Samson and Delilah
The English Literature teacher called him to the Black-board
Who's a regular absentee for every fortnight test.
'Samson write three sentences using the word 'go'.'
He took a piece of chalk and wrote.
1.I go
2.You go
3.We go
'That's incomplete and where do they go? ' Teacher questioned.
'That's my dilemma too.' He replied.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Related quotes
Night School in lower depths
The drug addict teacher comes with pornography
And sits on a desk half drunk.
'Hey! You idiot clean the black board.
The idiot stumbles with the matured students his equals
Quarters, Dimes, Nickels and pennies
And he cleans it seems..
Then the teacher asked him to write a sad but a correct sentence.
'No chalk.'
'Then bring it soon.'
He went to the next door pub and had a gulp of cheap liquor returned with a piece of chalk.
He writes; I skipped my golden school days and went for movies, ran behind the stars to get their signatures.
Now I learn from my mistakes
How to sign myself.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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A Poor Snake Charmer's Charming Daughter!
Though she's beautiful
Nobody comes behind her?
One day in the class room
Literature teacher asked her to write an essay.
She wrote with a piece of chalk
On the black board;
'My father has three snakes
Hope, Prosper and Dancer their names.
And when the snakes dance in the market place
Papa is very happy and he brings us sweets & money home.
We have no venom and why the venomous World
Looks at us on a different angle?
Because of these snakes we get a sound sleep in the night
As the thieves never jump over our rickety fence?
Though we eat bread crumbs father never forgets to buy
Their daily three eggs!
I dream sometimes that I marry a rich & handsome snake-Prince
And my poor father rests on a couch in the palace corner? '
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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A Piece of Chalk (Children's Poem)
Chalk is happiest when the teachers come to him
Because he can chat about all sorts of subjects
Such as astronomy, geography, science and art
Chalk knows whatever you want to know
Chalk doesn’t like to do just one thing
When he is called on by the teacher
And he needs to follow the teacher’s orders
So Chalk hits the students chatting in class
To give them a big shock and stop their talking
Chalk hopes the seed of wisdom grows in students’ minds
And they can improve their studying a lot
If students want to learn about everything from Chalk
Even though every moment he becomes thinner and smaller
At the cost of his life
He still enjoys his work
The past, present and future
I was the usual detainee who stood out of the class most of the time.
The lean English teacher who has a slight dimple on the chin when she smiles, once called me in and asked me to write three sentences the past, present and future tense.
I wrote them without any hesitation.
***************
1.They built massive bridges.
2. They build massive bridges.
3. They will build massive bridges for whom and where do you cross?
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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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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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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A Shortsighted Mouth......
To the last generation
See that you emerge in a different situation
Make sure you come within a new creation
Great will be your fortified nation
From which no alien will find an incursion
Learn from the first generation
Their failure needs your correction
Their skills needs your collection
Had daughters gorgeous like yours,
Had sons gorgeous like yours,
Had walls enormous like yours…
Something you have they could not;
A black board to write on,
And a chalk to write with,
A teacher to pay attention to,
And a class to enforce team work,
A text book to make research,
And a screen to focus on,
A pen to practice with,
And a free time, to make friends
One thing they had you will never have;
A shortsighted mouth…
poem by Iyamuremye Wilfred
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Physical Science
(after Antjie Krog)
Right at the front at the big old green board
the teacher waits with a strong wooden cane
while pretty girls peep at me
and here I am alone in my wooden bench,
where just here I can die in my chair
when the teacher starts to wander around
while the lesson drags on and on
and he is causing great fear among the pupils
before a crooked old finger points at me,
I see scientific formulae in chalk,
how that teacher throws down the board-eraser,
and gives me a hiding until I get all the answers right;
sometimes I wonder from where he comes,
and see the most devious fiend only in him.
[Reference: "Wiskunde" (Mathematics) by Antjie Krog.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Teacher
Teacher was
Learn the
Black board...
Students was
speaking
Cinima story...
School bell
Ringing for
Lunch break...
The black board
Teaching the teacher
How to the time pass? ? ? ! ! !
Student are very busy
For cinima story...
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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God Bless The Absentee
Lord, Im a working man
And music is my trade
Im travelin with this five-piece band
And I play the ace of spades
I have a wife and family
Who dont see much of me
God bless the absentee
Lord, I am a surgeon
And music is my knife
It cuts away my sorrow
And purifies my life
But if I could release my heart
And veins and arteries
Id say God bless the absentee
I miss my woman so
I miss my bed
I miss those soft places
I used to lay my head
My son dont need me yet
His bones are soft
He flies a silver airplane
He wears a golden cross
God bless the absentee
Lord, this countrys changed so fast
The future is the present
The presents in the past
Highways are in litigation
The airports disagree
God bless the absentee
God bless the absentee
song performed by by Paul Simon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Why you so inquisitive of my whereabouts?
My night school's still dark
and the road I walk
Tar always black!
On the way,
I see rare night flowers,
They too have pearly white teeth
when they smile?
O the white Goddess
as passing clouds.
The white board in the gloomy class
Colored teacher writes on
with a piece of black chalk
A poem to recite;
'When forget-me-not
covers the old pauper's graveyard
Everybody thinks
It's the garden of Eden?
But in cruel Autumn
When the flowers withered
It's still the pauper's graveyard? '
[ From Father have I my stature,
my zest for earnest living;
From little Mother
my gay nature,
My love of story-telling.]-Goethe
nimal dunuhinga
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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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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Clumsy
I don´t know why I am not able to look at him
What if I could do without this seriousness?
And see him face to face.
At dinner I can feel him
Sitting behind
And then, suddendly, his laughter,
That way to use the spoon.
I spend chosen moments
Waiting for him to pass by,
Cigarette and smile.
It is tough to play this game of silence
This tension on my dreams
This fear all the time.
I feel I am clumsy
And I don´t want to be a girl any more
Why can´t I focus on what´s good for me,
On what´s possible?
Another poem to see him from behind
A piece of chalk writing on the board
Some homework for tomorrow....
which home would that be?
And then we´ll try to build good sentences
To say what we think clearly
And be brave....
poem by Luis Gil de la Puente
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Understanding
We are here
To understand, not to condemn yet
Anyone.
I perfectly understand
Darkness
My companion since then
Has always been
Chaos and Confusion
I agree it is hard to write
What beginning there was
To point out the opening word
And to start writing
Sentences
But take love
First, Above All
Just love and take more pondering
On compassion
Take the teachings of Empathy
Whether you end with Sadness
Or you end with Happiness
Whether you arrive at Nothing
It does not really matter
Anymore
Just take love
The rest shall follow
The pen shall begin to write the word
Itself
And then, mind you
The sentences are too many.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I learn English from the next door Irish widowed Teacher!
My beloved's best friend and they make cakes together.
One day she asked me to write an essay in few lines of the difference between Mr.Obama & Mr.Osama.
I wrote; 'Mr.Obama is a strong christian
And the President of the U.S.A.
Mr.Osama is a strong Muslim and he does a research on the seabed?
Obama likes literature and Osama likes pornography
That's why I think Osama got plenty wives and Obama only one?
The teacher's very happy and hugged me in a different approach
And I was scared, stopped the classes!
When wife asked why then I explained it's a mixture of Irish & English
And very hard to by heart?
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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What Happened to Billy Ray?
As a matter of stature, this man is not very tall.
The stories he tells could fill a shopping mall.
Bill is a word technician in a local high school.
As an English teacher, he is nobody's fool.
Generations of students have learned at his feet.
They will not face the future being incomplete.
How many of us wished we'd had a teacher like Bill?
Thinking of my English teacher still gives me a chill.
Now Bill the Great also likes to fish from time to time.
According to him, his fishing ability is simply sublime.
He worked the worm like strumming a fine instrument.
The poor bass ending up on his hook was his testament.
I write this poem to honor a simple English teacher.
Oh by the way, he once was a country preacher.
Unappreciated by others, he left his current position.
Making more money became his new mission.
In 2006, he had a motorcycle accident that was very grim.
Thereafter, another in his life began to assimilate him.
Resistance proved futile as he had finally become the 'Borg.'
As a result, you'll find our relationship residing in the morgue.
poem by Manager Poet
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Lucky Chalk
Keep saving...Keep saving
Or...Not
Let go and make room
For the teachers
There's wisdom on the board
The clapping of erasers
Sprinkles, tattered, and worn chalk
Like advice and re-arrangement
Dusting all the desks
For the new class
Untill they graduate
Not everyone will
Those left behiend
Can clean the board
And gather the chalk gems
Lucky janitors
poem by Josephine Lauderdale
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And I promise to reserve a seat for my lonesome Master
Still I am going to school and nobody sits in the class.
Peeled walls look so sad like an old fresco
And I think of my old friends.
A piece of chalk and the duster
Still remain in a corner on the rack below the blackboard.
Some letters were missing in the old essays but readable.
Before I step down I hear the echoes of music teacher's melancholy voice
And I never thought a chalk could speak like a parrot.
'Hey! Master I watched your regrets and I want to tell you that some of your friends already stuck in a home for the elders.
Your favorite teacher was retired and she collects her last pension it seems.
But it's glad to see still you look as a student's charisma with your old haversack.
Please come another day after the refurbishment of the school
Then you could see the new students and teachers
And I promise to reserve a seat for my lonesome Master.'
* To Sandra Fowler in gratitude.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Lecturer
He wrote on the board
“The husband said the wife
Is having an extra-marital affair”.
He asks the class, “Who is having the EMA? ”
Shout comes up loud, “the wife”.
He takes a piece of chalk, and puts two commas
One after husband, and one after wife.
It now reads, “The husband, said the wife, is
Having an extra-marital affair”.
He asks the class, “Who is having the EMA? ”
Confused murmur of husband, wife flutters.
“Not a word has changed, but the meaning has reversed
With just two commas.” Eats shoots and leaves, eh?
May I start the lecture on grammar, he said.
The class was all ears.
D T Joseph
19.02.08
poem by Daniel Trevelyn Joseph
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Old Town Types No. 29 - Miss Trapp, The Music Teacher
'One-and-two-and-three-and-four
You're playing it by ear, boy! Eyes upon the score!'
Miss Trapp, the music teacher, very prim and staid,
English and respectable, the town's old maid,
Sitting in her 'front room,' elderly and stern,
While a grubby urchin struggles with the notes he'll never learn.
'One-and-two-and-one-and-two
You're playing it at random! This will nevah, nevah do!'
No one knew her history or why she settled down
To 'Singing and Pianoforte' in our old town;
With her soft voice and grey dress, the folk called her 'The Dove;'
And the story somehow got about that she'd been 'crossed in love.'
And so, her fancied tragedy clothed her in vague romance
'So well-connected, too, my dear. You'd see that that a glance'
With her 'One-and-two-and - Oh, you stupid child!'
And the rap upon the knuckles was both lady-like and mild.
She sang at local concerts in a cultured voice and thin,
And the back seats applauded her with many a covert grin:
'Her voice is gettin' rusty; but the ole girl does her best.'
But the front seats said, 'Beautiful! How training stands the test!'
Yet all combined, in kindliness with varied tact displayed,
To make the path no thornier for our old maid,
Whose spinsterhood was quite an institution in the town,
With her 'One-and-two-and ...' And then she let us down.
For years she'd dwelt among us - our one 'lady,' prim and pure.
In her neat dove-grey dress, and manner most demure,
A regular museum piece, who knew just what was 'done.'
And then an English 'toff' came up to say to Connor's run.
Rich, it was said, and elderly; and, to the town's dismay,
He took and married our old-maid and hastened her away,
With her 'One-and-two-and ...' Of culture now bereft,
The town's 'tone' departed when our music teacher left.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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