To The Teachers Of America
TEACHERS of teachers! Yours the task,
Noblest that noble minds can ask,
High up Aonia's murmurous mount,
To watch, to guard the sacred fount
That feeds the streams below;
To guide the hurrying flood that fills
A thousand silvery rippling rills
In ever-widening flow.
Rich is the harvest from the fields
That bounteous Nature kindly yields,
But fairer growths enrich the soil
Ploughed deep by thought's unwearied toil
In Learning's broad domain.
And where the leaves, the flowers, the fruits,
Without your watering at the roots,
To fill each branching vein ?
Welcome! the Author's firmest friends,
Your voice the surest Godspeed lends.
Of you the growing mind demands
The patient care, the guiding hands,
Through all the mists of morn.
And knowing well the future's need,
Your prescient wisdom sows the seed
To flower in years unborn.
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Teacher’s Day in India,2010
Teachers teach students to learn;
Teachers show them how to earn;
Teachers guide students to read;
Teachers help them if they need.
Teachers share with pupils, ken;
Teachers show them how to pen;
Teachers train them in most things;
Teachers make them good earthlings!
Teachers mould their character;
Teachers act facilitator;
Teachers are a boon on earth;
Teachers bring students, mirth!
Teachers care for children-wards;
Teachers don’t expect rewards;
Teachers slog throughout life-span;
Teachers make them man / woman.
Teachers are a humble lot;
Teachers make learning, an art;
Teachers perform well their part;
Teachers love students in heart!
Teachers are next to parents;
Teachers are a nation’s wealth;
Teachers make a student great;
Teachers are a must for all.
Revere teachers on this Day;
Thank them truly in some way;
Emulate them, if you may;
‘Give them good health, God’, you pray!
“Happy Teachers’ Day! ”
Most lovingly dedicated to all my teachers,
Living and dead, who made me,
‘What I am, today! ’
Copyright by Dr John Celes 05-09-2010
poem by John Celes
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Happy Teacher’s Day in India,2010
Teachers teach students to learn;
Teachers show them how to earn;
Teachers guide students to read;
Teachers help them if they need.
Teachers share with pupils, ken;
Teachers show them how to pen;
Teachers train them in most things;
Teachers make them good earthlings!
Teachers mould their character;
Teachers act facilitator;
Teachers are a boon on earth;
Teachers bring students, mirth!
Teachers care for children-wards;
Teachers don’t expect rewards;
Teachers slog throughout life-span;
Teachers make them man / woman.
Teachers are a humble lot;
Teachers make learning, an art;
Teachers perform well their part;
Teachers love students in heart!
Teachers are next to parents;
Teachers are a nation’s wealth;
Teachers make a student great;
Teachers are a must for all.
Revere teachers on this Day;
Thank them truly in some way;
Emulate them, if you may;
‘Give them good health, God’, you pray!
“Happy Teachers’ Day! ”
Most lovingly dedicated to all my teachers,
Living and dead, who made me,
‘What I am, today! ’
Copyright by Dr John Celes 05-09-2010
poem by John Celes
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The Fountain Of Youth
READ AT THE MEETING OF THE HARVARD ALUMNI
ASSOCIATION, JUNE 25, 1873
THE fount the Spaniard sought in vain
Through all the land of flowers
Leaps glittering from the sandy plain
Our classic grove embowers;
Here youth, unchanging, blooms and smiles,
Here dwells eternal spring,
And warm from Hope's elysian isles
The winds their perfume bring.
Here every leaf is in the bud,
Each singing throat in tune,
And bright o'er evening's silver flood
Shines the young crescent moon.
What wonder Age forgets his staff
And lays his glasses down,
And gray-haired grandsires look and laugh
As when their locks were brown!
With ears grown dull and eyes grown dim
They greet the joyous day
That calls them to the fountain's brim
To wash their years away.
What change has clothed the ancient sire
In sudden youth? For, to!
The Judge, the Doctor, and the Squire
Are Jack and Bill and Joe!
And be his titles what they will,
In spite of manhood's claim
The graybeard is a school-boy still
And loves his school-boy name;
It calms the ruler's stormy breast
Whom hurrying care pursues,
And brings a sense of peace and rest,
Like slippers after shoes.--
And what are all the prizes won
To youth's enchanted view?
And what is all the man has done
To what the boy may do?
O blessed fount, whose waters flow
Alike for sire and son,
That melts our winter's frost and snow
And makes all ages one!
I pledge the sparkling fountain's tide,
That flings its golden shower
With age to fill and youth to guide,
Still fresh in morning flower
Flow on with ever-widening stream,
In ever-brightening morn,--
Our story's pride, our future's dream,
The hope of times unborn!
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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Teacher’s Day
Obey your teachers, everyone;
Respect your teachers, everyone;
Remember your teachers, everyone.
Heed to what they teach in class.
Like/ love your teachers, if superb;
Emulate your teachers exemplary;
Reward them for their excellence;
Be humble to them all through your life;
Thank your teachers for good things done;
Forgive your teachers, if they’ve wronged;
Pray to God to bless their lives on earth always.
Never mock;
Never hate;
Never anger;
Never belittle;
Never ridicule;
Never humiliate:
Your teachers anytime.
Be proud of all your teachers
Of your school and college;
Help them if they should ask;
Assist them in each task;
A teacher is a gift from God;
Thank God for your part!
poem by John Celes
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Teacher’s Day Verses (A Pot Pourri)
Most teachers teach;
And some do preach;
Not all can reach
The pupil each!
On ‘Teachers’ Day’
Students must say,
‘From heart, we thank you, aye,
for showing us life’s way! ’
Teachers are mostly right;
Pupils should never fight;
They show all wisdom’s light
With selflessness and might.
Each teacher is God’s gift,
Who gives us our life’s lift;
And warns us not to drift
Away, from learning shift!
Our teachers help us learn;
Sometimes they are quite stern;
The mid-night oil, we burn;
Our learning helps us earn;
There are some hearts that care,
And show love that is rare
Like parents, and knowledge share;
And smile, when students well fare.
Let students thank God
For teachers’ precepts, rod;
They must always nod
To teacher’s every word.
Our teachers mean a lot;
In life, they change our lot,
And prevent us from rot;
To thank them, we all ought.
Our Teachers give the spark
That lights our lives quite dark;
They keep us on the mark
Like guardian angels, Hark!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 9-4-2008
poem by John Celes
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No Tree Can Stand Tall Without Roots Spread!
Every seed sends roots first,
Finding for soil and ground
where it can stand firm and tall,
stand firm and tall if roots go
deep,
Spread wide to find The sap! single cell that carry life,
Give life to cells and tissues,
Shoot, barks, branches and
leaves,
feed the leaves exposing leaves
to light, Visible tree stands on exposed
roots, not roots visible, Man made boundaries, fence and
compound,
Can't prevent or limit roots or
branches,
Sometimes absorbing soil here,
Branch will extent to neighbouring house,
How one can limit the nature,
or confine growing tree to
narrow circle drawn by man?
So is every life on Earth!
Mankind is like forest of different trees,
Yet all roots of autotrophic trees
deep in the soil,
Only parasitic have those roots,
pierce other tree's heart! Dive deep into yourself,
O man! Can you survive without
Your roots?
know how you are here,
Is it the mortal parent brought
you here, Or your fate,
Only be grateful to their love and
care forever!
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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Teacher’s Day,2011 in India
Remember all your teachers who taught you
in school and college, right from childhood days;
Revere your teachers in all things you do;
Pray God should keep them happy most, always!
They put their heart and soul to train us up;
They helped us drink ken with ease from life’s cup!
Remind yourself the toil that teachers gave;
If not for them, would we now well behave?
Recapitulate good things that teachers did;
Recollect moments ashamed, when you hid;
Realize the role each one of them well played;
Recognize their mettle, prowess, love, aid!
Recount their help they offered you in need;
Reflect on advice good, they tried to seed;
Refill your heart and mind with joy, O man!
Repay their kindness to them if you can.
What noble sacrifices teachers made!
Efforts to train us, students, will not fade;
Despite their hard-work, life gave them raw deal;
Our teachers made us wholesome and thus feel!
Dedicated to all my beloved teachers
who made me what I am, today!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 4-09-’11
poem by John Celes
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Bendigo
A golden maid whose golden voice
Calls to the northern lands,
Of riches she has had her choice.
Twin treasures to make men rejoice
Came easy to her hands:
The golden harvest of broad fields,
Or that dark gift of sudden yields
Won from her golden sands.
But men have scorned her worthier pride
In rich and fruitful soil;
And, spreading desolation wide,
Ranged all her verdant countryside
To ravage and despoil.
And now grey wastes of tortured earth
Await the glory of rebirth
Thro' nature's patient toil.
She has the wish, she has the will
To gather beauty round.
Though gold's fierce lure stays with her still,
She lives to plan and strive until
Springs from this barren ground
Earth's only treasure, scorned of yore,
And smiling verdure clothes once more
Full many a bare, bleak mound.
She guards the gateway of the north
The broad lands of the sun.
Hospitably her hand goes forth,
Eager to vindicate the worth
Of happier tasks begun,
And in gay gardens to express
A newer urge to loveliness
And kinder virtues won.
A virile lass, in no wise strange,
Of true Australian breed:
Where drab days into sunlight charge
Across the Great Dividing Range
She scatters now the seed
That shall bring yields a thousandfold
When gardens count for more than gold
And peace outvalues greed.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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In Memoriam—Rev. J. J. Lyons
ROSH-HASHANAH, 5638.
The golden harvest-tide is here, the corn
Bows its proud tops beneath the reaper's hand.
Ripe orchards' plenteous yields enrich the land;
Bring the first fruits and offer them this morn,
With the stored sweetness of all summer hours,
The amber honey sucked from myriad flowers,
And sacrifice your best first fruits to-day,
With fainting hearts and hands forespent with toil,
Offer the mellow harvest's splendid spoil,
To Him who gives and Him who takes away.
Bring timbrels, bring the harp of sweet accord,
And in a pleasant psalm your voice attune,
And blow the cornet greeting the new moon.
Sing, holy, holy, holy, is the Lord,
Who killeth and who quickeneth again,
Who woundeth and who healeth mortal pain,
Whose hand afflicts us, and who sends us peace.
Hail thou slim arc of promise in the West,
Thou pledge of certain plenty, peace, and rest.
With the spent year, may the year's sorrows cease.
For there is mourning now in Israel,
The crown, the garland of the branching tree
Is plucked and withered. Ripe of years was he.
The priest, the good old man who wrought so well
Upon his chosen globe. For he was one
Who at his seed-plot toiled through rain and sun.
Morn found him not as one who slumbereth,
Noon saw him faithful, and the restful night
Stole o'er him at his labors to requite
The just man's service with the just man's death.
What shall be said when such as he do pass?
Go to the hill-side, neath the cypress-trees,
Fall midst that peopled silence on your knees,
And weep that man must wither as the grass.
But mourn him not, whose blameless life complete
Rounded its perfect orb, whose sleep is sweet,
Whom we must follow, but may not recall.
Salute with solemn trumpets the New Year,
And offer honeyed fruits as were he here,
Though ye be sick with wormwood and with gall.
poem by Emma Lazarus
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Destiny In Your Own Hands
Who decides what one becomes in future?
Is it God, one's parents or oneself?
Is it one's headteacher, teachers or friends?
If it is God, then how unfair;
Too many unsuccessful people,
Too few successful people.
But God's stand is crystal clear,
This in His Holy Book unambiguous upheld.
I place before you life and death,
The choice is clearly yours to make.
God is first and foremost,
Fatherly-fair and free-minded,
Wishing you all you wish yourself,
Placing your destiny at the proper place.
Providence is yours to decide.
If my parents, then I better relax.
No parent will visit failure on his child,
Every parent will wish their children well.
Success, they will thrust on their children
But for their effort to bear fruits,
It must be nourished and nurtured.
That legacy reared and raised right,
Makes a magnificent mark on a mind
But under utilised or unused,
Patently becomes pearl pitched to pigs.
No matter what one's parent does,
Ones future is in one's own hands.
Your destiny is in your own hand.
Head teachers and teachers can play their part,
Working hard to make, mold and model you,
Striving faithfully to form and fashion you
For a fulfilling and flattering future.
But their toil will forlornly be fully futile,
Without you complementing fittingly
To steer your fortune favorably.
Your fate, surely, is in your hands
The gospel truth, tested and proven is,
Your destiny is in your own hands.
You can definitely become,
What you devotedly desire to be.
Nobody can deny you that.
God has given you the option
To become a prominent professional
Or to become a vile villain
What would you prefer to be?
Goaded on by this trusty truth,
I would strive strenuously to be a giant.
I would dig deep to get to gold.
I would toil tirelessly to touch my target.
A giant I would definitely be
So help me God.
poem by Emmanuel Oduro
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For An Autumn festival
The Persian's flowery gifts, the shrine
Of fruitful Ceres, charm no more;
The woven wreaths of oak and pine
Are dust along the Isthmian shore.
But beauty hath its homage still,
And nature holds us still in debt;
And woman's grace and household skill,
And manhood's toil, are honored yet.
And we, to-day, amidst our flowers
And fruits, have come to own again
The blessings of the summer hours,
The early and the latter rain;
To see our Father's hand once more
Reverse for us the plenteous horn
Of autumn, filled and running o'er
With fruit, and flower, and golden corn!
Once more the liberal year laughs out
O'er richer stores than gems or gold;
Once more with harvest-song and shout
Is Nature's bloodless triumph told.
Our common mother rests and sings,
Like Ruth, among her garnered sheaves;
Her lap is full of goodly things,
Her brow is bright with autumn leaves.
Oh, favors every year made new!
Oh, gifts with rain and sunshine sent
The bounty overruns our due,
The fulness shames our discontent.
We shut our eyes, the flowers bloom on;
We murmur, but the corn-ears fill,
We choose the shadow, but the sun
That casts it shines behind us still.
God gives us with our rugged soil
The power to make it Eden-fair,
And richer fruits to crown our toil
Than summer-wedded islands bear.
Who murmurs at his lot to-day?
Who scorns his native fruit and bloom?
Or sighs for dainties far away,
Beside the bounteous board of home?
Thank Heaven, instead, that Freedom's arm
Can change a rocky soil to gold,--
That brave and generous lives can warm
A clime with northern ices cold.
And let these altars, wreathed with flowers
And piled with fruits, awake again
Thanksgivings for the golden hours,
The early and the latter rain!
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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School- My Palace
For me school is a palace,
with teachers excelling in solace,
School is a sapling of wisdom and wealth,
known for not burdening us to death,
It is a place of fun, frolic and fiesta,
along with anger, enemity and siesta,
A school is a temple of learning,
the beginning of man's earning,
A school is like a kaliedoscope of exploring,
which set Einstein and Curie pondering,
It is the hub of future excellences,
with a wide variety of references,
It is a house where Friends and teachers meet,
making the atmosphere full of excitement and discreet,
School is always the best,
for the present and future to rest.
poem by Shivani Pillai
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As I Watche'd The Ploughman Ploughing
that hoeing on the earth
his signature onto world pad
that supreme thought
it gets marked onto the earth
only to be picked up
five thousand years from now
by a similar homo sapien
that ploughs the vast tracts of his mind
each haul a synergy between his mind
and the one five thousand years ago
inspiration that gets the world hooked
on each other the mental waves
left in soil, wind, trees
they live on to nourish future minds
as i watched the ploughman ploughing
i know the world would advance
with all its force to get to the truth
the way he turns the earth with his plough
As I Watche'd The Ploughman Ploughing
AS I watch'd the ploughman ploughing,
Or the sower sowing in the fields-or the harvester harvesting,
I saw there too, O life and death, your analogies:
(Life, life is the tillage, and Death is the harvest according.)
Walt Whitman
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Ode to Teachers
Ode to Teachers
Teachers are not just people whose job is to teach
Teachers are not just people who grade our papers or stand at the front of the classroom
Teachers are not just people who give us homework
No!
Teachers are part of our life
Never to be forgotten
Teachers are like steps that help us
Help us make it to the top
To be a greater person
To exceed expectations
They prepare us for great outside world
With its stone cold heart
Where if we trip and fall on our face
It will laugh at us
But because of our teachers
Our wonderful teachers
We remember to get back up
poem by Dreamin Big
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As God Gave Freely
As God gave freely unto me
gifts of compassion love patience time
so I also give freely unto you
in the fertile landscapes of harvest mind
have I not prepared fields broken ground
have I not sown in full measure love seed
will you now take ownership of these fields?
will you water fertilize tender growth shoots?
will you weed harvest all life love gift fields?
for 18 months more have I alone toiled prepared?
are not these fields without cost to you purchased?
did I not give sacred work all my time livelihood?
will you choose to help harvest these compassion seeds?
will you let peace love flower with purity in your minds?
will you turn swords into plough shears till peace fields?
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Teachers Challenge
It's time for the public to open up their eyes
Without the teachers how will our kids survive
What will happen to our children if they
don't have an education
They are the foundation of this great nation.
The teachers all had a dream and a goal
To teach the public young and old.
They had learned early in college
That they must gain daily knowledge.
Every day they challenge their minds
With new knowledge that they find
It does not matter what the topic may be
It all goes down into history.
They work hard at what they do
Teaching our kids and their kids too.
Teaching is not an easy task
not all kids learn that fast.
Then there are those with special needs
With which the teachers plant their seeds.
They are given a lot more patience
And a lot more care, so with them
The teachers do share.
Now is the time that money should be given
So that they can earn a decent living.
poem by Louis Rams
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Teacher’s Day 2011
Relive those moments when you’re just a kid!
Your mother was your first teacher and dad;
School-teachers did their role beyond compare;
And college-teachers did their part quite fair!
And ‘Teachers’ Day’ has come again this year;
Remember all your teachers very dear;
Contact them in some way and render ‘thanks’;
Teachers are earthly angels in high ranks!
Think of some way of expressing your love;
Gift them something to tell them they were great;
Enquire just asking about their health;
Our teachers are our nation’s pride and wealth!
‘Happy Teacher’s Day! ’
Copyright by Dr John Celes 4-09-11
poem by John Celes
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Picking Teachers For Their Leader
Strangers!
Come before the darkness of night,
Crawls.
As twilight escorts the rising moon!
Strangers...
Known in dreams.
Whisper of their presence unseen.
But felt...
By a familiar comfort embraced.
My steps cease to seek a quickened pace.
There is no wish for leaving.
I am told in my mind I should stay.
Soft voices dance within rainbowed light!
Sparkling to convince...
I should pray with faith.
And they would make my life right!
Picking teachers for their Leader.
For the One never shown.
The One who through scriptures...
Repeated to make appear,
But left still for them to go unknown.
Picking teachers for their Leader.
How they do it like it's done...
When they come,
Nobody knows.
Their picking teachers for their Leader.
They say He's number One.
Like none other like He,
Upon me with gifts bestowed!
Strangers!
Come before the darkness of night,
Crawls.
As twilight escorts the rising moon!
Strangers...
Known in dreams.
Whisper of their presence unseen.
But felt...
By a familiar comfort embraced.
Their picking teachers for their Leader.
As God demands.
Their picking teachers for their Leader.
As God Commands.
Their picking teachers for their Leader.
And I understand...
Something that I give,
Must be done with giving hands.
And instantly I'm comprehending...
My relationship with my fellowman.
Their picking teachers for their Leader.
Picking teachers for their Leader.
Their picking teachers for their Leader.
Picking teachers for their Leader
Picking teachers for their Leader.
Picking teachers for their Leader!
Strangers!
Come before the darkness of night,
Crawls.
As twilight escorts the rising moon!
Strangers...
Known in dreams.
Whisper of their presence unseen.
But felt...
By a familiar comfort embraced.
Their picking teachers for their Leader.
Picking teachers for their Leader.
Their picking teachers for their Leader.
Picking teachers for their Leader
Picking teachers for their Leader.
Picking teachers for their Leader!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Teacher’s Day in India
Teacher’s Day in India is today-
Dr. Sarvepalli Radhakrishnan’s birthday;
A great educationist, Indian;
A former President of our nation;
A teacher par excellence;
An exemplary role-model to all.
Let’s celebrate this day
In a special way,
By remembering our teachers,
Who’d taught us all these years.
A teacher is a tutor;
A teacher is a scholar;
A teacher is a special friend;
A guide and philosopher
In students’ lives- a Godsend!
Our teachers are great minds;
Our teachers are rare finds;
Their love and precept binds
As students’ life-years winds!
God bless our teachers (dears):
God give them healthy years;
God meet their wants sans fears,
And make them mighty seers.
Like parents, he/she rears;
God rank them as great peers;
But keep them free from tears,
When their life’s end nears.
Dedicated most respectfully to
all our beloved teachers
on 5th September,2006
Copyright by Dr John Celes, India
poem by John Celes
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Lector thaasen
I read once of a flower that lonely grew,
Apart, with trembling stem and pale of hue;
The mountain-world of cold and strife
Gave little life
And less of color.
A botanist the flower chanced to see
And glad exclaimed: Oh, this must sheltered be,
Must seed produce, renewing birth,
In sun-warmed earth
Become a thousand.
But as he dug and drew it from the ground,
Strange glitterings upon his hands he found;
For to its roots clung dust of golden hue;
The flower grew
On golden treasure!
And from the region wide came all the youth
To see the wonder; they divined the truth:
Here lay their country's future might;
A ray of light
From God that flower!-
This I recall now even while I mourn;
The Lord of life has lifted him and borne
From mountain-cold and wintry air
To fruitage fair
In warmth eternal.
For where the roots were of that life replete,
What gleams and glitters! See, they ran to meet
The shafts of wisdom's goodly mines,
The gold that shines
In veins of God's thought.
Now he is lifted up, to light are brought
The riches he to guard so faithful sought.
The treasures of our past are there,
And glintings rare
Of future riches.
Come, Norway's youth! Unearth to use the hoard
That round this heaven-borne flower's roots was stored!
To you his message! Hear and heed!
Achieve in deed
His dream and longing!
poem by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
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