First Day at School
first day at school
the first real five hours
away from mom
first day at school
the thin boy, the fat boy,
the quiet boy, the one with the mother
inspired by
First Day at School
A millionbillionwillion miles from home
Waiting for the bell to go. (To go where?)
Why are they all so big, other children?
So noisy? So much at home they
Must have been born in uniform
Lived all their lives in playgrounds
Spent the years inventing games
That don't let me in. Games
That are rough, that swallow you up.
And the railings.
All around, the railings.
Are they to keep out wolves and monsters?
Things that carry off and eat children?
Things you don't take sweets from?
Perhaps they're to stop us getting out
Running away from the lessins. Lessin.
What does a lessin look like?
Sounds small and slimy.
They keep them in the glassrooms.
Whole rooms made out of glass. Imagine.
I wish I could remember my name
Mummy said it would come in useful.
Like wellies. When there's puddles.
Yellowwellies. I wish she was here.
I think my name is sewn on somewhere
Perhaps the teacher will read it for me.
Tea-cher. The one who makes the tea.
Roger McGough
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Related quotes
First Day at School
A millionbillionwillion miles from home
Waiting for the bell to go. (To go where?)
Why are they all so big, other children?
So noisy? So much at home they
Must have been born in uniform
Lived all their lives in playgrounds
Spent the years inventing games
That don't let me in. Games
That are rough, that swallow you up.
And the railings.
All around, the railings.
Are they to keep out wolves and monsters?
Things that carry off and eat children?
Things you don't take sweets from?
Perhaps they're to stop us getting out
Running away from the lessins. Lessin.
What does a lessin look like?
Sounds small and slimy.
They keep them in the glassrooms.
Whole rooms made out of glass. Imagine.
I wish I could remember my name
Mummy said it would come in useful.
Like wellies. When there's puddles.
Yellowwellies. I wish she was here.
I think my name is sewn on somewhere
Perhaps the teacher will read it for me.
Tea-cher. The one who makes the tea.
poem by Roger McGough
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Mummy, Mummy Who Invented School?
mummy, mummy,
who invented school?
oh, sweetheart,
what a clever girl you are;
why don’t you tell me first
who you think invented school?
I think, mummy,
school must have been invented
it must be by people
like old grumpy Uncle Grim
next door;
and the grouchy Aunty Scowl
who lives behind our house
oh no, darling,
oh no, not at all:
O darling,
wise men and women
of the past
they invented school
oh, mummy,
they couldn’t
have been wise
not if you went to school
and see what happens in class;
surely those men and women
of the past
couldn’t have been wise
if they created places
where little kids are tested
every three days;
and little John thinks he’s stupid
and little Sue says she’d rather
stay at home and sleep;
and Tua and Helen are always
tense and nervous
and Chandra snores while the teacher talks
oh no -
oh, no darling,
oh no,
it’s not like that at all:
O darling,
they were wise and all-knowing
those
sage men and women
of the past
who invented school
so little children like you and your friends
can go and learn all you need to know
but why mummy,
why a school?
is it because daddy and you
and grandma and grandpa
you know nothing and
you can’t teach me
what I need to know?
oh, no darling,
oh no not at all;
O darling,
you must listen to mummy -
wise men and women
of the past
most certainly
they invented school
poem by Raj Arumugam
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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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Mrs Clark's Daughter.
Your mother stood talking
With Mrs Clark after school
And you were kicking your
Heels waiting to get home
To your toys and games and
You gazed at Mrs Clark’s young
Daughter who poked her head
Out from around her mother’s
Wide ass and stared at you
Through thin wired spectacles
Which made her eyes large as
Fish in glass bowls and her hair
Was ribboned up in two plaits
Either side of her head giving
Her a stern expression and Mrs
Clark said Helen here has a crush
On your son or so she told me
After school yesterday and Mrs
Clark gave you a big smile like
A hippo coming out of water
And your mother said he never
Talks of girls and such all too
Busy with his toys and games
And shooting from his imaginary
Horse around the house and
Mrs Clark said well boys will
Be boys and girls be girls each
Playing games with their own
Toys and Helen poked out her
Tongue and a boss-eyed stare
God was you glad when your
Mother took you out of there.
poem by Terry Collett
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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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Evergreen School Days........
Our evergreen school days
will not come back again
From the nursery to high school
we learnt the best
and the best that taught by our teachers
Our school life was full of cheers
and lived with full of mischievous
but the discipline was maintained well
We sang and danced without
thinking of our future.
We spent money without earned them
When the school start after the vacation
we meet our friends happily and
welcomed new friends dearly
We played all the games and we won
many games with out care of sun or rain
Many years have been gone
today we live different parts of the world
but the memories of our school days
will live in our hearts as ever green days.
poem by Ravi Sathasivam
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Sonnet: On School-life
First day we stepped into a school was great-
In uniform with school-bag, looking cute!
We could not walk or run and had a slate;
We learnt to read and write and be not mute.
We learnt the Alphabets: count one to ten!
We ate so happily when school-bell rung;
Our teachers taught us how to hold the pen;
We can’t forget those days when we were young.
Our knowledge improved slowly every day;
Afilled with joy in hearts, we went to play;
Our teachers taught us manners and to pray;
The fees- our parents somehow tried to pay.
Although some hours, some days, we may detest,
The years we spent in school are sure the best!
poem by John Celes
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In School
in school,
when i saw you
i intuited i have found
my lost world in you
i wish i could act
to be appreciated
by you in school.
in school,
it would be too sad
to narrate the ordeal
i have been through
i wonder if its best
i had met you
in the school.
in school,
though i had not said it
there has been so many ways
that i have shown it
my actions had done
whatever i wanted to say
at school.
in school,
i never thought
being in love
could take me to madness
well, it is better than
leaving me in sadness
in the school.
in school,
when i approached you
i knew i was silly
it was because
suddenly,
i forgot who i was
in school
in school,
why do you sneer
when i am near
it really breaks me
just tell me what to do
to get a room from you
in and out of school.
in school,
sometimes though it is hard
i guess i must let go
some things i wish to have
though good things also
could be found elsewhere
as it has been in school.
poem by Elorm Dogbo
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That child in me
Just like any other child, I never experienced being brought to school by a nanny.
My family couldn’t provide me one.
Just like any other child, I never experienced being fetched by a chauffer.
My father could not afford any.
Just like any other child, I never experienced being prepared a lunch box for my snack.
Nothing was there to prepare anyway.
Just like any other child, I never had a bag of my own.
What I had was a plastic bag that could accommodate all my belongings.
Just like any other child I never had good shoes to wear.
I got broken slipper; sometimes, none.
Just like any other child, I never had a good pair of socks.
An old pair of Boyscout knee socks is all I got
Just like any other child, I never had a uniform for my school.
Well, I inherited two faded ones from my grade six cousins.
Just like any other child, I was never allowed to go out camping in school.
No one could provide me the things to bring.
Just like any other child, I was never allowed to participate in any school games.
I was too thin to play any games
Just like any other child, going to school without breakfast became a habit.
Not because no body’s preparing it for me but because there really is nothing to prepare.
Just like any other child, I can hardly pay for my school tuition fees.
My mom barely had enough money after she does the neighbor’s laundry.
But unlike any other child, I never quit.
I never quit! I never quit!
poem by Edgar Rendon Eslit
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Slipped Away
Good morning son
It's off to school you go
Mom's gone to work you know
Mom when are you coming home
There's a bank robbery that's going on
Ooh this very morn
Mom's gone to wrok for sure
Mom when are you coming home
Officers the bank is being held
By two gunmen that don't mean well
Mom's on the job can't you tell
Mom when are you coming home
Mom when are you coming home
To see your son
Daughter don't be a policeman
Please be a school teacher instead
You're so good with the children
Mom when are you coming home
Teacher please excuse these boys from class
Their mother gone from a gunshot blast
Another cop shot down on patrol
Mom when are you coming home
Mom when are you coming home
To see your son
The gangsters killed our mother dead
All is lost from our family
They tried to save our mom in vain
She drowned in blood and she was not saved
The bank is open and the robbers jailed
And mom won't be coming home
The way they run their world so wrong
How can us brothers get along
Mom when are you coming home
song performed by by G. Love & Special Sauce
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Home is the first school and mother is the first teacher
Home is the first school and mother is the first teacher
Parents are the builder of children’s characters and minds,
The mother won’t be a fighter but should be a well preacher,
If she is an illiterate she must carry her children to tuition,
Howsoever the mother should educate their children first,
And she should send her children to school daily and regularly,
Teachers are not blamed not to fulfil children’s educational thirst,
Both the parents and teachers should make them the best citizens,
As we can’t work with one hand likewise we can’t walk with one leg,
Hence, parents and teachers are the same faces of the same coin,
If parents and teachers do them careless they suffer in life to beg,
Do well and have well it is said to see your own profit in life or ruin,
That is why parents and teachers are the best artists of the child,
If an art is spoilt the statue of the child looks like an ugly and a wild.
poem by INDIA Mazid S Kazi
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A day of 1971
The school is three kilometers away.
Akmal was hastily walking towards the school as he was already late.
The school starts at midday.
Mother was insisting him on for long to go to the school.
But Akmal was little reluctant today.
He was experiencing something new in the whole surroundings.
His small psyche could not exactly guess what it was but something very strange was happening around him.
On his way to school Nepalda was chatting with some of his friends at a corner. Nepalda may be five to six years senior to Akmal.
Once Nepalda was Akmal’s house tutor.
Nepalda called Akmal, ‘Hey where are you going today? School? School is closed today. Don’t go’, declared he.
There was enough reason to believe Nepalda for Akmal. After all he was his teacher and he has a good reputation in the society. At least his parents consider Nepalda as a gentle young man.
When Nepalda was saying that the school is closed then he has no reason to proceed further. Yet to be sure he asked Nepalda, ‘Is it true? Our school is closed? ’
‘Yes, my boy. I am not joking with you. ’ Nepalda replied. Then he murmured, ‘Be careful. Go to home and remain in the home. Don’t come out. There may be some exchange of fire. We are ready….the army is advancing…we are ready to obstruct them…go home’.
Akmal understood nothing but he could guess that he has to return to home quickly.
It came to his mind that he did not do his home work today. So certainly he was going to be punished today if the school was open.
He was happy that the school is not open and today nobody will ask him to sit for study in the evening, he expected.
poem by Kazi Ahmed
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Six hours a day I lived under school discipline in active intercourse with people none of whom were known to those at home, and the other hours of the twenty-four I spent at home, or with relatives of the people at home, none of whom were known to anybody at school.
quote by Georg Brandes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My first day in school
More than half a century ago,
the Monsoon showers had just brought relief from the sweltering summer,
just when I was dreaming of playing soccer whole day outdoors,
My Dad decided that I have to attend an elementary school.
I was dragged a mile by my older brother to my new school,
It would be my favorite Durga Temple converted into a school,
My dreams of a class with benches and chairs just vanished,
As we were sitting on the floor in open partitioned classrooms of the school.
I thought I would get a nice colorful uniform to wear to school,
but it looked like that the dress code was a futuristic dream,
At least every class had a black board bigger than my slate,
the teacher had a duster whereas I had to wipe the chalk with my hand.
The fear of some burly kids and nostalgia of home made me sad and homesick,
I could not stop crying and asking my teacher to let me go home.
I still remember the teacher with big black cane,
every time I cried to go home, I got a whack on my palm with his cane,
I could not stop crying, he would not stop whacking,
till I was sent in a distant corner for breaking the class rule.
Kneeling down in the corner, I dreamt of Mom and home,
I found comfort in the memories of joyous Durga Puja days,
I wished the Goddess would come alive,
and pierce the hands of the teacher with her big spear.
Finally the Tiffin time heralded the temporary recess,
the teacher came down and helped me open my Tiffin can,
He asked me to eat while he wrote something on my slate,
He hoped that it would keep me interested in his school.
After I finished my food, he handed my slate,
He had drawn a picture of a big smiling cat with whiskers and big tail,
He asked me to draw the cat on the other side of the slate,
I was so happy drawing the circles and lines whole afternoon,
I forgot I had a rough first day in school.
poem by Jay P Narain
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Family: The SMS-Messages Start...
It is still dark when we leave home - the
school gate is barely open; an hour and
a half before school starts a little boy
already there; out in the winter cold; then
a little girl is also left half an hour before
her school starts; in the afternoon he goes
to after-school; but she has to stay in the
school grounds; at two-forty-five the SMS-
messages start: Hi mom, what are you
doing? - I’m typing my love, and you? –
I’ve got nothing to do; - I know that’s
not true with all that maths and homework
tasks, yet I play along; I wish she were
here or already at home instead of at
school all alone; that was the choice I
made as a working mom; if I give up
my job I’ll never find one again – it’s
all about quotas and race and not expertise
– besides, it is my whole social life – if
only school did not end at two in the
afternoon and children were not left
all by themselves so soon…
poem by Margaret Alice
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Frank O'Neill
I remember when we were young
Barely taller than our heavy school bags
We used to feel the weight of our lessons
Piling one by one on each of our shoulders
School was tough for us, but there were little things
Such little things that made school fun and exciting
I remember when we were young
We used to wait for the last day of school
Before we would all leave for our Christmas holidays
But it wasn't just to get away from school, no
Because on the last day, we were all treated a show
A show about a genie, which would make us laugh till we cried
Oh how we would talk about this genie
All throughout the year, waiting for this special day
All throughout the ride home, sharing the laughter with friends
I remember when we were young
It was hard to meet up after school with friends
After all, we were just seven-year-olds
But this was made easy for us
Because every season we would have a camp planned for us
Oh I do remember the laughter we've all shared at these camps
The pranks that he would play on us
Waking up in the middle of the night
Marking our faces with ink
Oh the laughter we would all have
To the surprise of seeing all the pictures of our friends
Who were pranked with ink all over their faces
Or the day all our shoes were taken from our rooms
And hidden in a place we just could never find
I remember when we were young
We used to have art lessons - But not any average art lesson
They were lessons where we could be creative
And not just on pencil and paper
But we were taught how to bring any plain object to class
And turn it into wonderful art
In which we would always display our work in the hall
I remember when we were young
Such little things that made school fun and exciting
Its moments like these you keep remembering for the rest of your life
The friendships made - The Laughter shared
Memories forever imprinted in the back of your head
Frank O'Neill was and remains a Great teacher - And a Great man
He has taught for 35 years at our beloved school and served them well
Teachers like him are hard to find, and are what make a school unforgettable
So I would like to take an opportunity to thank Frank O'Neil
But I am not alone, as so would the rest of the school, ex-students and ex-teachers
In which we would like to thank him for making our experience at Stella Maris College
May you enjoy your retirement - A well deserved relaxation for your hard work!
poem by Gabriel Gauci Maistre
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Columbine Cradle
Mommy loses her cool, when I stay home from school.
Don’t point your toy gun at people” is what I hear,
I reply “I have to point my gun at people playing in
this video game, mommy dear”.
From the sounds of this,
it looks like mommy is not sincere.
Why it all starts at home, how we leave are children alone.
Alone to watch violent video games,
and then wonder why they act insane,
if you take away their toy guns that same day.
Now there is kids bringing guns to school,
pretending to shoot them to make themselves look cool.
It seems these children have not developed “empathy”
that they live in a world of “me and me”.
So, they grow up to be teens,
Having seen everything that could possibly be mean.
Having been desensitized, they don’t think to realize,
That they are like robots going along with the crowd
The crowd that was fed all of these video games,
While mommy claims she will go insane,
if they don’t find something to do,
so she doesn’t lose her cool.
Written by Christina Sunrise on June 6,2011
www.christinasunrise.com www.purplepoems.com
poem by Christina Sunrise
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Teacher Love
My mother is
Home
Teacher...
My
Teacher is
School
Mother....
My
Father is
Home
Teacher...
My
Teacher is
School father...
Female or male...
Not differnet for
Love...
And Teaching....
Any thing fals...?
No problem....!
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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As the School Bell Rings
Tis sharp two
in the afternoon.
The school bell rings
as the day is done.
After calm comes a storm
and the school ground now
is a turbulent sea -
of children in frenzied activity.
Some are running, some sprinting,
some scampering while some are strolling.
Some are walking towards the gate
while some are squatting on the staircase.
Some are running towards the school bus
while some are looking out for their parents.
Some are being escorted by their teachers
while some are busy chatting with their friends.
Mobile phones are ringing incessantly
and people are talking animatedly.
Bus drivers in buses are waiting impatiently
and the children inside are yelling frantically.
Tis now sharp three
in the afternoon.
Now comes calm after the storm
and the school ground now is a sea of serenity.
02 June 2010
11 am
poem by Gita Ashok
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School Is Not So Cool
School, School, School,
A school is not so cool
We're here 5 days a week
8 hours a day.
School, School, School,
A school is not so cool.
People laugh when we fall
we just have to make a call.
School, School, School
A school is not so cool.
We have to work hard to get good grades
I'm not going to do it no more
I do it everyday.
We cant go on the grass
We cant bother another class
We cant 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 so cool.
They have to 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 classwork
they have to many rules
they need to take it cool.
School, School, School,
A school is so not cool!
poem by Chantel Braatz
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