These Teacher Prose Poetry poems are examples of Prose Poetry poems about Teacher. These are the best examples of Teacher Prose Poetry poems written by international PoetrySoup poets
We have been together
treasured joy now for many years
we trust each other with our
emotions, with affection, tears,
Any day when you are sick or hurting
I feel your pain - significant other,
when eighter-one needs attention
we help one another...
These mutual friendly feelings
for assistance, approval, support
form our tight bonds,
usually never broken
Sharing visions, time together
we respect each other,
regardless of shortcomings
I know you, "I love you anyway"
I teach a martial art. I’m not tough. I don’t teach fighting. I don’t teach self-defense. I lie. I do teach self- defense. I teach proper behavior. I teach courtesy. I say, if attacked, take balance. What does that mean? It means a different thing at every turn. It means being soft or being hard, but do not pour gasoline on the fire. Be in love with your attacker. I only have a few students. One is really strong and has fought a lot. One is really young and playful. Who knows what he makes of my classes. His father is my third student. He is an obvious black belt yet he wears the apparel of the student with grace.
She sits there in the back of the class, doodling on her paperwork. Getting lost in
the scribbles, tuning out the teacher, forgetting all the madness around her, her life
fading in the paper. Slap! The sound of the ruler splintering across the desk. PAY
ATTENTION! Head jerking upward, she sits up in her little desk. Pencil dropping from
her hand, rolling off onto the floor. She looks straight ahead, back straight as a
board, eyes glued ahead as the teacher drones on. Drilling things into their heads,
eyes sharp like an eagle. Looking for every chance to catch someone falling asleep,
to catch someone passing notes, to catch someone whispering. The little girl quietly
picks up her pencil and her mind drifts to dreaming of playing dress up, drifts to the
path the lead makes on the paper. The curves of a woman, not a little girl. Dreaming
of growing up into a woman. Confident, pretty, smart, strong....someone people will
notice....a woman with a voice. Slap! The ruler across her hand. She jerks it back,
clasping it to her chest. Instant sting, instant redness and she feels the tears start
to pool in her eyes, her lip quivering to hold back the yelp. Pay attention! You’re not
listening! I asked you a question young lady. Should I repeat it? She’s so scared
that she can’t even speak so she just meekly nods her head. Hard as steel, cold as
ice, the teacher repeats the question. She hangs her head and answers but her
voice is barely above a squeeking whisper. Speak up! says the teacher. The class
can’t hear you, I can’t hear you she says. The little girl raises her head and repeats
her answer. WRONG! Slap! The ruler across her other hand. See if you had been
paying attention instead of DOODLING, then you wouldn’t have gotten the ruler.
You’ll make sure next time you will listen now won't you. The little girl doesn’t
answer, doesn’t speak up. She doesn’t want the ruler again. So she carefully and
quietly lays her pencil on her little wooden desk that bares the markings of many
ruler slappings. And on her little wooden desk, she rests her hands that bare the
scars of many ruler slappings. She stares straight ahead at the chalkboard,
unwavering, searing a hole in the chalkboard. She tries to find the dream of dress
up, tries to find the girl dressing up as the woman she wants to be. But all she sees
on the chalkboard…no matter how hard or how long she stares...all she sees on the
chalkboard.....is nothing but chalk.
Is based on transmission
But is receiver tuned?
Cannot transmit culture.
Culture needs discovery.
A teacher must accept
To hear the students’ words
And work with their conceptions
Constructing day by day.
No discipline succeeds
With rules imposed as truth.
Discussion is a need
To improve a conscious thought.
Truly it's Free Free Free
searchin' high so low
is where it was for me
I've called everyone I know
Where can it be, can I find it everywhere
“what is it we all have in common”
so should I look where, tell me dear
Well - why it is - also ordinary
Family, friends, Preachers
they also have it to give…
you can receive it from teachers
want some, you may need it too live
Try your Doctor, or Lawyer
when you’re blue, down an out
try a Tutor, IT Tech, or Employer
soon, remember, when your in doubt
Just ask - someone will care
everybody has it to give you see
no need to shed a tear, find it here
“Advice it's cheep, also it's so Free”
and even as your 'teacher' watches 'you'
and your each 'dropp' that falls on me, your my rain.
and i am tired and i am thirsty and it's only just a start.
and we are as we now are, it is love and it is art.
and i know that it is bitter, some times sour even tart.
and as my fever climbs, you even help it sway to sleep.
and as it drips there slowly, yes so slowly down, a golden treat.
and as you do your very best, i can't but try my best to catch.
and each yellow sun so high and bright, it hurts my eyes.
and still it rains, you turn and smile at me, as it rains a little more.
and each dropp that drips, i see dripp on me and i ask please.
and comes more rain, as it pours on top me.
and as your hunches lift and squalls, they over power me.
and you keep me warm, you hunker down, you dry my lips.
and rain warm falls and as it cools it runs the length of all i see.
and down the small of your majestic and curved back.
and through that small and rustic, royal scenic crack.
and above me as each moon, i breach i'm always looking at.
and each dropp of rain seems bitter and it's sour it is tart.
and as your teacher watches, she can only try to hold you back.
and i am tired and i am thirsty and it rains, even now it pours.
Is It Poetry