Gross stupidity
It was at a time
where you had
to wear a uniform to school,
had to cut your hair
to a predetermined length
and got caned
if you were naughty,
failed a test,
or sometimes
to let the teacher
enforce his will.
If you complained at home
about getting a hiding at school,
you would probably
get another there too
if you deserved it,
but if you were right,
were punished unfairly
or without a real cause
it was seen in a different light
and a teacher
or whoever the punisher was
would have to face
your father in a fight
and could easily
be hit into hospital.
School regulations stipulated
that you couldn’t receive
more than six whippings on a day,
but at Estcourt high school
on my first day
at the new school
in standard nine (now grade eleven)
I received twelve.
We were lining up
to go to the hall
and a prefect told me
to cut my hair
which were just a bit
longer than how
they wanted it.
I said that I would
and while we were walking
to the entrance of the hall
I was told the same thing
over and over again.
On the eighth time
I told the English prefect
in Afrikaans
not to catch the pip
which was a Afrikaans adage
for do not catch a fit.
He told me to repeat
what I had said,
which I did
and thought
that I was cursing him
and took me
to the Headboy
who was English.
Where I had to repeat
myself again
and I did
as believed in telling
the truth.
The head boy took me
to the principal,
(Mister Robert Smith) ,
who thought
that I was saying
something like
go and play
with your member.
He called in the
vice-principal
(another Englishman) ,
a man with a red beard,
who was convinced
that I was cursing,
who shoved my head
under a table
and whipped me six times.
When I explained what it meant
they didn’t believe me
and called in a teacher
who taught Afrikaans
and the principal gave me
another six whippings
for being insubordinate
and wanted to expel me
if I didn’t have my hair cut
on by the next day.
I didn’t tell my stepfather
(who wasn’t a dad to me) ,
but even he
would have sorted
the headmaster
and vice-principal out
and it would have been
the Anglo-Boer war
all over again.
At the time I thought
that I was grossly stupid,
but thinking back
the headmaster and vice-principal
was probably more so.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Related quotes
Being bilingual
There is something
in being bilingual
and when I grew up
we were forced
to take both
official languages at school
being English and Afrikaans.
It was another thing
to be taught maths in English,
when your home language is Afrikaans
and where I was taught in Afrikaans
up till then,
at a school that was
supposed to be
double medium
and to really struggle
with unknown terms
and not being able to comprehend
and to this day
I despise Mrs. Ritchie
who thought that I was stupid
and without the teacher caring
or being able
to teach in Afrikaans
I struggled along
but at university
a professor teaching
Algebra and Calculus
really did care
and taught me well.
poem by Gert Strydom
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I Asked Him to Blow On It! (My First Kazoo)
I remember when I got my first kazoo,
In those days so slow paced...
I was bored to tears at recess,
When in elementary school.
We were made to think like fools then.
I am convinced of that.
So I brought my kazoo to school.
And sent to the principal's office.
And as I sat,
Watching the principal play with my kazoo.
I asked him to blow on it!
And he proceeded to believe,
I had asked him to do something else.
I had always been perceptive.
That's why in those days I was bored to tears.
So I cried!
Hating the thought of being sent,
To the principal's office!
I told one of my friends about that.
And within days...
I saw my friend's father,
Not shake...
But hold the principal's hand!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Where they belonged
When I was in metric
(now grade twelve)
in the agricultural science class
an English girl took a chair
next to me
who had a secret crush
without getting
any attention from me.
I just wasn’t taken with her
and she was a little brash
and they lived
on the other side
of the railway tracks
and she had a reputation
of sleeping around.
When we studied
animal copulation
she acted as if
she didn’t really understand
and asked me some questions
which made me blush
and it was clear
that she had other plans instead.
Ignoring her didn’t help much
and heart broken she went to cry
on her sister’s shoulder
who was my class teacher
and taught me English
at the time.
We did an IQ test
(the first in my years at school)
and I scored only too well
and without really knowing
my personal circumstances
the teacher told the class
that I was lazy,
but much more than that
she marked my English grades down.
I didn’t know what had got into her
and in the second quarter
like a angel from heaven
a female inspector
(specializing in English)
visited the school.
She couldn’t understand
why my marks had slipped so much
and we had a very nice chat
where she demanded
all my English books and tests.
She graded everything again,
my grades took a hike,
the teacher was called in
and almost did the same
and after that
my grades were where
they belonged.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The secondary school announced the result of a list of successful candidates
Went down to the playground, principal had a talk.
Walked in a hard step, took a deep breathe.
Our class teacher gave us the result paper,
Everyone was silent,
No any voice, No any noise,
I can only hear thousand of breathing sound.
Hold tightly, ready to open,
3...2...1...,3...2... I can’t,
I am not brave enough to open it.
It was going to be ok.
I think for a while,
Closed my eyes,
My excitement came to my heart, but sadness was waiting for me.
I slowly opened the paper finally gradually.
Opened my eyes slowly,
Wahl! My tears went through my both eyes.
I don’t want to go to this school,
I was thinking, oh well… I can apply for another school, may be it worked.
My class teacher was convincing me to go to this school,
My mother was thinking the solution for me.
I went out to the school door, took a slowly walk,
I really didn’t know what I can do,
Worrying, deeply anxious and struggling,
I tried to think about the advantage of this school.
Yes! I pick this school. I‘ll do well!
poem by Jenkin Tsui
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My grandmother was a teacher, my sister was a teacher, my daughter was a teacher and is now a superintendent in northern California, and my son-in-law is a high school principal. I am surrounded.
quote by Loni Anderson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Age Of Dallas
What did it mean
To be young
In the Age of Dallas?
To come home
To the farmhouse?
Ironing strewn
Across the living room
Mother crying
In front of the T.V.
Re-runs of Dealey Plaza.
I remember someone
Mentioning Camelot
Third-grade in Corvallis
My teacher came from Austin
But the School Secretary
Came from the
Principal’s office
Met our teacher
At the classroom door.
Tears
Flushed cheeks
We were filed
Onto the school bus
Solemnly driven home.
(Portland, Oregon 1978)
poem by Justice Putnam
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My School
The school I went to was the best
In Coimbatore town, in those days;
It gave me knowledge and life’s zest,
And made me wholesome, in much ways!
The school was built by Father Pat,
Near Puliakulam road grandly;
In Standard five, I firstly sat,
And loved my school very dearly!
My principal, Father Lawrence
Was strict with students, yet loved them;
My heart was full of reverence,
As every teacher was a gem!
With dedication, teachers taught;
All students got very good marks;
The mischief-makers were soon caught-
Although some were like giant sharks!
Each Monday morn, we wore a tie;
The Indian flag was hoisted then;
We sang the National Anthem high,
And marched to music like big men!
We had our drills, once in a way;
In evenings, we played some games;
And once a year, it was Sports-day!
Some naughty students used nick-names!
But in the class, we were perfect;
We had a desk each to keep books;
Our teachers told every defect;
The naughty ones were caught by looks!
My school-days were the best in life;
We learnt our lessons all by heart;
We never knew the world or strife;
The day arrived then to depart!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 3-14-2007
Fondly dedicated to all my school-mates
At CGMHSS, CBE
poem by John Celes
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Tea Party with Principal Sir! !
What a nice tea party!
Cakes and coffee
Organized at Bangladesh International School & College
For the meritorious students of this school
Oh! Our Principal Sir Col Md Anisur Rahman Chowdhury!
Encourages the students very much
Give us rising hopes
Guides us to the right path as a good human being
What a talented person he is!
He has many dreams with this school!
Scholarship and Talent batch are being awarded by Him to the students!
Such a dedicated and hard working person he is!
We are trying our best to prove our talent!
Our Principal Sir is trying to make our country and school famous!
In such a way so that our country and school are known in the whole world!
poem by Z.I. Mahmud
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Surprise in Japan - Our teachers wash our toilets
after the lessons
our japanese teacher washes
the toilets we use
I was rather surprised when our japanese teacher in the school we went to in Ichikawa told us teachers take turn to wash the school toilets.
I suppose the school wanted to cut cost and the teachers did not mind since they loved teaching and the school.
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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The Sunday School teacher talked too much in the way our grade school teacher used to when she told us about George Washington. Pleasant, pretty stories, but not true.
quote by Frances Farmer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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5. A New School
I remember my first days at school
How the building seemed so big
I remember where I hung my coat
By the picture of a pig
I remember our headmistress
Her face was sprouting hair
I remember I was always told
Not to look it’s rude to stare
I remember all the screaming
From the children how they cried
I remember double swinging doors
That seemed so very wide
I remember in the sandpit
Pouring water-making slush
I remember teacher telling us
Let’s have a little hush
I remember cold school dinners
How the dinner ladies shout
I remember most of all I think
When they told us school was out
poem by David Threadgold (2008)
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Paddling bully
In the seventh grade I had a bully for a teacher.
He was ugly and he was indeed a horrible creature.
He gave paddlings and that really got us kids annoyed.
He'd smile when he paddled because it was something he enjoyed.
He gave over twenty paddlings a day.
Even if we did no wrong, he'd paddle us anyway.
One afternoon all I did was speak to a friend.
My teacher hit me seven times on the rearend.
It really hurt when he hit me with his paddle.
A lot of kids don't squeal but I decided to tattle.
I told my uncle who stands 7'3' and weighs 250 pounds.
He said he was going to visit my school and that my teacher was going down.
My uncle told my teacher that he had no right to paddle me just because I talked.
Then he broke all of my teacher's limbs and he couldn't even walk.
I got a new teacher and I said Hooray!
My former teacher decided to stop teaching on that very day.
poem by Randy Johnson
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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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Silly; Human Nature; Scary? ; Long: Mary's Pet
Mary was a little weird, a fact you'll soon agree.
And if this story sounds familiar, I hope you'll forgive me.
She attended Beavis Elementary, just around the block.
She left for school each school day, by eight a.m. by the clock.
Now one day was 'Bring a Pet to School With You Day'.....;
that could turn out hectic, but NOT tragic most would say.
After all, what could eight-year-olds bring to class that could break ANY rule? ?
(Soon, you'll find you are wrong, my friend. Mary was weird and cruel.)
She could have taken her lamb to school, as in the nursery rhyme.
Her classmates would enjoy it. The thought's almost sublime.
But what instead did Mary take from her home menagerie?
Something cold and sinister that would make even teachers flee!
When Mary got to school that day no one paid her any mind.
(She was weird of course.) That she appeared with no pet was fine.
The day progressed quite nicely with dogs and cats; even one rat.
But Mary fidgeted more than usual in the BACK ROW where she sat.
Now as I said there were lots of cats and dogs (and one guinea pig, some birds) :
that day the poor janitor was kept busy, sweeping up their turds.
Each child was given time in class, to show and talk about their pet,
but a half hour before the recess bell, Mary had not talked or shown one......yet!
When she was the last one left, who'd not stood at the teacher's desk,
the teacher, Mrs. Apple, called her up; she thought Mary was a PEST.
'Mary dear' (that's what Apple SAID, though it was NOT what she thought)
'you are now the last one, my dear, left to show us what you've brought.'
At that, with a smirk on her face, Mary reached for her cute rear;
one especially precocious boy thought 'her ass? ' with hope but also fear.
So Mary reached down the back of her skirt, and SLOWLY she did take....
a two foot long, glistening-black, hooded cobra snake.
The teacher fled; some children did too, but SOME were mesmerized.
They could NOT believe what Mary had brought though they saw it with their eyes.
The 'Day' was NOT as successful as the principal hoped it'd be.
Five classmates died of cobra bites. Three are still in comas. Hee hee.
(Nov.2012)
poem by Bri Edwards
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Hermaphrodite
I'd seen her in the pub from time to time -
shortish height, slightly awkward jerky movements
not quite to be called boyish
like her haircut,
indeterminate of age -
a worn sixteen; an undeveloped twenty-six?
but in a year or two, she seemed the latter
though her vulnerable, aggressive stance
made age irrelevant.
had she been more confident, more inyerface
she'd have been lesbait, no doubt of that; I felt
uncomfortable around her, as you do, however kind,
around those who have not yet resolved their life.
but she didn't pose her boyishness; wore
her trousers without pride; didn't
give off that lesbian vibe.
she might almost have been
the girl in the girls' school play who was as tomboy
told to play the boy and
who wore the clothes
and hated it.
then she started coming in with her quiet,
steady boyfriend; sometimes with their dog; she seemed more relaxed.
I gave her no more thought;
was faintly happy for her, I found.
so there I was one day, pissing off twice the amount
of beer I'd drunk - strange, isn't it? - in the Gents;
the door opens, in she walks, stands two urinals away
and does her thing - I guessed... well, no,
I didn't take a closer look - for she was
challenging me to respond.
And I didn't have a response.
I'd never seen her
doing that before; maybe my age suited her for a role
in some sad psychodrama of her unhappy life,
I, cast, perhaps, as proxy father, uncle, teacher, godknowswhat..
I didn't respond; nor did sex
raise its tumescent head; in fact I'd say, rather the reverse.
Of course she couldn't have known
that English boarding school,
ages seven to twenty-one (for the really thick and desperate) ,
equips you with a knowledge of acquired hermaphroditism
of an innocent yet knowing kind - beyond, I'd guess,
the experience of many a born hermaphrodite...
to please your hero man
at any price
in any vice;
we called them 'fags'; it's the official term, and
snigger-free;
then later, play the macho game
of picking the most beautiful new boy
to be your 'fag'; flirt publicly,
...to show that it's not serious or queer...
and if you take it further, well, that's your concern,
just don't get found out;
or if you want to really win repute,
date the housemaid simultaneously...
I let her leave that restless restroom first,
it seemed fitting, in my determined, neutral state;
yet it left a sense of many serious matters of the human heart
unexplored; unresolved.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Principal's Office
Now as I get to school I hear the late bell ringing,
runnning through the halls, I hear the glee club singing,
and as I get to the office I can hardly speak,
cause it's the third late pass that I got this week,
so to my first class I run and don't walk,
all I hear is my sneakers and the scratching of chalk,
and as I get to the room I hear the teacher say,
Mr. Young I'm very happy you could join us today,
I try to sit down so I can take some notes,
but I can't read what the kind next to me wrote,
and if that wasn't enough to make my morning complete,
as I try to get up, I find this gum on my seat,
so with the seat stuck to me, I raised my hand,
and said, exscuse me but can I go to the bathroom, maam?
the teacher got upset, and she screamed out no,
it's off the principal's office you go,
Verse 2:
12 o'clock comes with mass hysteria,
everybody rushes down to the cafeteria,
picked up my tray to have Thursday's lunch,
and as I tried the apple sauce, I heard it crunch,
I'm running up the stairs with my front tooth broken,
the nurse just laughed, and said you must be joking,
I looked up at her with a smile on my face,
no joke 'cause my front tooth is out of place,
so I walked to school with ice on my lip,
the nurse's late pass like a gun on my hip,
my books are real heavey, I'm walking, I'm dragging,
ain't no school lunch next week, I'm brown-bagging it,
forget class, I'm a shoot some ball,
with the late pass I got no trouble at all,
but then the nurse walks up and says what do you know,
it's office to the prinicipal's office you go
recess
Verse 3:
passing notes is my favorite pass time,
I can't wait to find a girl to pass mine to,
to express my feelings,
give me a week B, and the girl' be dealing,
now one young lady was looking at me,
I said hi my name is Marvin, known as Young MC,
but then the ball rang, and the teacher came in,
and that's when the game of passin notes would begin,
I wrote the first note, told her she was fine,
and I hoped that the two of us could spend some time,
she wrote me back and told me you're fine too,
I'd love to go on a date and spend some time with you,
so then I sat there reeling, and looking at the ceiling,
words can't express the way that I was feeling,
then I though to myself, the sure way to get her,
is to write another note, oh yes, a love letter,
when I finished the note, it was ready to pass,
the teacher took it, and read it right in front of the class,
she read it word-by-word and line-by-line,
and everybody who was laughing was a friend of mine,
even then my girl was laughing, and it was too late,
for me to write another note 'cause there would be no date,
the teacher looked at me, and I said I know,
it's off to the principal's office I go,
yo, you think this is bad, wait til I get my report card
song performed by by Young MC
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hey, Headmaster
(tennant/lowe)
Hey, headmaster, whats the matter with you?
Whyre you always so serious, why so blue?
All the kids in the school have seen you
Being patient with the boys who fool you
When you used to hit them with your ruler
So independent too
Hey, headmaster, whats the matter with you?
Theres a crisis rumoured in the school
The boys have cut their hair short to look cool
Examination time is drawing near
Disintegration of the football team
No one seems to want to play for real
In classroom, club or pool
Hey, headmaster, whatre you gonna do?
Theres an invitation in the post
To a reading party on the coast
Pack your bags up, you old bibliophile
Get together with your friends, who will
Give you time to think and time to kill
With independent hosts
Hey, headmaster, arent you gonna go?
Hey, headmaster, arent you gonna go?
song performed by by Pet Shop Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Writing Life Literary Programmes
my wishes
have already
come true
I got to personally
write a literary
programme for several
grade levels
and teach
an English
A literary
programme
creatively
with the best
school English students
for three years
I quietly got
to watch old Harris
run off to tell
principal
Graig Mowday
sometimes
several
times
a week
tell principal
the level
was too hard
aiming too high
attempting too much
doomed to fail
it was
but it was
my major
they were my students
it was not just English
skills but also life skills
I wanted to teach
and they not only
eventually achieved
average high grades
but a little of the finest
written English literature
embedded with life lessons
passed through their minds
now many are successful
at university
preparing to take
responsibility
for their own lives
their own futures
write their dreams
across interwoven webs
illuminating life purposes
unique their own lives
each worked so hard
gave so much
truly I was blessed
with privilege chance
to see their hopes
share their dreams fears
this was everything
everything I worked for
I lived my dreams
poem by Terence George Craddock
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When will it all end
Teachers not understanding,
Principals being stupid,
Guys making fun of me,
Heart breaks,
Love,
Guys asking me out,
Family problems,
Barely any money,
Bullied,
Being too young for anything,
Accidents,
Hospitals,
Broken toes and fingers,
Writers block,
No love,
Running away from problems,
Crying,
Pain,
Friends going away,
No good grades,
Jocks,
Guys,
Exes,
Homework,
No one doing anything to stop the bullying,
Having to count on my mom for things,
Having to count on the fucking principal for everything,
Jokes,
Rumors,
School,
The fucking vice principal being a dick,
No games,
No fun,
When will it all end?
Will it end,
When I die,
Or when I kill myself?
poem by Dragon Crenshaw
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L'ecole
School is such a wreck
School is such a bore
Especially with all the stupid little whores
The time drags on
As the teacher talks some more
School is such a bore
School it makes me sick!
Lunch is too short, and class is too long
Everyone is lame
And everyone just wants to play their stupid games
We want to hang out
We want to kickback
We want to leave school
Lets have another walk-out
Maybe even break-out!
School is such a bore
School is such a wreck
I wonder when we get to leave?
As soon as the bell rings?
My teacher looks like an ugly duck
I hope he'll finally shut up!
Hurray! Hurray!
The bell finally rung!
poem by Starrbox Munoz
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