English teacher
every seat in room 340 was taken
when mr. dugan entered
first day of teaching full-time
in a newly opened high school
the kids eyed skinny dugan
fresh out of teacher training
teach this guy a thing or two
they thought
won't know what hit him
poor chump teach
mr dugan had a trick or two
of his own
the word for him was not
part of their vocabulary
in school or out
a lycanthrope he was
transition from man to wolf
was easy for him
a few shudders
and the sight of prey
transformed dugan
into a ravening beast
of prey from teacher
at the front of the room
to hairy animal
out for fresh blood
poem by Michael Pruchnicki
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Related quotes
Fabrication Of Ancestors
For old Billy Dugan, shot in the ass in the Civil War, my father said.
The old wound in my ass
has opened up again, but I
am past the prodigies
of youth’s campaigns, and weep
where I used to laugh
in war’s red humors, half
in love with silly-assed pains
and half not feeling them.
I have to sit up with
an indoor unsittable itch
before I go down late
and weeping to the storm-
cellar on a dirty night
and go to bed with the worms.
So pull the dirt up over me
and make a family joke
for Old Billy Blue Balls,
the oldest private in the world
with two ass-holes and no
place more to go to for a laugh
except the last one. Say:
The North won the Civil War
without much help from me
although I wear a proof
of the war’s obscenity.
poem by Alan Dugan
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Teacher, Teacher
Just when I thought I finally learned my lesson well,
There was more to this than meets the eye.
And for all the things you taught me, only time will tell,
If I'll be able to survive. Oh yeah.
Teacher, teacher, can you teach me?
Can you tell me all I need to know?
Teacher, teacher, can you reach me?
Or will I fall when you let me go? Oh no.
Am I ready for the real world, will I pass the test?
You know it's a jungle out there.
Ain't nothin' gonna stop me, I won't be second best,
But the joke's on those who believe the system's fair, oh yeah.
Teacher, teacher, can you teach me?
Can you tell me if I'm right or wrong?
Teacher, teacher, can you reach me?
I wanna know what's goin' on, Oh yeah.
So the years go on and on, but nothing's lost or won.
And what you learned is soon forgotten.
They take the best years of your life,
Try to tell you wrong from right,
But you walk away with nothing. Oh Oh.
Teacher, teacher, can you teach me?
Can you tell me all I need to know?
Teacher, teacher, can you reach me?
Or will I fall when you let me go?
Teacher, teacher, can you teach me?
Can you tell me if I'm right or wrong?
Teacher, teacher, can you reach me?
I wanna know what's goin' on, Oh
Teacher, teacher, can you teach me?
Teacher, teacher, can you reach me?
Teacher, teacher, can you teach me?
Teacher, teacher, Ooh yeah.
Teacher, teacher
Teacher, teacher
~Adams, Vallance
song performed by by 38 Special
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Smokin In The Boys Room
(talk)
Did you ever seem to have one of those days
When everyone seemed to be on your case
From your teacher all the waydown to your best girlfriend
Well, that used to happen to me all the time
But I found a way to get out of it
Sittin in the classroom thinkin its a drag
Listening to the teacher rap--just aint my bag
When two bells ring you know its my cue
Gonna meet the boys on floor number 2
Smokin in the boys room
Smokin in the boys room
Teacher dont you fill me up with your rules
Everybody knows that smokin aint allowed in school
Checkin out the halls makin sure the coast is clear
Lookin in the stalls--nah, there aint nobody here
My buddies sixx, mick & tom
To get caught would surely be the death of us all
Smokin in the boys room
Smokin in the boys room
Teacher dont you fill me up with your rules
Everybody knows that smokin aint allowed in school
Put me to work in the school bookstore
Check-out counter, and I got bored
Teacher was lookin for me all around
Two hours later you know where I was found
Smokin in the boys room
Smokin in the boys room
Teacher dont you fill me up with your rules
Everybody knows that smokin aint allowed in school
Smokin in the boys room
Smokin in the boys room
Smokin in the boys room
Smokin in the boys room
Teacher dont you fill me up with your rules
Everybody knows that smokin aint allowed in school
One more time
Smokin in the boys room
Smokin in the boys room
Teacher I aint foolin around with your rules
Everybody knows that smokin aint allowed in school
song performed by by Motley Crue
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Student Teacher
I'm a student teacher
I love all my kids
Did'nt want to be a preacher
Like my daddy did
I go to work every day
Here at Jefferson school
I love it when we work and play
Man this place is cool
We teach whats wrong, we teach whats right
We teach the golden rule
We teach them songs and not to fight
At least not here at school
I am a student teacher
And yes I'm here to stay
I am the special feature
Of the teachings here today
poem by Kevin Seales
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Oxymoron Sonata
They call this poor disable boy at school in the building maintenance class oxymoron but he is not and he is a poor disable men just like me
But I get instruction from my building maintenance at school and I have To follow it if I want to learn something because I am not there just to Waste my time and the teacher tells me to take the other men with me And teach him how to clean the windows
But all the other people do is laughing about the two of us that are Trying so hard to learn how to clean the windows at the school cafeteria
And I also find it very sad because they don't have respect for anybody And they behave like animals also
But when the school principle comes into the class and evaluates how The teacher is teaching than the whole behaviour changes
And they behave like saints
poem by Aldo Kraas
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Alan Dugan Telling Me I Have A Problem With Time
He reads my latest attempt at a poem
and is silent for a long time, until it feels
like that night we waited for Apollo,
my mother wandering in and out of her bedroom, asking,
Haven't they landed yet? At last
Dugan throws it on the table and says,
This reads like a cheap detective novel
and I've got nothing to say about it. It sits,
naked and white, with everyone's eyes
running over it. The week before
he'd said I had a problem with time,
that in my poems everything
kept happening at once. In 1969,
the voice of Mission Control
told a man named Buzz
that there was a bunch of guys turning blue
down here on Earth, and now I can understand
it was with anticipation, not sickness. Next,
Dugan says, Let's move on. The attempted poem
was about butterflies and my recurring desire
to return to a place I've never been.
It was inspired by reading this
in a National Geographic: monarchs
stream northward from winter roosts in Mexico,
laying their eggs atop milkweed
to foster new generations along the way.
With the old monarchs gone (I took this line as the title)
and all ties to the past ostensibly cut
the unimaginable happens--butterflies
that have never been to that plateau in Mexico
roost there the next winter. . . .I saw this
as a metaphor for a childhood I never had,
until Dugan pointed out
that metaphor has been dead for a hundred years.
A woman, new to the workshop, leans
behind his back and whispers, I like it,
but the silence is seamless, as deep
as outer space. That night in 1969
I could turn my head from the television and see
the moon
filling the one pane over the bed completely
as we waited for Neil Armstrong
to leave his footprints all over it.
poem by Nick Flynn
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Elegy
I know but will not tell
you, Aunt Irene, why there
are soap suds in the whiskey:
Uncle Robert had to have
A drink while shaving.
poem by Alan Dugan
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My son's Teacher
On this beautiful day
For all of a whole eight hours
My little boy I place
Dear Teacher, with trust in these hands of yours.
Teach him dear Teacher
The right way to grow
So when he is older
He will know the way he should go
By example, dear Teacher
In words that you say
By things that you do
Dear Teacher, show him the right way.
Graciousness let him see
And gracious words let him hear
Not the rude, the nasty
Keep belittling away from his ears.
Show him how firmness and love
Can difficult people or times gently handle
That screaming and beating
Become only a bully’s poor saddle.
I tell him dear Teacher
Solutions are thought
But the cane at school dear Teacher
Tells him by violence they are bought.
Dear Teacher of my little boy
Do please take care
To you he is one in a forty
To me he is one in a one, only!
poem by Dennisa Davidson
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Teacher, Teacher
Teacher, teacher, teacher, teach me now
Teacher, teacher, teacher, guide me now
Teacher, teacher, teacher, show the way
You are my light
You are my guide.
Teacher, teacher, teacher, comfort me
Give your listening ears when I cry
Help me find the strength in what I can
You are my help
You are my guide.
Teacher, teacher, teacher, build me up
When I do wrong, show me what is right
Teacher, teacher, teacher, let us laugh
You are my friend
You are my guide.
poem by Elizabeth Padillo Olesen
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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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Teacher Love
My mother is
Home
Teacher...
My
Teacher is
School
Mother....
My
Father is
Home
Teacher...
My
Teacher is
School father...
Female or male...
Not differnet for
Love...
And Teaching....
Any thing fals...?
No problem....!
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Knock It Up a Notch
Teach me...
How to knock it up a notch.
Teach me...
What it is that you've got!
Teach me.
I'm willing and able.
Teach me.
Don't you want my help,
To fulfill your need.
Teach me...
How to knock it up a notch.
Teach me...
What it is that you've got!
Will you teach me.
When you want that bop to stop.
Teach me...
And I promise you one day I'll want to 'eatcha'.
And there will be a need for slower speed,
When I begin to heat the teacher.
Um-um,
Mama teach me...
How to knock it up a notch.
Oh Mama teach me...
What it is that you've got!
Give me what it is until I like it more than not!
Teach me...
How to knock it up a notch.
Teach me...
What it is that you've got!
Will you teach me.
When you want that bop to stop.
Teach me...
And I'll promise you'll,
We'll switch up when you want me as your teacher.
We'll switch up when you want me as your teacher.
Switch up when you want me as your teacher.
We'll switch up when you want me as your teacher.
Switch up when you want me as your teacher.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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My Sweet School
School is where one learns,
Kowledge is what one earns,
Teachers, friends are a part of school,
Without them, a school, isnt a school,
A teacher's duty is to teach,
And a student's duty is to breach,
When parents get the complain,
The teacher's trust then, gets hard to retain,
Oh! It's recess,
But to her heart there is no access,
Boy tries to impress girl,
But oh! She's a knurl,
Recess is over and class has resumed,
Next exam, God! I am doomed,
I know I won't pass,
Coz I know Im a bass,
Walking back home in the evening,
It feels like my stress is lessening,
Im happy to be home,
Coz there is every place to roam,
Back to school, early in the morning,
I see it is snowing,
I'm back to a place of learning,
Knowlegde is what Im earning,
School is a source of knowlegde,
The best part in my life is being at this stage,
It includes everything,
And it lacks nothing,
Teachers, friends are a part of a school,
Without which a school isn't a school..............
poem by Sherbanu Molu
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Butcher Boys
Ali Faulkner, Edwin Neal, Marilyn Burns, Derek Lee Nixon, Karrie Cox, Sonny Carl Davis, John Dugan, Johnny Walter
from Butcher Boys (2012)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Untitled Poem - II
Speciously individual
like a solid piece of spit
floating in a cuspidor
I dream of free bravery
but am a social being.
I should do something
to get out of here
but float around in the culture
wondering what it will grow.
poem by Alan Dugan
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An Evening Tuition
It was winter time
on a chilly evening
a boy had to go to a tuition class
He came from school in a good mood
And started eating quickly as if he should
Books were already arranged in the bag
And the condition was so
That the boy had to run like a stag
On reaching the destination he huffled and puffled
To see that no one had reached yet
He was relieved when he entered the teachers room
To know that he has succesfully reached his destination in time
The teacher started teaching in time
The boy feeled that he had
commited a crime
For no one had come
And the teacher told that no one will come
The boy sat in the middle of the room
Thinking what would be his doom
He sat surrounded by a mist of dissapoinment
Thinking what to do and he was grave silent
The teacher went on teaching the chapter
But the students mind was not thereafter
Suddenly the boy noticed
The windows were closed and the fan was off
he felt as if he was on a volcano top
For he was wearing a thick sweater
which burnt the body under
The teacher gave the boy a lesson to write
and he took a book to recite
The half burnt child got a chance
And opened his night mare at one chance
When he saw the excercise
his brain alarmed twice
The excercise was very large
to be done at one hour time
He started writing as fast as he could
After 90 minutes the task was at last completed
The boy felt from his hand his
wrist being diminished
His fingers ached mercillesly
And he groaned painfully
When the teacher was checking the copy
The boy washed his hand which was sweaty
Suddenly his watch started bipping
And his heart also started jumping
For it was the time to go home
The teacher understood the meaning of the meaning of the bipping
And started checking the copy without care
When the checking was done
Miraculously no mistakes were there
The student was astounded to see it
For he thought that he did not deserve it
When the teacher opened the door
The student ran to the ground floor
And went straight to the exit door
From there he went to his dearest home
poem by Subham Roy
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Wicked Teacher
Experience a wicked teacher
You push us into test
And examine our stuff
Before you begin to teach
How rigid you are
Your lessons linger on
Your scars never fade
Your memory ever fresh
Experience a wicked teacher
You don’t care about age
You teach the young
And warn the old
Experience a wicked teacher
You don’t pity our scars
But leave us with time
To bind our wound
Experience a wicked teacher
You never stop your test
Often we dodge it
But to meet it ahead.
poem by Seun Bewaji
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to my teacher Ms. emily
To my teacher to Ms. Emily
I always look forward to your class when I came to school. I enjoy each lesson you teach.
As my role model you inspire me to dream, to work very hard in class and to reach. Your an awesome teacher, your smart and intelligent.
With your kindness you always get my attention. But To be honest, sometime I bother you.
You make me understand each lesson you teach. I'm thankful for all that you've done to me.
I admire you each day and I just want to say As a teacher you are the best forever.
poem by Djabir Yaya
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The School Of Nature
To be a poet
it is essential to be a student
of school of nature
to complete this study
one life is not sufficient
but has to take many births
its language and grammars are too tough
no university can meet it up
in the school of nature
the languages of stars, planets & all creatures
are taught for which you have to choose a teacher
God is the super teacher to teach you
in the school of nature.
poem by Ramesh Rai
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On Hurricane Jackson
Now his nose’s bridge is broken, one eye
will not focus and the other is a stray;
trainers whisper in his mouth while one ear
listens to itself, clenched like a fist;
generally shadowboxing in a smoky room,
his mind hides like the aching boys
who lost a contest in the Panhellenic games
and had to take the back roads home,
but someone else, his perfect youth,
laureled in newsprint and dollar bills,
triumphs forever on the great white way
to the statistical Sparta of the champs.
poem by Alan Dugan
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