Submit Your Poems
Get Your Premium Membership

CreationEarth Nature Photos

Best Education Poems

Below are the all-time best Education poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of education poems written by PoetrySoup members

Search for Education poems, articles about Education poems, poetry blogs, or anything else Education poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.

Definition & Discussion of Education Poems
Read Education Poems
New Education Poems

See also: Best Famous Poems

New Education Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Education poems are below this new poems list.

The Trouble with Education by Adams, Cona
Education is freedom by Tesfaye, Haile
A Look At Education by Duggan, Peter
Sex Education In Schools by Ellison, Jack
Higher Education Undone by Kendrick, Sara
EDUCATION MY MOTIVE by coleen, Thabang
EDUCATION MY MOTIVE by coleen, Thabang
Education is the weapon by Tesfaye, Haile
The failing education system by ramesh, yashika
Free education by Dom, Michael

View all new Education Poems

Poems are below this ad.

The Best Education Poems

Details | Education Poem | |


He reads voraciously

to his young children,
beguiled, somewhat bewildered 
by sweet progeny's relentless 
leaching of his words, his hungry baby 
birds, how their peeps teach.

He reads sporadically
to his father, articles from the paper, 
headlines and bylines for his dad 
has cataracts, now, and velum 
hands shake newsprint, make a rattling 
sound, too like the quiver of cloistered 
skeletons,  all those remains, 
                          all those remains.
There is wisdom in comics, he's found, 
bucolic rings so like old church bells,
tutoring fields through fog.

He still tries to read

his wife,
shared history in eyes,
the geography of long sighs, that topography 
of belly,  yes, yes, a theology 
that spills from parted lips;
bless each rumpled sheet, that chemistry 
which repeats poetry, spoken 
                         in a dialect, so rare. 

He remembers reading an encyclopedia 

in the face of a beggar, once, 
prophetical sparks from high brows — 
crossed currents;  a lifetime recorded, 
an unbound edition, A through Z
but when he carefully turned to C,
he'd found a full entry 
on compassion and charity.

Soon, he'll no longer read music notes

through a soft blur, playing guitar 
for one a thousand times more educated 
then he, this twelve year old girl, 
this preteen, dying, her heart 
an open lecture hall, her smile, 
pure academia. May she ever be 
opus angelorum, that reaches, 
will ever reach, far past 
                        mere hospice walls.

Copyright © Cyndi MacMillan

More great poems below...

Details | Education Poem | |


The ranch on which I hang my hat, though short on most the frills,
Is thirteen sections, give or take, of rugged trails an’ hills.
We call it ‘home’, our little world, our very own frontier,
Amongst the cattle, sheep an' goats; the varmints, hogs an' deer.

Today I watched the breakin' dawn an' whiffed the mornin' air,
A time I often set aside for things like thought an' prayer.
A Mockin'bird an' Mornin' Dove, an' other birds at play,
Were there to sing an' set the mood to start another day.

This mornin' saw the strangest thing, like time itself had merged,
An' all the souls who once were here, appeared an' then converged.
In swirlin' clouds of mist an' fog, right off the bluffs they rolled,
Till all had gathered in the glen, the modern an' the old.

The Indians, conquistadors, an' other ancient men,
The soldiers from this country's wars, an' cowboys from back when…
They all had come from yesterday to help me understand
Our link with those who came before, to heritage an' land.

A crazy notion, so I thought, that they could just appear,
But as the morning went along the reason got real clear.
They rode along with me that day to show me things I’ve missed,
The things I’ve seen a thousand times an’ some I’d just dismissed.

Those wagon roads of long ago, still evident today,
Are carved in rock an' rutted earth, not apt to wash away.
They linked the missions, forts an' towns those many years gone by;
An' left their mark for all to see, as modern times grew nigh.

The artifacts an' weathered ruins attest to yesterdays,
When others came an' lived their lives in very different ways.
We've seen their skill in arrowheads they honed from fired stone,
An' craftsmanship in beads an' tools they fashioned out of bone.

At ever turn and trail we took was something to remind,
The Maker must have had a plan laid out for humankind.
The Earth He made’s been feedin' us a half-a-million years,
An' used it's wonder, force an' change to challenge pioneers.

I do not know if they'll return or if they’ll feel the need,
But I’m prepared to ride the trail, where ever it may lead.
We all are spirits ridin’ time with bodies of the Earth,
Whose time has come to take the reins an’ offer up our worth.

The land has been the legacy we cultivate an’ reap,
The life has been the heritage our father’s fought to keep,
An’ we are bound throughout our time with those who came before,
To put our hearts and souls to it, and make it something more.

Copyright © Jim Fish

Details | Education Poem | |

Didn't Don't

Somebody keeps pulling on the rope to swing the bells
           didn't don't       
           didn't don't
They toll for me.

Don't touch it. Don't say it. Don't do it. 
Don't doubt it. Don't think. Don't ...

Somebody handcuffs my steps,
determines my boundaries.
Before I fully understand free will
there is a slap on my head
            and phosphenes like stars
            command my orbit.
Before I recognize differences
there is a slap on my hand
            right hand, not left hand,
            never ambidextrous

Time out
its isolation without trial
to learn
to fear wrongdoing 
to allow them to remote-control my existence,
conditional on demand, frightening.

An aborted freedom escaping
into the sewer
trying not to get it on the seat
attempting to prove an alibi 
                    for being alive
No one cares, not even myself.

Somebody pulls on the rope to swing the bells
           didn't don't       
           didn't don't
They toll for me.
It's dirty. It's ugly. It's bad. It's poo. It's sin.

commitments, commandments
salvation, damnation

deception makes them ring in a low tone.
I do what they say, 
 and not what they do,
  and not what I want,
   and not what I think.

Through     fragments     of     this     duplicity
                                  and     this     duplicity
I would be able to rebuild myself and Myself
into another hypocritical being;
the intentional perversion of the self proclaimed truth,
the liar paradox to reign
through tricks and cotton swabs.

When the remorseless hours run counterclockwise,
I would be happy of imaginary experiences,
consistently depurated, consistently believed to be true.
Would I dare to examine the society in which I've been educated and raised?
Would I dare rip my skin, my flesh off of my bones?

How could I blame them? 
How could I possibly judge them?

Social order and obedience 
in confabulation, in conspiracy, in complicity

Somebody will keep pulling on the rope
to swing the bells; they will toll for me:
the one who guards his own cell.

Cause I'm the jailer, and the convict, and the crime.


Copyright © Ruben O.

Details | Education Poem | |

I Did It My Way

I Did It My Way
I did it my way, not for the applause but because, failure was not an option and I became a rebel with a cause. I wanted higher education and was told I couldn’t have it all, so I had to prove them wrong even if I had to creep or crawl.
I was accused of having a stubborn streak, just because I wasn’t mild and meek. Challenging every obstacle placed in my way, and all the negative things that people had to say.
In spite of all the “You can’t do that,” that I was told, I stubbornly did it my way and confidently smashed the mold. Marching to a different drummer and dancing to my own tunes, I kept my eyes on the prize ignoring all the nay-saying buffoons.
To keep on track, I learned to juggle tasks knowing I wouldn’t be derailed. To keep my ducks in a row, I learned to haggle knowing I wouldn’t fail. With dedication and hard work, as sure as night follows day, success was mine because I certainly did it my way!
6-7-2014 - Submitted to contest “I Did It My Way” sponsored by Shadow Hamilton

Copyright © Pandita Sanchez

Details | Education Poem | |


                   Authored by Chuck Keys

It had no color,
Lacking shape, size and dimension.
It wasn't moving or breathing.

There was neither aroma nor taste, not here or there.
Touching was useless because it wasn't physical.
It was indistinct and limitless.

Thinking multi-physically
Multi-sensually and multi-psychologically 
It wasn't here or there and it was.

With no distinction, 
It looked like everything else,
Or it could not have looked like everything else.

It never made me feel good nor bad,
Nor happy nor sad
Nor quite nor trite.

In our world of joy and destroy, we sort and distort,
Looking more on the surface and less on the inside,
Ready to judge and be judged from outside in.

The "oneness" of mankind stretches beyond definitions and limits,
From outside to inside and from inside to outside.
We are one distinct and alike world of "oneness."

Differences exist for differences, 
Therefore, differences don't exist.
Only "oneness" exists.

This poem is dedicated to Dr. Clayborne Carson and The Gandhi-King Community,
For Global Peace with Social Justice in a Sustainable Environment.

Copyright © Chuck Keys

Details | Education Poem | |

Mental Hospital Bills

dadgum doctors, heads up their butts poking, prodding, pricking skin neurologist a psychopath gets pleasure as electric volts pass through my body family doctor showed little concern made me paranoid about irregular heartbeat EKG failed to determine cause left me more in doubt than at ease dentist like a character from Dustin Hoffman’s “Marathon Man” the more pain inflicted the more he rejoiced deep root cleaning caused severe infection bloodwork done by Vampira clones labs filled with tubes and needles results not shared with me yet I footed the bill optometrist an Oriental who moved so fast didn’t care if the prescribed glasses worked boo on you, dang aristocrats waving your credentials nurses so slow to respond MRI promised on CD, but couldn’t be obtained just like the blood tests, needed a “report” doctors driving me insane each should share my mental hospital bills
*Based on ongoing health tests and written for PD’s contest. Assignment Free Verse, 25 lines, category slam, sad and educational, title: Mental Hospital Bills

Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire

Details | Education Poem | |

The Simple Pen

            The Simple Pen

I am but a simple man with pen in hand
To cut open a slice of universe with verse
And with the ink
Let it bleed not red
It flows instead with mortal colors
Over a life well spent
What is left over
We drink this in a cup
Pour more to fill it up
But little at a time
Too much reality can cloud your mind
Said the simple man with bleeding pen

Entered in Tyshawn Knight's - "Advice for New Writers: Words of Wisdom in Verse" Poetry Contest on 6/02/15 


Copyright © Earl Schumacker

Details | Education Poem | |

The Wonderful Journey Of The Butterfly

This beautiful journey begins
From a courtship routine
The male perch themselves on leaves
And create a glorious scene
Waiting for a female 
Just to fly on by
Now he has his chance
But, she’ll be the one to decide

The male needs to find out
Whether she’s been fertilised
If she’s already pregnant
He’s soon going to realise
She’ll release a powerful chemical
Which is called ‘pheromone ‘
That tells him she’s unavailable
So he might have to fly and roam

Soon after they have mated
She looks for a place to lay
Laying her tiny eggs
Mostly oval in shape
She can lay two hundred or more
Just in a single day
But she needs to find a milkweed
On this beautiful sun spring day

The tiny little caterpillars
Start to grow inside
Eggs no bigger that a pin heads
And thats no word of a lie
They feed on the milkweed
And the enzymes in the egg
Until these little caterpillars
Start growing up really big

Now when they hatch
From their eggs
They will eat and eat and eat
Eating up everything
Of those milkweed leaves
They will start expanding
Getting bigger and bigger
Shedding their skin several times
Now that is really clever

Then they just stop eating
And know their time has come
For their stunning transformation
Four stages have begun
They’re find a special twig or leaf
And hang them-selves upside down
Then spin a silky cocoon
Where they won’t be found

It’s called metamorphosis
Turned into a shiny chrysalis
Inside the caterpillars’ changing
Into a beautiful butterfly
It dissolves itself into a soup
That’s truly organised
Inside a process is taking place
It’s forming disc’s, a body, a face

This wonder of nature you can see
When they emerge victoriously
This transition takes some time
For the birth of an exquisite butterfly
One of nature’s beautiful scenes
Celebrating new birth in spring
The reproduction of a butterfly
A remarkable cycle, that does not die

© Copyright KC.Leake
6th April 2015
All Rights Reserved


Copyright © kevin leake

Details | Education Poem | |


written 25th Oct 2013

I don't know if human's will ever see
 every soul born, is right where it's meant to be
For the rich to become the richest
 there has to be a place for the poorest

The entire world is built up from the same level of dirt
 each soul is born without knowledge to cause hurt
Humanity teaches us what a human's life is worth, by money and glory
 I am to believe "all lives are priceless, every soul fit's to tell Earth's story

The luckiest to be born, is that of a poor man
 he learn's the treasures, of "everything he can
Those born into all riches, have no true understanding of "richness
 seeing us not as human's, but those living in poverty "as an illness

Love start's from the soul, and from there, it is taught to grow
 the rich find another kind of love, one only brought with dough
Love, trust, compassion and grace, defining the difference in richest and wealth
 t'is the beggar off the street, who climbs the toughest road to earn his wealth 

He is the most blessed man, he is rewarded with the most valuable key
 for his wealth, is humanly "uncountable, for only God know's the value of he...

Copyright © Denise Hopkins

Details | Education Poem | |



Nowhere near a force of nature
Challenging a source of nature

Building with the will to survive
A small measurement for those who strive

Lessons when it comes to strength
Multiplying the time found in length

Stop and learn the sound of weakness
Hard to find when one is relentless

Improving in a mental task
The answers are found when we ask

Stamina mania, you and I
To perform bravely in all we do

pump for long
yet never strong

Learn when ideas seem to fail
The wrong action is to bail

Thinking, thinking what could it be
Will not solve the problem between you and me

Practice is  the best energy
Memorize it-- stamina will come naturally


Copyright © SKAT A

Details | Education Poem | |

Eyes on Words

Eyes can feel the unseen 
Before it is verbalized and organised in pain
They seize innocent criminals that abuse letters 
Eyes of creativity don’t feel no pity
They endlessly seek traumatized emotions in numerous seasons

These eyes live in the back of every tongue rotation
These eyes pee tears like polluted rain drops 
Urinating deceases polluting the already sick tears 
They lecture life with pride
Eyelashes that endlessly spray hope in words with no doubt 

Eyes on words prefer no sun glasses but stanzas
They speak darkness in all artistic graphics
They visualize visions in brain map fantasies 
A place with more sins and judgments they visit
They speak non-rated missions

When the world is rude to you don’t be picky on dreams 
Dreams are never on vacation
These eyes can sense 
These eyes are like pens 

They are fans of disappointments while contribution stepladders 
It’s like a clan 
They reproduce stomach cramps using fertile words
The family of giving and receiving

Eyes on words speak in mute expressions
They build towers of tomorrow’s errors
Buildings that look down on problems
Eyes on words are like cold visions with no ice

© Raymond Ngomane 

Copyright © Raymond Ngomane

Details | Education Poem | |

The 'Star of Education'

Like many precious diamonds,
Good teachers are hard to find
Yet sometimes one can discover
A rare and priceless kind,
It’s not like all the others
For it out-shines the rest
You know as soon as you see it 
That this stone is the best,
A good teacher is that special gem
They do far more than teach
They make you feel, through learning,
There’s no star you cannot reach
In Art, they help you see differently
From new angles, not straight up and down
They make Geography an adventure
As the world you travel around
In History, they make you feel 
You’ve lived and breathed the times
And Math is not sums, but puzzles
To stretch and tone your mind
In English they encourage you
To not just write, but feel
So that each one of your stories
Will read as if it were real,
If you ever have a question
You call and they are there
With patience and understanding
Your problems are theirs, they care
There’s usually one in every school
Superior to the rest
For they’re the ‘Star of Education’
And as such are totally priceless!

Copyright © Janette Fisher

Details | Education Poem | |

A river called Ebola

Thathud, boom boom boom 
Thathud, boom boom boom
I listen
As drums beat in Africa
Voices rise above the pounding
Crying out for their lost
For their feverish
Helpless people dying one loving touch at a time
Ebola, your tears bring destruction
You methodically  make your way to the city
The river from which you flow is cursed
A stream of blood gushes forth
Pouring out and through Africa
Thathud, boom boom boom

You, Ebola
Travel in secrecy
Disguised as lesser diseases
Now the uncommon more common cold
You wear malaria like a illusionist's garment
Making your way through the marketplace
Taxicabs fill with your unsuspecting victims
Fear and ignorance, your loyal companions 
Following you to the hospitals
Places of healing become decimated 
The healers hands are not protected
Their fingers become your own
You whisper "take me home with you,
let me kiss the face of your loved ones!"

Still the drums continue to beat
Thathud, boom boom boom
Hear the beat of Africa's heart
Bring your Doctors across her borders
Open Samaritan's Purse
Ebola, must not win
Let us love Africa one person at a time
God's loving hand's poised to heal
Redemption is possible
He has not forgotten his children
Strength will once again course through their veins
Africa will sing a new song
The fever will break
Ebola, you cannot
Shall not
Will not
Silence the drums of Africa!
Thathud, boom boom boom
Thathud, boom boom boom
Thathud, boom boom boom........

Copyright © Richard Lamoureux

Details | Education Poem | |


I am that tall,good and kind man
I have the longest legs on earth
I am the fastest man on earth
I am deaf and dumb
My eyes lead me like a sheep and its lamb
I am very curious but,
very time conscious
I am jobless
I am homeless
I always thirst for water
I always need a good Samaritan
Despite my state,
I am the world's priority
People suffer a fate
But need me to be free
I am he everyone awaits to make a mirth
I go to anyone who is willing 
All I need is caring
Everybody needs me
But I come without acknowledging me

I come I come
I stand at your door
Open and welcome me with a kiss
When you delay,I make a hiss
The next scene, I turn my back to the door
There you will miss

Don't try opening
For I am time conscious
Don't try calling
For I am deaf and dumb
Don't try following
For I have the longest legs on earth
Don't try chasing
For I am the fastest man on earth
I come to make you mirth
But you can choose to be in dearth

I came I came
I stood at your door
You welcomed me wonderfully
But you made me sit on the floor
You left me and forgot to close the door
I moved out slowly
Upon your return,
You didn't see me
You forgot I am time conscious
I saw someone ready
So went there because I was curious

You tried calling
But forgot I am  deaf and dumb
You tried following
But forgot I have the longest legs on earth
You tried chasing
But forgot I am the fastest man on earth
I came to make you mirth
But you chose to be in dearth

I stood at your door
You welcomed me wonderfully
You made me sit comfortably
But refused to give me water when I was thirsty
You left me and forgot to close the door
Upon your return,
You didn't see me

You tried calling
But forgot I am deaf and dumb
You tried following
But forgot I have the longest legs on earth
You tried chasing me
But forgot I am the fastest man on earth
I came to make you mirth
But you chose to be in dearth

I stood at his door
He welcomed me with a kiss
He closed the door,
gave me a place to sit comfortably,
gave me water to lessen my sore,
Prepared me a mutton
He made me eat like a glutton
He laid his spreadsheet on a bed
He gestured to me to lay my head
I slept until he received what he needed
He decided to keep me forever
Alas,I embark on a journey
Joy like a river flowed in his heart
He smiled while escorting me

Yes I am
I am the very person you needed
But I came and you took me for granted
I am the one you are awaiting
When I come, show me the caring
I am opportunity.


Details | Education Poem | |

Rainbows Dreaming of Gray

Scrambling tooth and nail for a patterned fate
I approached the lofty mansion of Learning's Gate.
All cued up for a slip of paper - the one they call Degree,
halfway convinced that I hallucinated humanity.
For who under their own free will would venture
into this spiraling sameness:
this illustriously-in-debt, this Regal Club
of the Nameless?
I bellowed my voice into the air
(This great atrocity!).
But not a single student seemed to care:
So well fashioned they were,
adorned in their prized medals of mediocrity.
Along with their unwillingness to ever stray,
all too content to be but rainbows dreaming of gray.
I hung my head in such morose emptiness.
As I fashioned myself: the uniquely ubiquitous.
And what a fool I was to join the crowd - and yet so halfheartedly.
Striving for the cirrus clouds, the silver moon, and then the galaxy.
For my actions didn't match my cerebral creativity
I was statue still cursed with a meandering mind
(and other such extremities).
Exploding with hopes large enough for two
I sat clearly convinced languid leaps would do.
But one cannot daintily decide to dream the Dream
for it is merely the seed, another earthly deed.
You're not allowed to walk away, gandering as it grows,
for we are likened as the summer sun - keeping the rivers a'flow.

"Picturing profits in your hands
do not till the all too ready land"
explained the elderly gent with leathered palms, 
"Someday soon you will understand."

And though we aim to be ourselves
gravity inevitably
brings us to the grid.
Imagination like a heavy rain;
we the paper people
so helplessly hid.

But fear not ye denizens
of the cherished cubbyhole:
where you keep under lock and key
your dust-laden soul.
If one burgeoning blunder
tore it all asunder
surely one single spirited spark
could heal even the most
dormant of hearts.

So fare thee well oh Cookie Cutter Coop -
Another day on that wretched plain, and I'd surely die.
I'm glad just to sever sameness in one fell swoop
by hanging on a star in the midnight sky.

NOTE: I always enjoyed using alliteration when I could... and with this particular one I went a little bit nutty... but I think it turned out okay.

Copyright © Timothy Hicks

Details | Education Poem | |


Walking forward but still in the same place.

Moving quickly but still stuck in a small space.

Success seems so close but something I never taste.

Time continues but all efforts go to waste.

Reaching for goals in this strenuous race.

Going on hopelessly in this never ending chase.

Moving faster trying desperately to pick up the pace.

The monotony of struggle slapping me in the face.

Thinking of my future but all I see is a lost case.

Copyright © Emily Pascale

Details | Education Poem | |

The Truth Room

Come with me my Brother,
to a secret place where Light and Shadow line the face with fear and grace,
leave sophmoric style, wry smile and sly bile on the road of your forgotten mile,
sick sarcasm is the symptom of envy, a pet to your heart destroyer,
such artifice and malice have no language in this room of roasted dreams,

Enter through the damaged door, touch the destruction of vandals,
you have never been here before, where gold blood cuts the floor,
do you see how the walls move like squalls at our approach,
feel how they tell stories with the sensations of defeat, anxiety, impropriety,
in here we witness a collection of seperate yet synthesized segments of Self,
childhood torment, shallow manhood, virility limp as stolen victory,
underachievement, the underbelly of your arrogance, flacid like placid passion,

We journey further into this gallery of emotional gallows
smelt by the hurt of innumerable adavances
repelled by the demands of Quality,
you will writhe wildly
from the harrowing healing leeching into your concepts of self control,
graceful in absorbtion of Truth's attrition,
fruitless ambition shall now cling as cleaving contrition,
your face Brother, look long into the shimmer of sorrow become the old,
tattooed you are like a snake's skin checkered and beautiful
with scaled episodes of submission and aggression, dying to be Divine,
I want you to know that there is no exit of ease from this place Brother,
we trek within your very Soul,
this is the home and harbor of everything you've decided to be,
there are other rooms here, some of joy and some of strife,
but you leave not the Truth Room of your anger
until the Light finds no fault in your intention -


Copyright © Justin Bordner

Details | Education Poem | |

Goodbye, Saint Joseph's School -- Elton John

*Sung to the tune of Elton John’s “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road.”  Intended to be taken 

“When are you gonna grow up?
It is in jail you will land
You’ll have to stay after class
And I’ll be talking to your old man”

     “You know you can’t hold me forever
     The last school bus is now due
     You can’t rap my knuckles with your ruler now
     Stand in my way and I’ll just run through
     So nah, nah, nah…

     “So goodbye, St. Joseph’s School
     Where the ‘Sisters of Mercy’ were cruel
     The Catholic school’s finally closing
     The lunchroom’s stopped serving gruel

     “I’m taking that bus, might never get off
     Don’t want to face my Dad’s wrath
     Oh, I’ve finally decided to free myself
     And set out on my own path
     So nah, nah, nah…”

“How can you earn a living?
You can’t even spell your name
You’ll be required to take some remedial courses
And stop playing silly head games”

     “Maybe you’ll get a new convent
     I hear there’s some room in Brazil
     Students there might appreciate
     A no-nonsense sister with a voice shrill
     So nah, nah, nah…

     “So goodbye, St. Joseph’s School
     Where the ‘Sisters of Mercy’ were crude
     The altar boys have been set free
     The priests are no longer lewd

     “I’d like to stay, watch them raze it
     The site with torture imposed
     Where skeletons still hide in the closets
     Nevermore to be exposed
     So nah, nah, nah…”

*For John Heck’s “Dear John” contest.  
Those of us who attended St. Joseph’s just learned the school is being closed.  
Although a good education was provided, some students were beaten there repeatedly.  
I feel a good education was provided, but they went overboard with discipline.  

Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire

Details | Education Poem | |

Future Picture

Paint me my teacher
A picture of my future
Tell me at this juncture
About My future
I will listen with rapture
You my teacher
Show me every feature
Of my future.

spread me my teacher
the wings to my future
Make me learn
what my efforts will return
Hold my hand
Guide me and
let me walk the path
My life is worth.

Show me my teacher
what is stored in my future
show me the beauty
of my future duty
Then I will paint
a picture with no stain
A future perfect picture.

show me my teacher
the colors to paint my future
I will paint a doctor picture
Or paint a lawyer picture
I will paint my perfect future picture
with the colors from you my teacher
Help me paint my future
My respected teacher.

Copyright © Griffins Ndhine

Details | Education Poem | |

Words Of Wisdom To My Child

You grow so fast, already showing glimpse of awesome creativity and transform discoveries from the industrious nature of your observations so squat at my feet and raise your attentive head up high to be equipped for this compulsory journey oh sweet creature of my seed. My hands of your molding and chastisement are already the processing engine of your refinement my strong willed mind and love soaked heart complete the stages as you hold steadfast to the train I’ve prepared for you Listen attentively as I perform this segment of my duties and lets take a tour round the routes of wisdom and gallivant the landscape of experience while I pedal your feet and smoothen your soles Seasoned flavored virtues are an armour through which life’s shots are overcomed and a colourful behaviour becomes a saviour in times of need Labor not your whole life in chasing vapour for out of vigour, flour is made from wheat, Bread from flour, but all for a time of enjoyment and satisfaction Guilty syndrome is exhibited when a person answers unasked questions and don’t force out jokes from your head or else people will think your sense of humor is on a life support Sunset is no accuse for the clock to stop running ad infinitum thus, an excuse is like a punctured umbrella it’ll still not stop the invasion of raindrops Your natural desires are borderless, but your ability to strongly control them is what makes you distinct from other species in the animal kingdom Love has no prefix, suffix or adjective it is what it is and as powerful as causing natural instincts to be abdicated in favour of kindness just for the carnivore to embrace abstinence. He who begins a tale becomes its reference don’t say what you cannot defend in court rumour is a bad odour which spreads beyond the neighbourhood and puts a noisy siren on your personality Bad companionship will lead you to the garbage and corrupt friends will join others to marvel at the immortality of your adopted stupidity Wash your face every morning with these words and take your every meal with these lines then would they be spices to which your life is preserved.

Copyright © Funom Makama

Details | Education Poem | |


The greatest miracle in days of yore  
unsurpassed, two millennia past or more 
a carpenter by trade, Joseph by name
was betrothed to Mary, a virtuous dame
Joseph, proud of his virgin, unbesmirched 
beamed when their banns were recited in church 

Mary had a visitor who descended in light 
when the angel spoke she cowered in fright
"Fear not, chosen one, there's a child in your belly,
You'll name Him Jesus,  unless you fancy Kelly."
"How can you be sure?  I've not been with a guy."
"Must I spell it out?  His father is God most high." 

When Mary told Joseph he was caught off-guard   
to accept Mary's tale was decidedly hard
his intended, purportedly as pure as they come
was with child from another;  a soon-to-be mum
An angel of God appeared in splendor:
"Joseph, to no mortal did Mary surrender."
now, Joseph was righteous, obedient to God 
ahead of the wedding date they then tied the knot
his family, deprived of a wedding reception 
snickered:  "What's with Joseph?  This is clearly deception."

The newlyweds were obviously broke
Joseph told Mary:  "My wife, don your cloak
We can't afford to pay taxes to them
we'll go to my birthplace;  it's called Bethlehem 
off they set with Mary on a donkey
for days on end over the hills of Galilee 

All the tax evaders had crowded Bethlehem
not an inn in the place could accommodate them
Joseph begged as well he was able
one innkeeper showed them a stable
in amongst animals, vermin and filth 
Mary, the Virgin, to our Savior gave birth
she wrapped Him in cloth to protect Him from danger
laid Him gently to rest in a hay-lined manger

Humankind then and now reaps the advantages
that Jesus has come to mend falling bridges 

Copyright © delysia hendricks

Details | Education Poem | |

Make It Count

line count and word number are equal in this selection....

"Make It Count"
by:  Eric L. Boddie

Man may
Come to play
But if you say
Oh no baby, not today
Do you think he would stay
Or would he go so far away
In search of another lover he could lay
Doing everything associated with rolling in that infamous hay
And if push came to shove, maybe he would pay
To relieve all the stress stemming from your hips' distant sway
Because something must give, there are more than fifty shades of gray
That's common knowledge to the freaks and all those upon which they prey
And once you learn them all, I promise your lover will never ever stray
But if you miss just a single one, then you may experience that dreadful day
Where you lose it all so try to find True Love and remember to always Pray

Copyright © eric boddie

Details | Education Poem | |

Wilderness In The Rainforest

It is a tree of five hundred one and twenty different fruits with nine others totally disenfranchised in a garden of more than a colour of grapes a black bunch out of every five same is its numerical contribution in such defined location A flowing stream, originating from the Nok aboriginals has created different hundreds of tributaries in its inland is a town where fertility is ambidextrous and the most diversified of the colourful flying beauties is found within its territory A family possessing envious wealth but seemingly a myth b’cos of the Mephistophelian deeds of its guardians its house, built on land where toothpick germinates to a monstrous tree and man power capable of producing half a continent of sky scrapers yet six out of every ten of its members are less comfortable than a pet in the west

Copyright © Funom Makama

Details | Education Poem | |

Attention: WORD NERDS--------- The Eight Parts of Speech

---------------------- "Word Nerds" (like me)...
************Please Have Fun & Read VERY Closely:)***********

now and again
a word 
sneakily obscure
approaches the fog in me
screams its name 
apropos adverbs appear
precarious adjectives
slick little nouns
caught hiding 
beyond babbling brooks
sent to exile
defiling crooks
"pro"fessional nouns
beneath eight parts of speech
pre'fixed subjects
elusive predicates
slithering suffix'ation
turn-ing key
through holes
freeing vocabulary
within prison walls
pen bars 
filled in the past 
like Job's tedious job 
of siphoning
homographs from heteronyms 

words never mind...
they wind the mind
in the wind...

Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO

Details | Education Poem | |

50 Shades Of Gold

Take me beat me and mold me
I am yours to do with what you wish
No matter what you do with me
I am still considered quite a dish.

I can modify your hardness
I can let you know when to boil
I can conduct a heat in you
And I will never let you spoil.

I don’t react harshly, if you get me moist and wet
You’ll still love me in the morning, on that I think I’ll bet
I will still be malleable, no matter what you do
You can beat me to transparency, and yes you see right through.

I am a bright yellow colour, with a lustre some would die for
Keeping me in good condition, would never become a chore
If you really wanted to, you can put me in your mouth
I can even adorn your body parts, North, West, East and South…

I don’t react to an acid tongue, except those that are vitriolic
But you can dissolve me with the acid, called nitro hydrochloric.
You can pour me when I’m so very hot too hot for you to play
Then you can finger me when I am cool, and play with me all day

You can eat off me, or with me, the choice will be yours
They say I came from outer space, in fact in meteors
But one thing I will say I don’t wear out or lose my lustre, it is told
So if you pick me up treat me well, I am you little nugget of gold.

© 14/12/2012  

Copyright © Mandy Tams The Golden Girl