My class
My class is a funny class
When the teacher is not in
Our class is a circus
That will conquer the school
We have acrobats
We have clowns
and we even have elephants
My class is a noisy class
When the teacher is not in
Our class is a market
That will conquer the school
We have hawkers
We have fruiterers
and we even have butchers
No matter what
A circus or a market
We enjoy our class
When the teacher is not in
poem by Sarah Ally
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Related quotes
My Class
my class are sometimes noisy
dont mean to be rude
dont mean to shout out
or have the odd chew
we dont mean to swing on our chairs
we wouldnt dare try answer back
my class is full of intelligent pupils ready to work
we dont mean to cause a fuss
or sharpen our pencils at the last minute
we really dont mean to drive our teacher round the bend
my class are acually quite funny
but darnt laugh we our teacher is talking at the front of our class
we like to joke around but we no wen to stop
somehow at the end of most days my teacher will go away with a sore head my question is... who gave her it?
poem by Lauren Seath
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Class has a sense of humor. It knows that a good laugh is the best lubricant for oiling the machinery of human relations. Class never makes excuses. It takes its lumps and learns from past mistakes. Class bespeaks an aristocracy unrelated to ancestors or money. Some extremely wealthy people have no class at all, while others who are struggling to make ends meet are loaded with it. Class is real. You can't fake it. Class never tries to build itself up by tearing others down. Class is already up and need not attempt to look better by making others look worse. Everyone is comfortable with the person who has class because he is comfortable with himself. If you have class, you've got it made. If you don't have class, no matter what else you have, it won't make up for it.
quote by Ann Landers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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An angel was passing through the Sky
Hey! Anyone can answer me what's life.
All the hands in the class raised.
Teacher was glad to see those.
'So, you all know', teacher said.
Can anyone tell me what is dream.
All the hands in the class raised.
Teacher was glad to see those.
'So, you all know', teacher said.
Can anyone tell me what is fear.
All the hands in the class raised.
Teacher was glad to see those.
'So, you all know', teacher said.
Can anyone tell me what is mind.
All the hands in the class go down.
Time was passing, without a single sound.
Classroom was fulfilled by husky wind.
'Last bench corner '
'Last bench corner ', hey! you tell me.
The boy was looking far far away behind the window grills.
Stood up.
Placed his hand on his chest and closed his eyes.
An angel was passing through the Sky.
poem by Sougata Majumder
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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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Hi I'm A Girl
Hi i'm a girl who wants to be presedent then i'll make people paint there faces pink because the red cheif wants me to and i really need your vote! ! ! ! Ok dalpal, said the teacher looking at me 'your not president yet....' 'ok i said' i mumbred 'i wish she was dead because i'm a poet and she dinny know it i can break a ryme almost everytime and........''QUITE DALPAL! ' Roared the teacher. Sorry but i have a dream....i am floating down the stream and i am ryming my heart out BUT YOU HAVE TO RUNE IT AND SHOUT! i shouted! 'ok dalpal then you can be our new teacher miss.Honey' said the teacher raising her eyebrows. 'i was not ashamed i was quite exited to share mt poems with the class' so i mad my was up the top of my class and said ' if this is this and that is that then you and you = me and me you see. The class stared and thought then i could hear the aaaaawww! They still never knew what i was talking about so i contiued.' the Teacher were cross and me ed fell off thats called london English oh if only there was a thig calle dsinglish and....'OK WELL DONE YOU'V MANAGED TO CONFUZE MY CLASS'said the teacher SO THERE I'V OUT SMATRNED HER and i'ma peot and know she knows it! '
poem by Dalpal Honey
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A different type of homework
Being a science student I attended cookery class for only one term
(3 months) in Class 8th...This poem is a small contribution for the
Cookery Class when we had to make Cookies at home and take
them to school for checking/inspection :) I have tried to make it a
funny poem :)
I was given homework to do,
a good presentation I made.
Next day I showed it too,
and all my friends admired.
My teacher came to inspect it,
and she sniffed it like a puppy.
Then she took a small bite,
chewed it and looked happy.
She took another bigger piece,
munching away and smiling.
I watched not feeling nice,
seeing my homework disappearing.
Soon she had finished it all,
I stood with my mouth agape.
My homework seems vitamins full,
that a teacher ate it with a burp?
Normal marking of assignment is to make you pass,
What of tasting and then eating your homework?
Your marking is done like this in class!
in cookery class the teacher eats your work. :)
renukakkar 28.10.2011
Copyright@2011
poem by Renu Kakkar
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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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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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I shall call the class, Heaven
'A class is not just a class
A class is like a temple.'
'Such as the God lives in temple
Same way the students lives in the class
Both are with the shiny face and broad smile.'
'A class is like a flower
That blooms with the light of the students.'
'A class is like a nursery
In which every type of flower planted.'
'In this way the class is a heaven
If we see it with our soul eyes
If we feel it
then we will find us
In the presence of God
And that is our respected Teachers.'
poem by Mahaveer Kumawat
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Everything Is Kiling Me....
As soon as you're born they make you feel small
By giving you no time instead of it all
Till the pain is so big you feel nothing at all
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be
They hurt you at home and they hit you at school
They hate you if you're clever and they despise a fool
Till you're so fucking crazy you can't follow their rules
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be
When they've tortured and scared you for twenty odd years
Then they expect you to pick a career
When you can't really function you're so full of fear
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be
Keep you doped with religion and sex and TV
And you think you're so clever and classless and free
But you're still fucking peasants as far as I can see
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be
There's room at the top they are telling you still
But first you must learn how to smile as you kill
If you want to be like the folks on the hill
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be
If you want to be a hero well just follow me
If you want to be a hero well just follow me
poem by Adnan Zahedi
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High School sweethearts
started out as high school swwethearts
i sit in front of class
he sits in the back
i pass him his worksheet
he says come sit back here with me
i think to myself
he seems new here
so i sit back there to help
turn out he didnt need it
then i look in to his eyes
what a surprise
he seems so cute
the teacher tell us to hush
so i pass him a note
he reads do you like me yes no maybe
he writes back yes lol you crazy
then the bell rings for lunch
so he set to himself
i came and set with
he ask whats my name
i say bri
he says sweet
my name james
so we go back to class
doin our classwork
this is our sophomore year
we hook up
2 years go by
he went to
a different school
this is now our senior year
class of 2010
heart school sweethearts
never part
even when he change school
so what does that tell you
nothing is impossible
poem by Briangela Jones
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Class of 08
The class of 08 is the best
The class of 08 is above the rest
The class of 08 passed all there test so
The class of 08 will graduate!
poem by Kamilah Samuels
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Working Class Hero
As soon as you're born they make you feel small,
By giving you no time instead of it all,
Till the pain is so big you feel nothing at all.
A working class hero is something to be,
A working class hero is something to be.
They hurt you at home and they hit you at school,
They hate you if you're clever and they despise a fool,
Till you're so f***ing crazy you can't follow their rules.
A working class hero is something to be,
A working class hero is something to be.
When they've tortured and scared you for twenty odd years,
Then they expect you to pick a career,
When you can't really function you're so full of fear.
A working class hero is something to be,
A working class hero is something to be.
Keep you doped with religion and sex and TV,
And you think you're so clever and classless and free,
But you're still f***ing peasants as far as I can see.
A working class hero is something to be,
A working class hero is something to be.
There's room at the top they are telling you still,
But first you must learn how to smile as you kill,
If you want to be like the folks on the hill.
A working class hero is something to be.
A working class hero is something to be.
If you want to be a hero well just follow me,
If you want to be a hero well just follow me.
song, music by John Lennon, lyrics by John Lennon from John Lennon/Plastic Ono Band (11 December 1970)
Submitted by anonym
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KIss this is...!
Teacher cry
On Class room...
For 2nd class
Student
Lips bite...
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Look, there is a sort of old view about class which is a very simplistic view that we have got the working class, the middle class and the upper class, I think it is more complicated than that.
quote by Ed Miliband
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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English Class
English Class
Is supposed to be fun.
But when teachers make you
Listen to them while they talk about
Nothing
You don't really pay attention.
You drift off instead,
Floating around in your head,
Thinking about things that don't make sense
And about sense that don't make things.
You doodle on a page,
Or stare at the walls,
Or read under your desk,
Or stare at the teacher
And wonder how she managed to qualify
To be a teacher when she doesn't even use
Grammar.
I think it's stupid
To waste an hour of my day
Sitting doing nothing.
It's pointless to sit here
When I could do something
More.
I could:
Volunteer,
Or be in Drama class,
Or could be making a movie,
Or helping my mom,
Or hanging out with my friends,
Or helping my brother and sister learn to ski,
Or doing SOMETHING, ANYTHING ELSE.
This class isn't doing
Anything.
I can feel my love for English
Dissapearing.
It's sad that one teacher
Can ruin an
Art form.
poem by Kelsey Tennant
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Why This Teacher Pheri Teacher Pheri Ji!
yo class
im sing song
soup song
flop song
Why This Teacher Pheri Teacher pheri ji!
she enters class class
class quiet
starts scolding scolding
girl full of tear
scold girl girl
girl heart fail fail
eyes eyes
cry cry
my future dark
uwaiiih uwiiahhh (Crying)
Announces Test- Says No Cheating Pls
Test starts
girls confused
brain full of tension
fail fail
pls dont call my amma~! ~
clown come
life reverse gear
Happy happy oh happy
you showed me fun
god im so happy now
she is sad how? ? ?
diz song for soup girls
we dont have choice! !
Why This Teacher Pheri Teacher pheri ji!
poem by Raabia Tabassum
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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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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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