The Substitute
I remember once in history class
Came the temporary absence of Mr Whyte.
And the substitute teacher who came to replace him,
Oh my! Wasn't she such a beautiful sight.
As she stepped through the door,
All of the students' eyes were fixed upon her.
Her long brown hair caressed her face,
Her eyes were blue with flavour.
Laura was dressed all in black,
Her trousers were loosely pizazz.
And though she was dressed like a serious business-woman,
Her pretty face still made my head play romantic jazz.
I was fifteen and believed in love at first sight.
However, after reading through few pages of Living History Two,
My classmates slowly began to see the nervous teacher
As tedious, unhumorous, and absolutely no fun, too.
After the bell rang and Laura left,
Alan stepped in to call out, 'Well boys! What do you think? '
Plenty of us still wolf-whistled but those like Dylan
Apparently implied her personality was a Titanical sink.
But nothing about her bothered me.
I was happy she stayed working in the school.
As always, up to today, I'm often tempted to kiss the Miss
While I kneel and give praise to the Queen of the teachers' stool.
poem by Stephen Cahill Furlong
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Related quotes
T’was the Week after Christmas Break a parody of T'was the night Before Christmas
T’was the week after Christmas break,
And all through the school
The students were restless
For lessons poured out like and overflowing pool
Though most were quite dreary,
Some still touched their work
While visions of summer
Came around with a quirk
Out in the streets
A few were ditching
And hoping that ideas
The teachers would stop pitching
In my own class
I had been thinking
And trying not to smell
The garbage that was stinking
My classmates were sleeping
While the teacher was teaching
And students in class
Were passing notes that were beseeching
I flipped through a book
Wondering what it would take
To get my teacher
To just take a break
I stared at my paper
But in thought I was distracted
As my teacher wrote notes
My head seemed compacted
Some candy might assist
I thought with a smile
But as I began to eat
It became a trial
I’d completely considered
To take a nap
But the teachers voice
Sounded like a bad rap
When out of nowhere
The class got quiet
And when I looked
Captain Know it all had started a riot
His appearance quite shabby
And I hated his beard
As he glanced at me
He said something weird
“What kind of child
Would not make a complaint
When class is just
A place of restraint? ”
“On History! On Science!
On wonderful math
On good behavior
And a great career path”
His message said
He rolled out of the room
But we heard him complain
When he was given a broom
Your teacher has bored you
So try to stay awake
Happy week after break to all
And to all, a good wake
Visiting The Wake Of My Teacher
today i visit the wake of
a 98-year old
retired school teacher
i watch her face inside the coffin
she is very peaceful
i begin to remember
when i was once her grade 3 pupil
in that old Miputak Elementary
School
she believed in me
and that is what made me today
she made me believe in myself
and that made her the best person in the world for me
she will not die
she is living in my memory
goodbye dear teacher
you have done your job too well.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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In The Art Class
I look around this joyful room,
Amongst the peaceful teens
This is perhaps the only class
Where students are not machines
In the art class they’ll smile
In the art class they’ll yell
In the art class they‘ll be kind
And not raise a hell
Many teachers wonder why this is so
Many teachers wonder where the secret lies
The secret to peaceful teens, which enjoy their work
The secret to the students without depressed cries
The students wonder how they could not get it
How they could not understand
How the teachers don’t realise
That in the art room there are no demands
In the maths class there are complications
In the English room there is language
But in the art room there is only creativity
It is that which students which to salvage
The art teacher is simple and kind
The art teacher doesn’t lecture or scream
The art teacher doesn’t force them to be equal
And make a most horrendous scene
No, in the art class they are not equal
But the differences they admire
They have a writer, a painter and a sculptor
And they have freedom to aspire
Freedom is what the students wish
The students wish to be treated like people
In the art class they are treated as such
In other classes they are believed incapable
The students will always be at peace in the art room
There will be no fights, no pain, and no scorn
The other teachers will wonder what the secret is
But their attempts to find out will always be forlorn
poem by Lenore Lee
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Silly; Human Nature; Scary? ; Long: Mary's Pet
Mary was a little weird, a fact you'll soon agree.
And if this story sounds familiar, I hope you'll forgive me.
She attended Beavis Elementary, just around the block.
She left for school each school day, by eight a.m. by the clock.
Now one day was 'Bring a Pet to School With You Day'.....;
that could turn out hectic, but NOT tragic most would say.
After all, what could eight-year-olds bring to class that could break ANY rule? ?
(Soon, you'll find you are wrong, my friend. Mary was weird and cruel.)
She could have taken her lamb to school, as in the nursery rhyme.
Her classmates would enjoy it. The thought's almost sublime.
But what instead did Mary take from her home menagerie?
Something cold and sinister that would make even teachers flee!
When Mary got to school that day no one paid her any mind.
(She was weird of course.) That she appeared with no pet was fine.
The day progressed quite nicely with dogs and cats; even one rat.
But Mary fidgeted more than usual in the BACK ROW where she sat.
Now as I said there were lots of cats and dogs (and one guinea pig, some birds) :
that day the poor janitor was kept busy, sweeping up their turds.
Each child was given time in class, to show and talk about their pet,
but a half hour before the recess bell, Mary had not talked or shown one......yet!
When she was the last one left, who'd not stood at the teacher's desk,
the teacher, Mrs. Apple, called her up; she thought Mary was a PEST.
'Mary dear' (that's what Apple SAID, though it was NOT what she thought)
'you are now the last one, my dear, left to show us what you've brought.'
At that, with a smirk on her face, Mary reached for her cute rear;
one especially precocious boy thought 'her ass? ' with hope but also fear.
So Mary reached down the back of her skirt, and SLOWLY she did take....
a two foot long, glistening-black, hooded cobra snake.
The teacher fled; some children did too, but SOME were mesmerized.
They could NOT believe what Mary had brought though they saw it with their eyes.
The 'Day' was NOT as successful as the principal hoped it'd be.
Five classmates died of cobra bites. Three are still in comas. Hee hee.
(Nov.2012)
poem by Bri Edwards
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For My History Teacher
I’m sitting in class,
My eyes about to close,
I hope teacher don’t see,
I hope she don’t see me.
Bored out of my mind,
Falling so behind,
Cannot concentrate,
I came to class too late.
Although I was on time,
My body was I mean,
My mind is still outside,
From class trying to hide.
What does all this mean?
I haven’t used it yet,
How can I retain it,
When already I forget?
And then she walks over,
That teacher of mine,
A smile in her eyes,
A gentle one at that,
She puts her hand on me,
And sets me kind of free.
Now here I am in class,
Learning about the past,
About history,
And what it did for me.
How we can learn,
From mistakes of old,
Of people so different,
Some so very bold.
Some stood against oppression,
Some stood against the wrong,
Some said it with dignity,
Some said it with a song.
I owe it to them,
And teacher here to hear,
What they did for us,
And no longer fear.
That knowledge is so dull,
No longer hurts my brain,
No longer hurts my skull,
It will surely keep me sane.
The past is the future,
Unless I stay awake,
So I can benefit,
There’s much more at stake.
Than I thought before,
Before I got to class,
Thank you History teacher,
For bringing to life the past.
I never got bored in History class, because I had a wonderful History Teacher. This is for her.
poem by Aisha Sherazi
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All Dressed Up For School
Doot doot doot-doot doot
Doot doot doot-doot doot
Doot doot doot-doot doot
Doot doot doot-doot doot
Well she first caught my eye a runnin' round in shorts
But she never bothered with her hair
Just a barefooted chick with all skinned up knees
Yeah she didn't care what she'd wear
(All dressed up for school)
Dressed up for school, ooo what a turn on
Dressed up for school, ooo what a turn on
Dressed up for school, ooo what a turn on
All dressed up for school
All summer long she had a crush on me
But I just couldn't care at all
But new to school threads really did it for me
Yeah she's turned into a doll
(All dressed up for school)
Dressed up for school, ooo what a turn on
Dressed up for school, ooo what a turn on
Dressed up for school, ooo what a turn on
All dressed up for school
Weah
Goes out every night 'cause she's a sharp little doll
And the guys can't leave her alone
Now she hardly finds the time to talk to me
She's not the little girl I've always known
(All dressed up for school)
Dressed up for school, ooo what a turn on
Dressed up for school, ooo what a turn on
Dressed up for school, ooo what a turn on
All dressed up for school
Doot doot doot-doot doot
Doot doot doot-doot doot
Doot doot doot-doot doot
Doot doot doot-doot doot
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Teacher Says, Teacher Goes
Teacher says,
teacher goes,
teacher smiles,
teacher knows,
what you have done,
was clearly a mistake,
maybe it is,
time for a break.
Teacher says,
teacher goes,
teacher smiles,
teacher knows,
that you have been naughty.
That you have been quite foughty.
That you are being rude,
don't call teacher a dude.
Teacher says,
teacher goes,
teacher smilies,
teacher know,
that you were making faces,
behind teachers back,
that you were throwing spitballs,
at the teacher's pet.
Teacher says,
teacher goes,
teacher smiles,
teacher knows.
So enough is said,
so now you know,
that whatever you do.....
Teacher says,
Teacher goes,
Teacher smilies,
Teacher knows
poem by Jasmine Aira
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Two Teachers
TWO TEACHERS
When I was in
Viii th standard
slim, young, tall girl
was our class teacher
assigning a lengthy comprehension
to the students as exercise,
she would delve with passion, into
personal letters kept in the drawer.
may be her sweet-heart
from a distant centre;
hiding her sweating bodylines and visible distraction
she would pretend to be model disciplinarian
as an immature lot, we only watch
and forget much sooner, without
attributing any importance to the
blushful teacher's mission so hidden
her hero once turned up at class time
a rustic outfit, not a match for our teacher
teacher went absent, the news leaked a week later
that both got married & seen together in a theatre
after a month, a new teacher arrived
of sufficient age, black, stiff and short-tempered
with the biased bent of mind on the students of viii std.,
as if we colluded with or aided the affairs of the slim teacher
I got admitted into a high school, at the fall of the year
and re-visited my school, after a lapse of 15 years
our black teacher is now the ‘strict head- mistress'
having struck by a disastrous love,
had chosen to be a ‘vexed-spinster'.
Moral: as common in any school, the final result;
one is ‘successful' and another has ‘failed'
Louis Santhana
poem by Santhana Louis
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The Girl Who Had Pele's Hair
For: Samantha
The beautiful young red head
moves in mysterious ways
as she pulled her lava orange stick of wax
from her box of crayons
She is not a girl
actually more of a woman
Yet something in her eyes
is where the secret lies
In the Hawaiian sunset her hair twists and turns
rips and burns
like rivers of burning lava
trust me when I say
'The Past is Today'
Part of Pele is in her
The red head sharpens her crayon
smiling to herself
'I used to have a box of crayons
like that when I was little, ' says the teacher next to her
His face is strained and stressed,
A perfect contrast to the girl
'I used to get upset when my crayons
wore down to nubs, ' says the teacher.
The girl with the lava hair smiles,
'You still do, ' she says softly.
The teacher looks at her,
his eyes far away.
Years later the teacher stops his car,
on a rural road, next to an old lady walking,
The old lady's formerly red hair replaced,
by Pele's grayish silver ash.
The teacher rolls down his window,
The old lady smiling through missing teeth.
'Do you need a ride? '
The Teacher asks the old lady.
The old lady looks down the open road.
She shakes her head.
The teacher smiles with tears in his eyes,
And a feeling that will not go away,
remembering the past today.
poem by Joseph DeMarco
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Teachers in Action
Teacher Angie at the back
behind Teacher Eve,
besides Teacher Emelie
who's in pink
and holding Teacher Mary Ann
her bestfriend ever since,
who were also leaning
towards Teacher Tess
who's wearing blue blouse but smiling,
Me at the back wearing glasses
afraid to be noticed by someone.
beside me is Teacher Flor,
smiling as ever
even the absence
of her family,
infront of her is the preggy,
the lady in gray who's texting
even in the middle
of this fancy meeting,
were all friends
but more to that
we are also teachers
who never cease
to love our own students
we all love teaching.
poem by Hazel Calumarde
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Teacher Man
The Teacher Man teaches kids from all over the world
The Teacher Man teaches no matter boy or girl
The Teacher Man teaches Christans, Musilms, and Jews
The Teacher Man teaches those who say 'God I don't believe in you'
The Teacher Man teaches over demands for more recess
The Teacher Man teaches to only demand the best
The Teacher Man teaches Science, Reading, and Math
The Teacher Man teaches how to live out of class
The Teacher Man teaches all how to share
The Teacher Man teaches that we all should care
The Teacher Man teaches how to keep an open mind
The Teacher Man teaches with a kick in the behind
The Teacher Man teaches there are lessons in life
The Teacher Man teaches how to overcome strife
The Teacher Man teaches there's nothing wrong with a hug
The Teacher Man teaches the world changes with Love
The Teacher Man teaches the rich and the poor
The Teacher Man teaches those who are ready for more
The Teacher Man teaches how to look someone in the eye
The Teacher Man teaches how to accept someone in their cry
The Teacher Man teaches in more than one tounge
The Teacher Man teaches how to make working hard fun
The Teacher Man teaches all the colors of the land
But, most important of all, he teaches we should take a stand
Take a Stand, Take a Stand, for what you believe
Take a Stand, Take a Stand, and you will be free
Take a Stand, Take a Stand, for the least of the least
Take such Stand man, and you will find peace
He's the Teacher Man
poem by Ary Bolanos
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A teacher who is just right
Have you had a teacher
That makes your heart glow
A teacher is wonderful
A teacher whom you feel honored to have
A teacher who you can laugh or cry with
A teacher whom you can love no matter what they do
A teacher who looks up to you when you don't know
A teacher who just seems to understand you
A teacher who you think about day and night
A teacher whom you pray for as you go to bed
A teacher who is there when need them to
Thoughts of them are always in your head
A teacher who shares with you there ups and downs
A teacher who is there for you in school
A teacher who you share all your smiles with replacing al your frowns
poem by Rosa Tenezaca
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Laura
Laura is the face in the misty lights
Footsteps that you hear down the hall
The laugh that floats on a summer night
That you can never quite recall
And you see laura on the train that is passing through
Those eyes how familiar they seem
She gave your very first kiss to you
That was laura but shes only a dream
And you see laura on the train that is passing through
Those eyes how familiar they seem
She gave your very first kiss to you
That was laura but shes only a dream
song performed by by Ella Fitzgerald
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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one day at school, Korea (1801)
I don’t like school, Sir
most venerable teacher;
and though you are kind, Sir
and all my classmates too
and you all help me study and learn
like you make me know
the first five characters in the alphabet
but the moment I am out of school
all I can remember
are the rice-cakes and sweets and the dumplings my mother makes
and true, Sir
most venerable teacher
you teach me the numbers
and I can count from 1 to 5
when I am in class
but when I’m out
I love the toys my father brings
and I play with the wooden toy soldiers
and I love the ducks and the clay horses;
and I really can’t remember the first five letters
or the first five characters
when I lie in bed
and when I am back in class Sir
dragged in by Old Madam Toothless Bong
who always knows where I am wherever I try to run
I can’t remember anything anyone taught me, Sir
most venerable teacher...
I know Sir
all of you have spoken to me
and my dad and my mom
and Old Madam Toothless Bong
and all my friends in class
I must study so I can go to the city and find work
but alI I want to do, Sir
most venerable teacher
is to play and eat and sleep when it is time
and one day, Sir
most venerable teacher
(I know you worry about me)
when I’m grown and big
I’ll make toys and I’ll sell them
and make money for me and my family;
and I’ll make all those sweets and dumplings
and feed my family...
so please, Sir
most venerable teacher
because I don’t like school
and I can’t remember anything
do not worry about me and let me go to the fields now
and I shall grow to be tall as the trees
and as rich as the rice fields...
________________ _________________________
poem based on painting: “Seodang”
(private elementary school in town)
by Kim Hong-do, Danwon (1745-1806)
poem by Raj Arumugam
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A bad or a good teacher
A bad teacher is negatively pessimistic
A good teacher is positively optimistic
A bad teacher swears all the time
A good teacher cares in their prime
A bad teacher passes on rude fear
A good teacher has on good ears
A bad teacher discourages
A good teacher encourages
A bad teacher despairs
A good teacher prepares
A bad teacher likes to bitch
A good teacher likes to teach
A bad teacher shouts every moment
A good teacher scouts for every talent
A bad teacher is up for crude devices
A good teacher is up for good advice
A bad teacher lets students fight on in the dark
A good teacher sets students on the right track
A bad teacher feeds on their looks
A good teachers reads many books
A bad teacher sings along with wrong faults
A good teacher brings along the right results
Copyright 2006 - Sylvia Chidi
www.sylviachidi.co.uk
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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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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My teacher wasn't half as nice as yours seems to be
'My teacher wasn't half as nice as yours seems to be.
His name was Mister Unsworth and he taught us history.
And when you didn't know a date he'd get you by the ear
And start to twist while you sat there quite paralysed with fear.
He'd twist and twist and twist your ear and twist it more and more.
Until at last the ear came off and landed on the floor.
Our class was full of one-eared boys. I'm certain there were eight.
Who'd had them twisted off because they didn't know a date.
So let us now praise teachers who today are all so fine
And yours in particular is totally divine.'
poem by Roald Dahl
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The secondary school announced the result of a list of successful candidates
Went down to the playground, principal had a talk.
Walked in a hard step, took a deep breathe.
Our class teacher gave us the result paper,
Everyone was silent,
No any voice, No any noise,
I can only hear thousand of breathing sound.
Hold tightly, ready to open,
3...2...1...,3...2... I can’t,
I am not brave enough to open it.
It was going to be ok.
I think for a while,
Closed my eyes,
My excitement came to my heart, but sadness was waiting for me.
I slowly opened the paper finally gradually.
Opened my eyes slowly,
Wahl! My tears went through my both eyes.
I don’t want to go to this school,
I was thinking, oh well… I can apply for another school, may be it worked.
My class teacher was convincing me to go to this school,
My mother was thinking the solution for me.
I went out to the school door, took a slowly walk,
I really didn’t know what I can do,
Worrying, deeply anxious and struggling,
I tried to think about the advantage of this school.
Yes! I pick this school. I‘ll do well!
poem by Jenkin Tsui
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Deathly Talking
As the teacher is ready
To come into class and teach
The students are in the washers
Shining their hair and teeth with bleach
The teacher is on his way
And students prepare to yell and jump
All waiting the new miserable teacher
They are ready to run him down and end him with a stomp
And as the poor teacher walks into the room
The criminal children are ready to loom
They prepare to throw stones and catapult books on their way
And as the teacher walks inside
They all look along and stray
Not expecting a fight
It’s just another teacher gone
Learning is their worst enemy
It has always been all along
The teacher marches in
Ready for the first day on the job
Not expecting a world war 3
And not expecting a worldwide mob
The teacher gets in
Welcomed with flying books and rocks
People kept shouting though the teacher urged them to stop
All speaking at once the teacher’s mind would just pop
The teacher gets ready
Reaching into his stock
Paper, books, and rocks cover the entire floor
Then the teacher explodes
Releasing an enormous roar
Revealing his weapons and death devices
The teacher takes out a pistol and shoots them like lices
Then a rifle is found and fires at sight
Then shotguns are shown shooting anyone with all their might
The rest are held hostage
Face to face with a 50-cal
Threatening every person
From innocent, to gangster, to gangster’s pal
All look frightened
And look desert dry
Not knowing if it’s time to apologize or cry
One stands up thinking to show he is brave
With an RPG
The ruthless teacher sends him to his grave
Now that the teacher is done
He looks away
Says it was either his terms or the mafia way
And now let that be a lesson for each of you to learn
Not one
Not one soul, Should speak out of turn!
To a Teacher of Teachers (in Paediatrics)
I, your pupil know your worth;
I, a teacher know your girth;
I, a doctor know your birth
Gave doctor-teachers, mirth!
I, a colleague can world tell,
‘You had made your students swell;
You had taught indeed so well;
You had tolled the teaching-bell! ’
We, your students thank you Doc;
You were key to our world’s lock;
When we did your door ev’r knock,
You gave ken unmatched by clock!
You, a star in our life’s sky;
You were one no one could buy;
You had made our minds so high;
This is truth, whole truth, not lie!
You opened world of children;
You made Paediatrics, heaven;
You taught craft and art woven;
You now make us look even!
We thank you from depths of heart;
We are grateful for our start;
We know not the words to draft;
We hope you must never part!
“You were a doyen;
You were a giant;
You were so erudite
Teacher of Teachers! ”
May God grant you many years;
May God give you peace, not tears;
May God take away your fears;
May you live happy with dears!
(Fondly dedicated to our most beloved
‘Teacher of teachers’, Prof. Dr. M. Ramasamy A.B. (Ped)
Masonic Medical Center, CBE
By Dr. A.Celestine Raj Manohar M.D., Dean, IRT PMC, Perundurai
On behalf of the Medical Fraternity on Teacher’s Day
at Lotus Hospital on its 11th Anniversary, Erode
Copyright by Dr John Celes 31-08-11
poem by John Celes
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