Ticking
"An extremely quiet child" they called you in your school report
"He's always taken interest in the subjects that he's taught"
So what was it that brought the squad car screaming up your drive
To notify your parents of the manner in which you died.
At St. Patrick's every Sunday
song performed by by Elton John
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Sent My Child To School Today
I sent my child to school today
With his little lunch box
When he came home he said his friend
Had gotten the chickenpox,
I sent my child to school today
And asked him what he learned
He told me about firemen
They taught him how not to get burned,
I sent my child to school today
He said, 'Do you know what they taught me? '
He told me they taught him numbers
As well as his ABC’s,
I sent my child to school today
A smile on his face
I gave him a kiss and a hug
And said, 'See ya funny face! ',
I sent my child to school today
His smile bright and wide
But an older child brought in a gun
How did he get it inside? ,
I sent my child to school today
As in every day
But the child with the gun started shooting
The reason? No one could say,
I buried my child after school today
All I can do is cry
I lost my child at school today
And nobody can tell me why.
poem by Doug Hollywood Davis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Little Abigail and the Beautiful Pony
There was a girl named Abigail
Who was taking a drive
Through the country
With her parents
When she spied a beautiful sad-eyed
Grey and white pony.
And next to it was a sign
That said,
FOR SALE—CHEAP.
“Oh,” said Abigail,
“May I have that pony?
May I please?”
And her parents said,
“No you may not.”
And Abigail said,
“But I MUST have that pony.”
And her parents said,
“Well, you can have a nice butter pecan
Ice cream cone when we get home.”
And Abigail said,
“I don’t want a butter pecan
Ice cream cone,
I WANT THAT PONY—
I MUST HAVE THAT PONY.”
And her parents said,
“Be quiet and stop nagging—
You’re not getting that pony.”
And Abigail began to cry and said,
“If I don’t get that pony I’ll die.”
And her parents said, “You won’t die.
No child ever died yet from not getting a pony.”
And Abigail felt so bad
That when she got home she went to bed,
And she couldn’t eat,
And she couldn’t sleep,
And her heart was broken,
And she DID die—
All because of a pony
That her parents wouldn’t buy.
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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The Day Old Shep Died
it's been thirty years,
that he's been gone,
the day he died, brought tears,
all day, i played his song.
for nine long years,
i loved him and he loved me,
the day he died, broght tears,
toward the end, he could barely see.
when he died, i was seventeen years,
my child hood died that day,
the day he died, brought tears,
during his youth, we were always at play.
him and i was, so close in years,
when i got shep he was five and i eight,
the day he died brought tears,
he always ate his meals, off our plate.
he died at eighty-four in human years,
he lived to a ripe old age,
the day he died brought tears,
for this poem, he set the stage.
i can't believe, its been so many years,
i think about him, all the time,
the day he died, brought tears,
but old shep, was all mind.
of all these many years,
no dog has taken the place of old shep,
the day he died, brought tears,
i'll always remember, that dog with pep
in memory of old shep 1946-1960 written june 21,1990
Sunday Morning
Sunday morning silence, curtain stay closed late
No one thinks of kitchens mornings in a filthy state
Dishes cups and beer stains, ashtrays on the floor
Sunday morning papers are left outside the front door
Sunday school and sunday roast
Sunday papers sunday post
Sunday morning sunday rest
Sunday sermon sunday best
(sunday, bloody sunday rest)
Glass of fizzy water helps to start the day
Sit and listen to sunday silence, problems fade away
Sunday cars and drivers break the morning air
Uncollected milk outside reveals theres no one there
Sunday school and sunday roast
Sunday papers sunday post
Sunday morning sunday rest
Sunday sermon sunday best
Sunday school and sunday roast
Sunday papers sunday post
Sunday morning sunday rest
Sunday sermon sunday best
Bathrobes hang in waiting, windows steaming up
Somewhere in the sink downstairs lies an unwashed cup
Tea and toast for breakfast clear away the plates
Wash-up prepare for cooking sunday lunch awaits
Sunday lunch awaits
Sunday lunch awaits
song performed by by Madness
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Before the child ever gets to school it will have received crucial, almost irrevocable sex education and this will have been taught by the parents, who are not aware of what they are doing.
quote by Mary S. Calderone
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Want To Say Thanks For My Mother
I want to say Thanks for my Mother,
To me she taught how to Love one another;
With only one hand, to do the work she had to do,
But; she worked as if it was more hands than two.
She took us each Sunday to church and Sunday school,
And really cared to teach us children, the golden Rule;
That we need to Love God, and obey and Trust Him too,
Yes, if only she were here right now, I'd say to her thankyou.
My Mother taught us girls to learn, how to be truthful, also,
And how to read and also to Pray, and to others love to show;
She also taught us how to cook, to sew and knit as well,
These things is a lot for one hand lady, is what I can tell.
She was a foster Mother to many a child and baby, it's true,
Some with health problems, and that couldn't say thankyou;
Some had other difficulties, some were very bad as well,
But Mum certainly showed she loved them, oh yes! We could tell.
So Mum if you could have been here today, and read this now,
It tells you thanks for everything, I love you any how;
Sometimes we were naughty, played up when you were tired too,
So! Mum, I'm sorry for those times, and Mum I say Thankyou.
poem by Margaret Haig
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A Witch At Church After Service Meeting
I was extremely lucky
early in life at primary school
I had the misfortune of
being taught several years
in a row by an extremely
opinionated female teacher?
Her learned perception
all small boys were bad...
I was seated in a group
she never taught
never talked to
never answered
questions from...
only down spoke to
with insulting
condescending remarks.
I as example was destined
at later primary school
she enthusiastically
informed her entire class in
another rage anger fit...
was destined to be arrested
put in prison where I belonged
being of no use to society.
Years later she recognized me
at a church after service meeting
stared at me with loathing hate
obviously church was not
where I belonged in her scheme
of judgement cosmic certainties...
I pleasantly ignored her
having missed her prophecy
incarceration destination
by then I was a journeyman
accredited qualified tradesman
bonus a university degree
never was I a vindictive
child soul destroying teacher
voicing rage as she was...
I had been at primary dyslexic undiagnosed
remedial reading elementary rage taught
will not aid or remedy special needs students...
post graduate Diploma Of Teaching I studied
Students With Special Learning Needs
taught with patience empathy diverse skills heart...
poem by Terence George Craddock
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The founding fathers in their wisdom decided that children were an unnatural strain on parents. So they provided jails called schools, equipped with tortures called education. School is where you go between when your parents can't take you and industry can't take you.
quote by John Updike
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In a Manner of Speaking
In a manner of speaking, I want to kill you,
said the drunk redneck to his wife,
In a manner of speaking, I don't love you,
said my ex (turned vegan) to me,
as I returned from a psych ward, hoping for
some sort of reconciliation,
And in a manner of speaking, the whole
world has gone to shit, that no mentally
unbalanced poet can improve upon,
In a manner of speaking, I was just a haiku
before I birthed an epic poem in 2008
and it went something like:
In a manner of speaking…
In a manner of speaking, there is plenty of
beer and loose women,
In a manner of speaking, there is plenty of
internet journals with useless information,
In a manner of speaking, there are plenty of
assholes writing about getting laid and anal sex
on MySpace,
In a manner of speaking, my friend got raped
a few years ago and now has occasional herpes
outbreaks, which are quite disturbing
to her husband,
In a manner of speaking, I'm losing faith in humanity
and love at times,
In a manner of speaking, we just go through the motions,
hoping for something to change or something
spectacular to happen.
But I don't really know any more,
trying to make sense of it all, screaming for some sort of
sanity that eludes me,
In a manner of speaking, I feel alone here,
unable to connect to what's around me-
I just told some guy at a bar that I was a Dallas Cowboys
fan and I don't even watch football,
and he told me to come in my 'gear' on Sunday,
In a manner of speaking, I feel somewhat liberated
because I have no clue as to what I'm doing,
knowing that there is really no escape.
January 8,2008
-Alexander Shaumyan
poem by Alexander Shaumyan
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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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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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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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Who Will Cry?
Who will cry for the little child who goes for days without food?
Who will cry for the little child who parents beat them?
Who will cry for the little child who is mistreated for being different?
Who will cry for the little child who goes unloved?
Who will cry for the little child whose stomach is swelled up?
Who will cry for the little child who doesn't have clothes to wear?
Who will cry for the little child who is shunned for not being popular?
Who will cry for the little child who is molested every night?
Who will cry for the little child who's parents are not around?
Who will cry for the little child who has to take care of his self?
Who will cry?
Will you cry?
Cause I have.
poem by Natasha Ligons
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Gee, You're So Beautiful That It's Starting To Rain
Oh, Marcia,
I want your long blonde beauty
to be taught in high school,
so kids will learn that God
lives like music in the skin
and sounds like a sunshine harpsicord.
I want high school report cards
to look like this:
poem by Richard Brautigan
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Luckily, thanks to the way my parents taught me, I think I can handle the fame in the right manner.
quote by Alessandro Del Piero
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Parents have a right to insist that godless evolution not be taught to their children.
quote by Patrick Buchanan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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School Is Cool
School is cool when you want to get away for 8 hours,
School is lame if you have to sit there and do work,
When your parents hate you and you begin to cry, well go to school becuse they will never think to find you there,
i love school now that i think about it, my parents hate me and my sisters dis own me so really who cares about going to school and being popular,
when you have to go to feel loved where people do not look at you in discust,
school is cool and i go to get away from being abused!
poem by Amber Rainer
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His Lowness Jason II the Turd
It gotta’ be rough to be a teacher now days.
So my sympathy goes out to Susan Graham,
A 58 year old elementary teacher who taught kindergarten in Yakima, Washington.
She taught a lot of kids throughout the years; but this she wouldn’t ‘handle’ anymore,
She found a piece of one of her students on the floor.
She picked it up and she sent his turd, in a paper towel, with him home, on the bus.
Susan called the father, Jason, at work to if he was aware of his son’s accidental spillage,
The father said he was aware and his son’s extra-clothes were in his backpack.
His wife made the putrid discovery,
Of S$#T.
Jason said,
'She found a clear plastic bag with a piece of fecal matter wrapped up in a brown paper towel with the note on it, '
Did the characters of Sesame Street have to deal with this situation?
The Count say “TWO”, “If you should go number TWO, put in the toilet,
Aw, Aw, Aw, ..”
Big Bird says “You must put your droppings on a statue not on a floor.”
Cookie Monster says “You make cookie, put in pot.”
One blogger wrote, of which I mostly concur,
Rather than keeping the child for detention,
The Blogger writes:
Kudos to this teacher.
The parents are responsible for teaching their child basic hygiene and potty training not the school system. Sounds like the parents and the brat (I don’t agree about that observation) don't believe they have any responsibility or know right from wrong. Give this teacher an award for not being politically correct and teaching the parents and the brat a lesson.
(4-23-09)
poem by Joe Rosochacki
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Malpractice
He was the first to graduate,
top of his class at that.
Male nurse he was,
an oxymoron for the crowd,
but he had stuck with all,
had soon excelled and stunned
the staff and the examiners.
He woke each morning, before five,
slipped in the starched and white
then crowned it all by slinging one
his graduation gift, a bell type, too
across his rigid shoulders, pride
as well as practicality and need,
it was the seal of their approval, yes indeed.
On Christmas Eve, he'd volunteered,
they brought a toddler with a temp of 43,
he called the Registrar to get the go
and drew the morphine into glass, precisely so.
The child soon died, it had been calculated wrong,
the dose had been the proper one for one full grown,
perhaps the doc had figured this one way too strong
but here he was, the one in charge and on his own.
He took a 10, it was the largest he could find,
and filled it carefully, then shot it in his vein,
and within seconds he was screaming, going blind
and then he died because the morphine wrecked his brain.
poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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Sunday's Child
Sunday's child is always praying
for the right thing to come
what she can't see, is the truth
inside of her
not something else
Sunday's child is always praying
for someone else to come
what she can't see, is the source
inside of her
not somebody else
How do you contemplate outside yourself
when you are infinite?
Can't you see, come full circle child,
you are it!
Two hands clapping make one sound
where does that come from?
There's no one around
except, Sunday's child
Amen.
Copyright ©2004
poem by Adryan Rotica
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