decade
Fight to be free indeed
Wrap up the things you need
Imaturity
Celebrates the youth in me
Looking in a child's eye
There's no hate and there's no lie
There's no black and there's no white
Refrain:
So celebrate youth - celebrate
Those who have it - young ones
Celebrate youth - celebrate
Give them sight
The future of the world's in the -celebrate
Hands of children - young ones
So celebrate youth - celebrate
Teach them right
Looking in a child's eye
There's no hate and there's no lie
There's no black and there's no white
song performed by by H-BlockX
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ring the Bell, Watchman!
High is the belfry the old sexton stands,
Grasping the rope with his thin bony hands;
Fix'd is his gaze, as by some magic spell,
Till he hears the distant murmmer,
Ring, ring the bell.
"Ring the bell, watchman! ring! ring! ring!
Yes, yes! the good news is now on the wing;
Yes, yes! they come, and with tidings to tell --
Glorious and blessed tidings --
Ring, ring the bell!"
Baring his long silver locks to the breeze,
First for a moment he drops on his knees;
Then with a rigor that few could excel,
Answers the welcome bidding,
Ring, ring the bell.
Hear! from the hilltop, the first signal gun
Thunders the word that some great deed is done;
Hear! thru' the valley the long echoes swell,
Ever and anon repeating,
Ring, ring the bell.
Bonfires are blazing and rockets ascend --
No meager triumphs such tokens portend;
Shout, shout! my brothers, for "all, all is well!"
'Tis the universal chorus,
Ring, ring the bell.
poem by Henry Clay Work
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Younger Girls
Words and music by robin zander and rick nielsen
Try to bend me, try to shake me
Try and turn my head around
Oh try to change me, rearrange me
I think you know about the boy you found
A fantasy like this is hit and run
Younger girls
Oh how i love those younger girls
Younger girls
Oh how i love those younger girls
I had a dream about girls like you
You said call us, you'll get two
One for your money, two for the show
I'll give you something more
I know,i know,i know,i know
It's hard enough to make you wanna cry
Younger girls
Oh how i love those younger girls
Younger girls
Oh how i love those younger girls
It's hard enough to make you wanna cry
And it drives me out of my mind
I'm in love with you, baby
My poor innocent baby
Don't you say maybe
Younger girls
Oh how i love those younger girls
Younger girls
Oh how i love those younger girls
Feels so good, let me in
I might jump right out of my skin
Don't you ever grow up little girl
Sweet young thing, not so innocent
Younger girls
Oh how i love those younger girls
Younger girls
Oh how i love those younger girls
(repeat to coda)
song performed by by Cheap Trick
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Civil Wars I
Old Ha made his own ice lollies:
Orange and juicy, tuppence each.
Two massive sucks and they were gone;
he always kept them out of reach.
The roads were made from different stuff back then.
Oozing tar would puddle up and bubble
for bare feet and fingers to leave prints in,
and tarry digits always meant trouble.
A brand new school was being built,
Jones's mill was about to fold,
the last of the steam trains were gone
and peace was just eighteen years old.
Broadwood road had an old ford car on bricks.
Douglas Road just one red mini on wheels.
Peter Styvesant cigarettes were cool,
and you could eat milky ways between meals.
New Persil nineteen sixty two
had nothing on Omo or Daz
and Mentadent and Steradent,
kept our teeth looking less than flash.
Local wars were civil enough,
breaking out like a sudden spark
that flared, and died away as fast
at school, at home, or in the park.
It wasn't a park though, in sixty three.
The Martins lived on it in a tin hut.
There was a bank in the middle of it
and a patch of grass that the locals cut.
It doubled as the "football ground"
with a pavilion minus walls
and windows, and no roof or door.
From time to time there were no balls,
but when there was, football was a hard game;
blowners then were as heavy as a head -
ev'ry high ball a life or death affair -
just one header and it was straight to bed.
Us wee boys built our bonfire there,
right in the middle of the pitch,
and all the wood we gathered up
the big boys burned before the fifth.
The old school in the woods would soon be closed;
seven classes, one teacher; it was tough,
ducking wooden dusters and blocks of chalk.
She taught us all she could, even the duff
pupils amongst us learned more than enough
for the simpler lives that old world allowed.
Wilson's "white heat" would soon be turning up,
but we were still miles from the madding crowd.
29 12 11
Doppelganger
Miss Damson
was a doppelganger
for Bette Davis
right down
to the look
and eyes
and swagger
into the classroom
to teach
and it was said
that sometimes
she‘d go into
the cupboard
and have a drag
on a smoke
and if any kid
spoke out of turn
she’d give a stare
to make his or her soul
seemingly burn
but you saw
the way she could bring
silence to a room
when she entered
or bring a shudder
of fear
into the hearts
of the classroom braggers
and when she drew chalk
across the blackboard
it’d set teeth on edge
or threw chalk
or the blackboard wiper
at any kid stupid
or brave enough
to open their mouths
and the way she wrote
upon the board
her back to the class
that firm ass
and with that neat script
her fingers tight
around the chalk
as if around
the throat of any kid
who dared to talk
and you
she’d say
you at the back
you with the dumb look
don’t stare
out of the window
open the darn book
or hey you
girl with the bangs
don’t sit there
with your mouth open
or you’ll catch flies
and there’d be
an underground snigger
from others
or just dumb looks
anywhere
but at Miss Damson
even stuck between
pages of boring books.
poem by Terry Collett
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O Brother, Why Thou You Are Older
O Brother, why thou you are older than me?
Why you stole my thunder at home with your poetry that you took from me?
I know your brutal past and I am eaisly hurt,
thanks those poems you keep on reading and it
is making me sick in the inside.
Why do I have to be the one
considered not what problems you and our younger brother have?
Why I am stuck bewteen the two?
Why do I have to live everyday with you?
Sometimes I want you to leave but I can not do that
Sometimes I want the lead of my blood to get out so I do not be agressive any more
but it is too late. I can not take it out.
You are older than me but we all have to learn something.
Can you take your time and breathe
before we learn how to jump the gun and shoot our lives away?
The good times we had is no longer here
so I wonder when a shooting star fall so I can wish
for happy times back again instead of me being sad
and lonely
Even you are pushy with friends, you are a good one
do not kill thyself
because your mama and papa needs you for you are their son
who is gifted in so many things...
your younger brother Michael needs a role model because to him you are a friend and friendly...you also want to take people's problems and want to help
and for me, your younger brother #1, I need you because you may not be the brother I wanted
but you are the one I got and I am very happy that books are not your strength and sports are yours so we can show our younger brother the diverse of cultures.
poem by Jose Pablo Zaragoza
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The Old School House At Ruby
In old school house yard at Ruby a dark brown shorthorn cow
And leghorn pullets cackling beneath the cypress bough
This school must hold good memories and memories live somehow
Here in their lunch hour children played but where are those children now? .
The old school room now a tea room has undergone some change
And if past pupil came back here he'd find the place quite strange
Where is the desk he sat at? the blackboard is not there
And time has brought change to Ruby as it has done elsewhere.
The old school house at Ruby a memory of past years
Here Ruby children sang and laughed and shed their fledgeling tears
And do those children of Ruby who now live far away
In dreams return to old school house and Ruby childhood day? .
The old school house at Ruby a memory of the past
And time has brought about some change and time bring change too fast
This school must hold good memories and memories live somehow
Here in their lunch hour children played but where are those children now? .
poem by Francis Duggan
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Back To School.
Back to school, my mind in good mood. My head enroute for good friuts. Back to school, yes I'm back for good. Don't be a fool dear, it's not just a virtual school of paper-books, it's a school of the mind, a school of thinking. Oh yes! My own school of thought. Every day is schooling, where you are is your lecture room, Life its' self is the teacher. School closes when we close our eyes, either in sleep or in SLEEP. Which ever way it closes, it yet continues on the other side. For there, we shall learn all that we failed while still LIFE's pupils.
poem by Darlington Chukwunyere
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