Hyperbola & Parabola
A friend of mine wants to take his daughter to a Montessori school in Riverside,
Where the Director is my old mathematician teacher.
(A daughter of a Supreme court Judge)
She acts as she doesn't recognize me
And I heard that she entirely forgotten our mother tongue too
As she won't touch the spicy food now.
Never mind Ms.Paranola but still I remember the Trigonometry lessons you taught us enthusiastically;
Hyperbola: ' The curve produced by a cut made through a cone at an angle with the base greater than that of the side of the cone.'
Dear Ms.Paranola,
I am so sorry but I have to mention this to you that I am a Parabola now.
(A curve like that path of an object that's thrown into the air and falls back to Earth.)
*Dedication to Ms.Luisa.Moldonado
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Related quotes
Kitana My Daughter’s Cat
Kitana my daughter’s tomcat
Goes to school to practise to play
His new-tamed paws will march in a house
Rather than mow down a mouse
All day long he will twist his tongue
To chitchat with the Queen’s blue tongue
The rats and mice will sway their tails
With Kitana so hot on their trail
The teacher once voted a verse
But Kitana reversed for a dash
In a window had sat a rat
An offence to my daughter’s cat
He went for the hind of his find
The kind that satisfied his mind
He had gone to school on a fast
But now had a find for breakfast
Kitana Kitana they yelled
As children and teacher beheld
A bully had come to their school
And had no regard for the rules
Kitana was thrown out of school
For conduct that questioned the rules
So he went to court with his tail
To win back his name from their tale
The lady judge sat on dried rat
With table well made from dried fish
Vermin skin veiled all the windows
For fear of the street in shadows
Kitana your case you may state
The judge in her seat did dictate
Kitana licked his paws from the dock
In a bid to defend his frock
Kitana spoke in Queen’s blue tongue
Though hungry he stood there for long
He told of the degradation
The teacher had made his portion
The judge adjourned for five minutes
In which time her table diminished
Kitana with table in mouth
Disappeared from court without doubt
He never returned to the school
He never returned to be ruled
The judge so surprised did not fight
With case and table out of sight
Kitana was no more in sight
Not in school nor on dock nor on site
But Police dogged him with their dog
That never returned from the dream
poem by Moses Kainwo
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Deadmans Curve
The street was desserted late friday night
We were buggin each other while we sat out the light
We both popped our clutch when the light turned green
You should have heard the wine from my screamin machine
I flew past la brea, down to crescent heights
And all the jag could see were my six tail lights
He passed me at doheny and I started to swerve
But I pulled her out and there we were at deadmans curve
Deadmans curve is no place to play
Deadmans curve
Well, the last thing I remember doc.
I started to swerve, and then I saw the jag slide into the curb
I know Ill never forget that horrible sight
I found out for myself, that everyone was right
Wont come back from deadmans curve
Deadmans curve is no place to play
Deadmans curve you best keep away
Deadmans curve I can hear them say
Wont come back from deadmans curve
song performed by by Carpenters
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Domestic Shades16
For angst theirs against
Infants and babies shut in classes
Montessori 'holidays' means a lot
That grand-mas are the happiest
Running behind grand children
Bleating to grand-son 'yes sir, yes sir'
Towed by grand-daughter like 'little lamb'
Boasting to daughters
Their baby care olden days..
Kept running behind me
My grand-daughter
My daughter behind her
A cypher-contest finally
Caught defeated for bath
But bath-towel crying elsewhere
Escaped to rescue, my daughter
Little wee locked in momentarily
Battled on a chaos further red mouthed
Poking 'Grandeur''s tongue
Prostrating to my back 'toothsome'...
And...
Now, I am not for Montessori Holidays
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Unlike Mother, Unlike Daughter
Her heart breaks for something she'll never have
A daughter of perfect honesty and obedience
With fair hair and bright eyes
Everything her son is
Instead the mother bore something strange
A loser, a liar, a Mrs. Lovett wannabe
Swearing not to change
Everything she doesn't want, doesn't need
But her daughter doesn't want to love anybody
She doesn't want love in return
She's sick of man's petty "acceptance"
She doesn't need "lessons" to learn
The Mother explains, "She understands, "
Clichés, "Daughter, tell me anything."
But her daughter knows,
She'd be afraid of what's in her head
Mother won't understand
The demons that chase her and charm her
For a while…
And scariest of all
The daughter realizes
The man she loves
She loves alone
It's sad to think about the monster
The Daughter holds so intrinsically close…
Her heart breaks for something she'll never have
A vengeful god of perfectly destructive melancholy
With dark hair and dark eyes
They try to tell her otherwise
But only the Daughter knows what her heart cannot compromise
Mother tries to convince her
Tries to stop a "fictional infatuation"
Still the daughter, unfazed, replies,
"You know you are my only condemnation."
poem by Gabrielle Fleming
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A Little Teacher
At times a little teacher stands before me
With a smiling face.
And her sweet mouth speaks
Things I have never heard.
A cute girl of early teens,
A teacher of principles self imposed.
In her class I am the lone pupil
And she teaches me ever.
The chambers of my recollections past
Cry for a change perhaps,
My old teachers fade into oblivion
As my new teacher waits to steal in.
My learning is her choice
Though the subjects taught are none new.
No notes, no admonishing and no comparisons!
I begin to learn the mind of a growing child.
There arises only one question-
How long will she teach like this?
As she makes steps forward unto her tomorrows
I shall cease to be her pupil.
My steps are made as well
As the tomorrows won`t leave me alone.
Somewhere I may stand stranded with feeble feet
And the gale of ailments may begin to cross my frame.
Then I shall remember the lessons taught by you
My little teacher, my philosopher once
And I shall hold on to your kind love and care
Oh! My dear daughter, let us stop for now.
poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
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The 'Poem A Day' Project ~ Day 193
I’m a traffic cone up a tree
Someone on a drunken spree
With all of their might
Gave me new height
Here for all to see
I’m a traffic cone up a tree
Not really where I should be
I’m usually found
Much nearer the ground
Lined up uniformly
I’m a traffic cone up a tree
It makes me feel rather free
To have reached a place
No other cone’ll grace
Fills me with real glee
I’m a traffic cone up a tree
Plastic and bright orangey
I might catch the eye
Of some strange passer by
Who’ll write a poem about me
poem by Flying Lemming
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My Real Goddess
Today my mother
Came to my house
With lots of blessing
And full of good wishing
To live long
Happy and healthy
Progressive and wealthy
My mother
My sweet mother
My beautiful mother
My loving mother
My real goddess
My ever goodness
My first lady I loved
My life my mother
My soul my mother
My God-gift my mother
My pride my mother
My aim my mother
My teacher my mother
My friend my mother
My preacher my mother
My daughter's face look-like my mother
My daughter my little mother
O the Absolute Almighty
Give me my mother
Again and again
And again and again
My mother
Only my mother.
poem by Dr. P. K. Verma
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The Learning Curve
I reach with my eyes
The light curve and the variations in light intensity
From eclipsing binary stars.
The time becomes a phase
I touch with my soul
The curve of love between me and you
Ephemerally being, I still believe in eternal.
I carry the new life.
The curve of love, like a painful river
Between death and life
I can swim in its water of faith and piety
To reach the understanding.
We are getting old
And all we can do
Is to deep-freeze our memories.
We learn to love.
Catholic and Orthodox,
Pentecostals and Baptists,
We learn that only love can change our souls,
We learn to become eternal.
I reach the curve of rainbow with my eyes,
When the water droplets after the rain
Sent out colors at different angles.
The water droplets are prisms, my eyes are prisms.
I understand why God made a promise
To the people
That 'never again shall there be a flood to destroy the earth.'
Making the rainbow the sign of His covenant.
And we ought to do the same thing-to make promises to God.
Between the light curve decomposed into rainbow colors
And the mobile marine blue curve of the horizon,
God's tears
Falls to earth for our life.
I let the soul to soar to the High
And I remove the sin blocks that keep me stuck.
I understand the primordial sin.
I know that we are descendents
Of Adam and Eve,
But we are also
God's sons and daughters.
I understand the learning curve.
poem by Marieta Maglas
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Im The Girl
Ive got a memory
A thousand years old
And I know secrets
Ive never been told
And Ive got jewels
I havent found
And theyll return me
To the ground
Im the girl, Im the girl, Im the girl
You know me
Im the girl, Im the girl, Im the girl
You know me
And Im a siren
Ill wreck you on my shores
And Im godiva
Ill call you back for more
And Im medusa
And Im your favourite doll
And Im a georgia okeefe
Hanging on your wall
Im the girl, Im the girl, Im the girl
You know me
Im the girl, Im the girl, Im the girl
You know me
Im joan of arc
Im the girl next door
Im the mother and the daughter
Of the mother and the daughter before
And I remember being born just sound and light
And sound and light and light
And I remember the first time, skin on skin in the arms
In the arms of the night
Well how many times have we looked up into the starry skies
And how many times have we felt the passion rise
Every ruby-lipped girl baby, old lady, squaw junkie, girl after girl after girl
Every muse, whore, good witch, princess, back arching, year after year after year
Im the girl, Im the girl, Im the girl
You know me
Im the girl, Im the girl, Im the girl
You know me
Im joan of arc
Im the girl next door
Im the mother and the daughter
Of the mother and the daughter
The mother and the daughter
Of the mother and the daughter
The mother and the daughter
Of the mother and the daughter
Before.
song performed by by Heather Nova
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dedication
Well way back in the Bible time
A cat named noah built an ocean liner
Everybody laughed when they told him why
But when the rain came, noah was high and dry
cause he had
Dedication baby through and through
Dedication like I give to you
Dedication girl every way
Dedication girl every day
Well admiral byrd and some eskimos
They took a little trip to the old north pole
When they said it was a miracle they made it back
Well they said that wasnt any miracle, jack
Dedication baby through and through
Dedication like I give to you
Dedication girl every way
Dedication girl every day
Well now there was a movie star out in hollywood
He met a little girl, they got along real good
He tried to split but the chick said buddy, not so fast
Aint gonna wrap me on your arms, then wrap me in some cash
Now it was on tv every word they said
If you didnt see it man, you must have been late
She got on the witness pedestal without care
She turned to the judge and this is what she said
Dedication judge every way
Dedication judge in every way
I need some
Dedication judge that cant be spent
A little dedication judge to pay the rent
Dedication baby through and through
Dedication like I give to you
Dedication girl every way
Dedication girl every day
D-e-d-i-c-a-t-i-o-n
D-e-d-i-c-a-t-i-o-n
D-e-d-i-c-a-t-i-o-n
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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Suffering Of A Mother
the rough texture of her bleeding suffering hands
touch the wet blanket from the laundry
her stomach suffers from hunger
not spending a single penny
just to save money for her daughter
for whom she thinks is
in college studying hard in order to graduate
but the mistakes of her daughter, makes this mother unfortunate
for every dropp of beer that goes onto her throat
is equal to every dropp of sweat that falls from her mothers face
her mother suffers from loneliness in a far away place
where she thought she'd have a lot of money
sick of loneliness, hunger and pain
her mother comes home from Spain
dropping her luggage
her mother screams of fear
seeing the sight of her daughter drinking beer
humiliation slaps unto her daughter's face
her mother goes to her room in a hurry
only to see a cradle, her daughter has a baby
she cries in pain
where to start, she doesn't know
for all she knows is her heart is in sorrow
she cant accept the fact that she suffered for so long
only to know she's been fooled for too long
poem by Trisha Mae Galia
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Daughter of Africa
Daughter of Africa
You are walking now
And tread the path
Away from me
Daughter of Africa
You are touching now
While my body is
Away from you
Daughter of Africa
You are moist now
Not knowing the stranger
Who enters you
Daughter of Africa
You sleep now
While my heart
Yearns for you
Daughter of Africa
You are dieing now
And you finally remember
Me
Who cried for you.
poem by Peter Rhodes
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Janice
Janice my dear, daughter of mine,
So sweet and loving and pure of thought.
Given to me from the Lord above
To teach us here all about love.
She’s quiet and thoughtful and oh so true, what more could a mother ask for than a daughter like you.
I’ll love you dear daughter forever more, and will wait for you as you cross through the door.
So until then, to yourself be true, your reward is in heaven with the angels too.
poem by Barbara Stahly
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A Daughter Cries
when a mother cries
her tears stab at her daughter's heart
as they plummet to the floor
when a mother cries
he daughter cries too
because her heroine is wounded and she doesn't know how or why
she cries because she cannot rid her mother of the pain
she cries most of all because she loves her mother
when a daughtrr cries because her mother cries,
her mother cries more
because her weakness has hurt her child
she cries because it hurts to know she's the cause of her daughter's tears.
she cries most of all because she loves her daughter
one the tears have ceased however
love remains
the love forever shared between a mother and her daughter
poem by Portia Lane
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The Mother
Every criminal has a Mother!
And this Mother goes to the *Supreme Court
And begs for his Son!
Then the Magistrate tells her;
'I am sorry Mother, your son has killed another son.'
Then Mom says; 'In Your honourable Court every criminal hangs? '
'That depends on the Witness.' The Judge said politely.
'O.K. Sir, You hang me and send my son home because he wants to be a Judge one day! '
You see, only a Mother can sing that sad song!
[*This special Supreme Court even the Magistrates could practice.]
* To Maxim Gorky for his superb novel 'Mother'.
Quoted from 'get on the bus' (Uniting children with their mothers and fathers in prison.) 'I noticed things about my mother: She was pretty and she looked like me.I found something in common with all the children on the bus.They have a Mother in prison too. -a little girl-
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Making a Memory
Languishing prostrate
Sultry sun melding our senses
We lay, and we talked
My daughter and I
Under a summer's evening sky.
Whispering secrets
Exchanging ludicrous viewpoints
On freedom to love.
My daughter and I
Under a waning twight sky.
Skipping out seawards
Through late lazy wavelets, swimming
midst wet girlish glee.
My daughter and I
Under that memorable sky.
Fingering hot food
Barbeque roasted and spicy
Warming the moments
My daughter and I
Shared under that magical
moonlit
mid-summer
marvellous
sky.
A Fourtunate Father With His New Daughter, -Dedicated To Joyce Loba Flores. by Ray Subrata
The unquenched thirst,
Of Father, for daughter’s love,
Fountains with a call, -Baba,
From a voice of distant land,
While I am in India, my daughter,
In the farthest Philippines stands.
The face of youngest daughter Hamma,
Appears in Jhoy Loba’s image,
I send her a request, and wait.
‘Good evening sir, its my pleasure ‘
‘Thank you sweet little daughter like friend’,
And my psychic lingered willing suspense.
‘It is my pleasure Baba’, -came the message,
Moment made eternity, opening a father’s passage ‘
I felt a touch, as soothing as much,
From the voice of my new daughter,
A flower divine, by nature shines,
By her beauty in my Father’s bower!
The Father in Man remains hidden,
And it opens with a daughter’s call,
It is more than a glory to a Man,
As in the daughter, -the mother resembles!
poem by Bazi alis Subrata Ray
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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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Hot For Teacher
Spoken:
Oh wow, man !
Wait a second man. whaddaya think the teachers gonna look like this year ?
My butt, man !
T-t-teacher stop that screaming, teacher dont you see ?
Dont wanna be no uptown fool.
Maybe I should go to hell, but Im doin well,
Teacher needs to see me after school.
Chorus:
I think of all the education that I missed.
But then my homework was never quite like this.
Got it bad, got it bad, got it bad,
Im hot for teacher.
I got it bad, so bad,
Im hot for teacher.
Spoken:
Hey, I heard you missed us, were back !
I brought my pencil
Gimme something to write on, man
I heard about your lessons, but lessons are so cold.
I know about this school.
Little girl from cherry lane, how did you get so bold ?
How did you know that golden rule ?
Chorus
(guitar solo)
Oh man, I think the clock is slow
I dont feel tardy
Class dismissed
song performed by by Van Halen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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