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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Related quotes
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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My English Teacher
At the grade three
A new teacher came
Around her table
A queue we were all in
Having exercise books on our hands
To get written our names on it
Twining with aroma of her perfume
Let the mind not go back to the bench
My English teacher
Not like other teachers
Wearing new dresses
Pleasant smile with snazzy
I bought a double rule book
To write proper English letters
Putting the alphabet of base
Following day had a message
No more with us
Principle's words
Teacher came to us
We cried a lot
"Why may teacher you go leaving us'
'Is our school not good'
While worshiping on her feet
Without an answer
Looking at us
Touched our heads
She got a transfer
Because of our remote dry school
Since then on
Until primary end
Without an English teacher
My texts books were new
She doesn't know me for sure
Placed an aroma still in my mind
You wrote that name of mine
I am writing today.
poem by Udaya R. Tennakoon
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English Class
English Class
Is supposed to be fun.
But when teachers make you
Listen to them while they talk about
Nothing
You don't really pay attention.
You drift off instead,
Floating around in your head,
Thinking about things that don't make sense
And about sense that don't make things.
You doodle on a page,
Or stare at the walls,
Or read under your desk,
Or stare at the teacher
And wonder how she managed to qualify
To be a teacher when she doesn't even use
Grammar.
I think it's stupid
To waste an hour of my day
Sitting doing nothing.
It's pointless to sit here
When I could do something
More.
I could:
Volunteer,
Or be in Drama class,
Or could be making a movie,
Or helping my mom,
Or hanging out with my friends,
Or helping my brother and sister learn to ski,
Or doing SOMETHING, ANYTHING ELSE.
This class isn't doing
Anything.
I can feel my love for English
Dissapearing.
It's sad that one teacher
Can ruin an
Art form.
poem by Kelsey Tennant
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Hi I'm A Girl
Hi i'm a girl who wants to be presedent then i'll make people paint there faces pink because the red cheif wants me to and i really need your vote! ! ! ! Ok dalpal, said the teacher looking at me 'your not president yet....' 'ok i said' i mumbred 'i wish she was dead because i'm a poet and she dinny know it i can break a ryme almost everytime and........''QUITE DALPAL! ' Roared the teacher. Sorry but i have a dream....i am floating down the stream and i am ryming my heart out BUT YOU HAVE TO RUNE IT AND SHOUT! i shouted! 'ok dalpal then you can be our new teacher miss.Honey' said the teacher raising her eyebrows. 'i was not ashamed i was quite exited to share mt poems with the class' so i mad my was up the top of my class and said ' if this is this and that is that then you and you = me and me you see. The class stared and thought then i could hear the aaaaawww! They still never knew what i was talking about so i contiued.' the Teacher were cross and me ed fell off thats called london English oh if only there was a thig calle dsinglish and....'OK WELL DONE YOU'V MANAGED TO CONFUZE MY CLASS'said the teacher SO THERE I'V OUT SMATRNED HER and i'ma peot and know she knows it! '
poem by Dalpal Honey
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To My Most Beloved School-Teacher, Mr. B.E. Coates
Dressed in coat and suit and tie,
Anglo-Indian Teacher my;
Wearing shoes with shine always;
Tall in stature, meek, honest, Ayes!
Speaking English in great style;
Punctual, walking ev’n a mile;
Teaching subjects ardently;
A gentle-man seen, quite rarely!
He taught us English with great care,
Like how Englishmen would dare;
Its nuances, he laid thread-bare,
Pronouncing with Anglo-air!
He made the class so interesting;
Chiding mischief, not punishing;
A pious man who forgave fast;
Advising students till the last.
He was my class-teacher at times;
And read us poetry with rhymes;
He taught us Geography as well;
‘Be hard-working, ’ he’d always tell.
Because of him, I loved English,
And rose to levels, many wish;
He taught us Catechism too,
And say in life, ‘How do you do? ’
My teacher most-beloved was he;
He fanned my sparks of poesy!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 3-11-2007
Dedicated most lovingly to
Master BE Coates, CGMS, CBE
poem by John Celes
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Forever Begins
The silent night calls, resilent as I emerge.
Silly ideas of skipping class or playing sick.
Hard knock life been a month no books can't blame mom for trying.
No loan, the government said she made too much; could you believe that. Faithful still going to Sunday school better believe it that is the highlight of my day. God is helping me pass my classes; feeling great as I receive passing grades.
English teacher, just got finished helping my cousin with his first poem.
If I tell him I'm proud that will be the end of me.
Honor student at the age of fourteen and is a freshmen now. Nevertheless I came up short when I dropped all I was doing to see him graduate.
Overwhelmed I slept over at the airport for my first time and didn't think nothing about it. Well actually right around that time he inspired me to write poetry.Self conscious being, I didn't actually sleep at the airport.
In fact I don't rest at night; my moms struggles keep me wide awake.
Loving her is loving me. Hope I never become senile when it comes to respecting women.
Haters going to hate but how can they stop my flow - they not Moses.
When I go forever will begin.
poem by Alex Kenneh
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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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In The Art Class
I look around this joyful room,
Amongst the peaceful teens
This is perhaps the only class
Where students are not machines
In the art class they’ll smile
In the art class they’ll yell
In the art class they‘ll be kind
And not raise a hell
Many teachers wonder why this is so
Many teachers wonder where the secret lies
The secret to peaceful teens, which enjoy their work
The secret to the students without depressed cries
The students wonder how they could not get it
How they could not understand
How the teachers don’t realise
That in the art room there are no demands
In the maths class there are complications
In the English room there is language
But in the art room there is only creativity
It is that which students which to salvage
The art teacher is simple and kind
The art teacher doesn’t lecture or scream
The art teacher doesn’t force them to be equal
And make a most horrendous scene
No, in the art class they are not equal
But the differences they admire
They have a writer, a painter and a sculptor
And they have freedom to aspire
Freedom is what the students wish
The students wish to be treated like people
In the art class they are treated as such
In other classes they are believed incapable
The students will always be at peace in the art room
There will be no fights, no pain, and no scorn
The other teachers will wonder what the secret is
But their attempts to find out will always be forlorn
poem by Lenore Lee
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Class Of 2008
I used to laugh, I used to cry
sometimes I would just wonder why
I enjoyed my childhood days
but the happiness would just fade away
I remembered the walks in the hall
our endless conversations and our late night calls
I remembered how we first met
a hundred million other things I'll never forget
As years go by, we grow and grow
we'll keep learning, the more we'll know
we've been taught so much since we've been together
but those days will soon be over
I'd laugh at my English teacher for the making the kissing sound
in Math class, it seemed to go on forever, I'd always frown
In history, we'd always chit chat and failed the tests
Drama class, finally something, I could do best
Physics seemed to numb my head
it always made me go to bed
in P.E. I learned to drive
But one day, I got into an accident and never thought I'd survive
At lunch, I'd always eat and eat
now my body is full of useless meat
In French, I got a high percent
but I'd never understood what the words meant
In science or Geostystems, when we studied about the stars,
my brain would be in space or rather in planet Mars
Biology, I wanted to kill something,
I was freaked out when the dead frog blinked
I thought Chemistry was stupid
I got nothing out of it
Taking dance class was a waste
it was never one of my taste
I hated art class
especially when the teacher said I drew the head bigger than the ass
At parties, we’d go wild and crazy
we would always get into trouble constantly
closer and closer, we'll soon step into the real world
we'll realize we're not anymore a girl
We'd always fight
somehow, we kept it real tight
years to come, when the world hasn't gone to an end
we'll always look back and forever we'll always be friends
and we’re the class of 2008
can’t wait until we graduate!
poem by Ranock Saing
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Angelic Me
My teacher told me to behave
But behaving’s what I never craved
She thought I acted too outlandish
Just being me was too out-Stan-dish
The girl’s pigtail in the inkwell soaked
How it got there was my little joke
I whistled when teacher turned her back
Music’s what our classroom lacked
To the principals’ office I was sent
It clearly became a daily event
She told him I was rude and frightful
Yet my friends in class thought me delightful
My mother when she came to school
He told her I was the classroom fool
She didn’t believe that awful man
Could say that of her angel Stan
Whistlers’ mother, she knew best
She knew her son was not a pest
So much to my teachers’ dismay
I was back in class the very next day
The inkwell reclaimed that girls’ pigtail
The teacher warned, but to no avail
Behind back whistles, once more the norm
Angelic me was back in form
poem by Stanley Cooper
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to my teacher Ms. emily
To my teacher to Ms. Emily
I always look forward to your class when I came to school. I enjoy each lesson you teach.
As my role model you inspire me to dream, to work very hard in class and to reach. Your an awesome teacher, your smart and intelligent.
With your kindness you always get my attention. But To be honest, sometime I bother you.
You make me understand each lesson you teach. I'm thankful for all that you've done to me.
I admire you each day and I just want to say As a teacher you are the best forever.
poem by Djabir Yaya
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Bleeds Through: Bringer of Modern Clarity
What has the world come to today?
Gas is four dollars a gallon
Inflation is on the increase
Housing markets down
The war continues
And teachers are suffering job loss!
In grade school,
I thought my teachers were evil
They slept inside coffins in the schools basement
Only to rise when they heard my name called
It was a hell for me
When I turned sixteen
I realized how hard it was to be a teacher
With several students under them, three-hundred or more
Makes you wonder why governments are making it harder for them
The classes I suffered through in college taught me the skills I needed
I learned how to apply them later while observing
I admit, I wasn't perfect my first year of teaching
But I learned quick
Why ruin education?
Harder classes for students and less teachers to help
Sure make the classes harder, challenge the students!
Why challenge the teachers?
Twenty-five was my size of classes all my years of learning
Thirty plus is too much to handle effectively
To watch the progress of each through grades in elementary school is unrealistic
It conflicts with my psychology courses with watching only grades
A dying profession the teacher is
Optimism is my muse and savior
To teach the future leaders and core of the worlds work force
Is the only thing keeping me going
Thank you my students
'Good morning class, lets turn to page twenty-four in our math books! '
March 14,2012
poem by Ryan Collins
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A teacher who is just right
Have you had a teacher
That makes your heart glow
A teacher is wonderful
A teacher whom you feel honored to have
A teacher who you can laugh or cry with
A teacher whom you can love no matter what they do
A teacher who looks up to you when you don't know
A teacher who just seems to understand you
A teacher who you think about day and night
A teacher whom you pray for as you go to bed
A teacher who is there when need them to
Thoughts of them are always in your head
A teacher who shares with you there ups and downs
A teacher who is there for you in school
A teacher who you share all your smiles with replacing al your frowns
poem by Rosa Tenezaca
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A School Is So Not Cool
School Is Not So Cool
School, School, School,
A school is not cool
We're here 5 days a week
8 hours a day.
School, School, School,
A school is not cool.
People laugh when we fall
we just have to make a call.
School, School, School
A school is not cool.
We have to work hard to get good grades
I'm not going to do it no more
I do it every day.
We can’t go on the grass
We can’t bother another class
We can’t save spots at lunch
We have to go as a bunch.
We have 3 minutes in the hall
I'm always late what a ball.
We have to pay attention
if not we get detention.
School, School, School,
A school is not cool.
They have too many rules
they play us as fools
if we get A's
the parents jump Hip Hip Hooray.
If we get F's
we tell them we need to take a rest.
We always have homework
we never have class work
they have to many rules
they need to take it cool.
School, School, School,
A school is so not cool!
poem by Fahed Sharaf
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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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Two Teachers
TWO TEACHERS
When I was in
Viii th standard
slim, young, tall girl
was our class teacher
assigning a lengthy comprehension
to the students as exercise,
she would delve with passion, into
personal letters kept in the drawer.
may be her sweet-heart
from a distant centre;
hiding her sweating bodylines and visible distraction
she would pretend to be model disciplinarian
as an immature lot, we only watch
and forget much sooner, without
attributing any importance to the
blushful teacher's mission so hidden
her hero once turned up at class time
a rustic outfit, not a match for our teacher
teacher went absent, the news leaked a week later
that both got married & seen together in a theatre
after a month, a new teacher arrived
of sufficient age, black, stiff and short-tempered
with the biased bent of mind on the students of viii std.,
as if we colluded with or aided the affairs of the slim teacher
I got admitted into a high school, at the fall of the year
and re-visited my school, after a lapse of 15 years
our black teacher is now the ‘strict head- mistress'
having struck by a disastrous love,
had chosen to be a ‘vexed-spinster'.
Moral: as common in any school, the final result;
one is ‘successful' and another has ‘failed'
Louis Santhana
poem by Santhana Louis
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Duties Of A Teacher
The everyday duties of a teacher
Are as difficult as they can be,
Whether in an elementary or secondary school
Or whether the teacher is a he or she.
The teacher must possess a bundle of information,
A knowledge that will constantly shine,
And in addition must maintain class discipline
To keep all the students properly in line.
There are insurmountable number of questions
To be answered during every period of the day,
And test papers must be carefully graded when
The students leave and go merrily on their way.
The pleasures and encounters of an evening out
Are few and seldom to be socially shared,
Because the next day's lessons must have priority,
Be reviewed and lessons carefully prepared.
A dedicated teacher gets a personal satisfaction
In this cumbersome and timeless atmosphere.
The role of a teacher is vital in this complex world,
Preparing all students for a future career.
poem by Joseph T. Renaldi
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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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yes, what if God does not speak english at all?
you were not born yesterday
and probably heard it before
that if your God does not speak english
then he must not be God
of course, something arrogant
hangs in the air
of this effortless superiority that
'englishers'
'english-plongplangs'
clai m, which, of course, we
always oppose and dub
as prettry dumb silly
but anyhow, yes, we are asked again
what if?
what if, this God, does not really speak English?
well, of course, he is still God
and he must not have considered the english language
that important
and i agree, even if i speak it,
i still have this language
of my soul,
albeit, in english, for you,
who does not speak my own language,
yes, of course, for you to perhaps
understand,
but i like it though, this thought
that God does not speak
the english language, lest, he may sound
so englishly, oh well,
arrogant.....
dear God
do you really...not speak english?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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When I Kissed A Teacher
Everybody screamed when I kissed the teacher
And they must have thought they dreamed when I kissed the teacher
All my friends at school
They had never seen the teacher blush, he looked like a fool
Nearly petrified 'cos he was taken by surprise
When I kissed the teacher
Couldn't quite believe his eyes, when I kissed the teacher
My whole class went wild
As I held my breath, the world stood still, but then he just smiled
I was in the seventh heaven when I kissed the teacher
One of these days
Gonna tell him I dream of him every night
One of these days
Gonna show him I care, gonna teach him a lesson alright
I was in a trance when I kissed the teacher
Suddenly I took the chance when I kissed the teacher
Leaning over me, he was trying to explain the laws of geometry
And I couldn't help it, I just had to kiss the teacher
One of these days
Gonna tell him I dream of him every night
One of these days
Gonna show him I care, gonna teach him a lesson alright
What a crazy day, when I kissed the teacher
All my sense had flown away when I kissed the teacher
My whole class went wild
As I held my breath, the world stood still, but then he just smiled
I was in the seventh heaven when I kissed the teacher
(I wanna hug, hug, hug him)
When I kissed the teacher
(I wanna hug, hug him)
When I kissed the teacher
(I wanna hug, hug, hug him)
When I kissed the teacher
(I wanna hug, hug him)
When I kissed the teacher
(I wanna hug, hug, hug him)
(fade
song performed by by ABBA
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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