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Details | Teacher Poem | |

Money-God

Trust not in the words: "In God We Trust", printed on currency,
for God and Money should be kept separate,
unless one desires to tempt fate with the Money-God,
tempt fate by not over-turning the money-lenders' tables,
although many might argue how this isn't good for business.

Why not know the value of life,
instead of focusing too hard on the prices of Idols.

People are bleating at the prospect of "God" being removed
from money, arguing that if God is removed from money,
the grazing grounds will become Godless.

Godless? 
With or without the words, 
a Money-God is a God nonetheless.
There is at least one true God, 
whether man-made or not;
an authority of control,
a God of profit margins.
Violence is a profit margin.
Hatred is a profit margin.
Bullets, Amendments, and Death, are all profit margins.

The war being waged upon children, is a profit margin.

If I had been given the chance, 
I would have tried my best to take him out,
morphed the vapours of my remaining hatred into bullets,
or torn him apart with my hands.
To stop innocents from losing their innocence.
There are lines drawn in minds,
that if crossed over, stretch beyond the bristle-board of rehabilitation.
Even Clockwork Orange bleeds into crimson spatters.

When a child survives a massacre,
runs across his school field to find safety from a stranger,
proclaiming to the stranger, "I can't go back to my school, it isn't safe there.
My teacher was killed, I don't have a teacher anymore.
All of my friends are dead."....

....then innocence has been lost, and the Money-God is empowered even more.
Lost innocence spreads like a disease through the minds of global villagers.
Fear breeds fear, breeds control and disintegration of the Stream-Mind.

If I had been given the chance,
I would have fought fire with fire,
fed the beast within, 
taken him apart with a breath of hatred.
Breathed it out, pushed it out, purged it out.

Satan is a scapegoat used by people who are unwilling 
to take accountability for their actions and sacred responsibilities.
The Beast is humanity -
not marked by a fairy-tale Devil,
but instead marked by the Money-God created in the image of man;
recreating the image of man through fear.

Some people might be intrigued by how many definitions of God there are.
Even if money is a necessity,
within our core there should reside a different Kingdom -
without and within, within and without.

If I had been given the chance -- past tense....

....if I am given the chance,
I will try my best to take him out,
smudge him out
with the remaining hatred in my heart.
Breathe it out, push it out, purge it out,

until all that's left is to love,
until all that's left is to love.







December 14th, 2012 - S.H.E.S:  28 - 2 = 26




January 7th, 2013




.

Details | Teacher Poem | |

having sex - footle

buck wild
rodeo style
_______________________|
PENNED ON AUGUST 14, 2014!

Details | Teacher Poem | |

My Best Friend

I had nowhere to turn, had nowhere to go, this is just something ,I think you need to know! I don't know what made me trust you, I still remember the day, when I told what I had been through! I thought, I should jump off, or go hide in a hole, but then I followed whatever you told!
As each day grew longer, my trust became stronger! Each time I wanted to cry, you stayed there right by my side!
Then I moved to the twelveth grade, I was really afraid, that my trust would slowly fade, But I was very wrong, the bond is still strong!
Eventhough you don't have time, you atleast ask me if I am fine! You are just seen for a while,with your contagious smile! And then you walk away and you are out of sight, I smile and then things are allright!
I am so glad,that only you were there when I was sad! You are the one on whom I can always depend, And this is what makes you...MY BEST FRIEND

Details | Teacher Poem | |

Our Beloved Teacher

Our Beloved Teacher ( Sonnetina Rispetto) Torch of knowledge from her we take She holds our hands for our dreams sake Values and love we emulate Like dad and mom, she truly cares We grow in her nurturing grace Her guidance gives us strength and faith Torch of knowledge from her we take She holds our hands for our dreams sake She looks after us the whole day As we read, learn, dance, sing and play Values and love we emulate Her guidance gives us strength and faith Torch of knowledge from her we take She holds our hands for our dreams sake
Copyright 2014 Leonora Galinta All Rights Reserved October. 28, 2014 4.35pm Second Place Contest: Sonnetina Rispetto Judged: 11/6/2014 Sponsor: Poet Dr. Ram Mehta

Details | Teacher 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.

Details | Teacher Poem | |

The Priest with Spirited Eyes

The Priest with Spirited Eyes


Heart sees tender giving in those spirited eyes,-
  Shared love given to those with great need!
   Comforting hearts that hurt but don't bleed,
 With love spent in helping as precious time flies

Your healing gently washes away so many lies,
   Mercy prevails as you plant that seed;-
Heart sees tender giving in those spirited eyes,
   Shared love given to those with great need!

As welcomed as are rain clouds in desert skies
   Healing those victims with kindness and speed!
   Hearts mended, imprisoned Souls quickly freed,
With tender mercies prevailing and joy in the cries,
Heart sees tender giving in those spirited eyes.

Robert J. Lindley, 07/13/2014

Sponsor Debbie Guzzi 
Contest Name - Random Acts of Kindness 

Rondel
A French form consisting of 13 lines: two quatrains and a quintet,
 rhyming as follows: ABba abAB abbaA. The capital letters are the 
refrains, or repeats.

Details | Teacher Poem | |

WEAKNESS

Weakness
 
It is said that he was weak because he would not
conform, could not subjugate his will, would not
let them imprison his mind, cage his spirit.  Weak
because he stood alone and not with the milling
mob.  Weak, because he would not speak the
words they desired to hear.  Weak, because he
smiled when others wept, laughed when others
wailed, stood tall when others bent beneath the
 toil of life.
 
They prayed for him to come to his senses and
become as they.  He, though he didn’t pray as
they, desired the same for them.  He knew that
there was no strength in the coalition of the crowd,
no truth in the mumbling of old truths, no love
in the demands of unconditional love.
 
He appreciated their prayers, they did not so
much appreciate his.  He would listen as the
sound of the choir filtered through the air and
caressed the trees and wonder why the
vibration stopped when the hymn ended,
why the sermon stopped when the preacher’s
voice stopped echoing in the apse.
 
He would sing the song in silence as he walked
the village roads, roll the preacher’s words over
in his mind, smile at soaring hawks and old
barn cats, straighten a fence, remove a stone,
bid good-day to those who thought him weak.
He was not rich nor was he poor, neither wise
nor foolish, he just was.  And so he shared his
weakness with all who thought themselves
strong, his loneliness with the friendless,
his thoughts with those who sought to teach him,
his spirit with those who allowed their spirit to be
caged.
 
It is said that he was weak by those who never
dared to share his weakness.
 
John G. Lawless//10/15/2014
Submitted to Verlena Walker contest
My shortcomings are overwhelming; however, my strengths are defeating them!

Details | Teacher Poem | |

Short Stuff

You were always happy, always on the move
with a great zest for life and a heart full of love.

We loved you too and checked to see if you’d get mad
if we mimicked your habits, but you laughed instead.

When we were in school together, you often horsed around;
I ribbed you about eye trouble, eyes too close to the ground. 

You lived life with gusto, knowing your time was short;
playing hard, working harder, often with a jolly retort.

Honest to a fault, you saw the positive side of things;
kept things in order, solid rock with no mood swings.

Cut off jeans, gray tee shirt, tinted glasses, baseball hat;
great big grin, teasing quip, a big hello, a friendly chat.

You were the best teacher any student ever had;
I could call on you to help as though you were my dad.

You drove my school bus on many a winter morn;
dressed in brown coveralls, bottom legs frayed and worn.

You were there in summer, helping coach baseball games;
at football with your camera or turning cartwheels in the gym.

You taught us how to care, how to study, how to play;
how to work on the computer and make the most of every day.

So determined to learn, spending hours at a throw;
self-teaching all the things a teacher needed to know.

You are the poem of my life, who you were tells the tale;
your poem will last forever, healing memories never pale.

You wrote the words of this poem, pages of my life tell the story;
you will read them back to me, when we meet again in glory.

Details | Teacher Poem | |

School

Why does a child have to go to school?
Why do we have to spend so much time working?
This seems simply cruel.
Isn't it just irking?

Some people say school is important for learning
Couldn't a child learn on their own?
It would cause much less yearning,
After all, we can learn from our phones.

I can somewhat see a parents point in sending their child to school.
But why would you choose what we wear?
It just allows us to look like fools,
We may as well come to school bear.

As you can see school is not fair,
So please don’t force us to go if you care.

Details | Teacher Poem | |

The Teacher

O Teacher! My Teacher!
I would dare to channel a master just for you.
I know not if I am up to this lofty task,
but it is to your expectation that I try to rise. 
You never asked for anymore than my best
and I love you for never demanding any less.

O Teacher! My Teacher!
If you had not opened a locked door,
the engulfing rays of enlightenment
may never have caressed my yearning face,
or held me tightly in her awakening embrace
releasing the song desperately trapped in my soul.

O Teacher! My Teacher!
You always said I had a great gift.
If that is true, I heap all praise on you.
You have the most wonderful offering of all
for within you rested the ability to recognize
the potential now flowing freely under my pen.

O Teacher! My Teacher!
I will forever hold you in the highest esteem.
I am not certain if mere words could ever express 
the appreciation I have long held for your guiding hand.
Undaunted by the impossible task now in front of me,
this student will once again try to impress his teacher. 




This piece was inspired and written for Professor Judy Davis who taught at the College of Central Florida until she retired. She was my English Literature and Composition teacher the first time I went to college. Many go into teaching, but the special few, like Judy, are called to the profession. She is now enjoying her retirement, but her old student here still communicates with her occasionally. 

Details | Teacher Poem | |

Mother's Love

Mother’s Love (Sonnet)

Love begins at the time of conception
When a mother’s dear child grows in her womb.
Her life is changed to thoughts of protection.
Excitement and wonder of gender bloom.

This new little life will bring heightened joy.
A new baby is what dreams are made of.
It matters not if it’s a girl or boy,
Birth will bring happiness and so much love.

Teaching a sweet child as he or she grows
Is a most important tool used each day.
To teach how compassion and kindness flows,
As they emulate and do things our way.

A mother’s love, with every endeavor,
Is a gift to her children forever.

© 2014 Connie Marcum Wong

Happy Mother’s Day to every Mother and Step-Mother and Grand Mother and 
G. Grand Mother. Happy Belated Mother's Day to those of you in countries 
where you have already celebrated Mother's Day.


Details | Teacher Poem | |

Weird Carolyn

Weird Carolyn

The other cheerleaders didn’t like football
Basketball was much easier to follow
But I got bored watching them dribble the ball
My response was hard for others to swallow

Growing up I didn’t have too many toys
So I had to find my own entertainment
I became a master of animal noise
When I “croaked” on the bleachers strange looks were sent

My frog impersonations left them aghast
When I did my seagull, the team stopped playing
They stared at me oddly as though I’d passed gas
They couldn’t relate to talents displaying

This was the first thing that led to my nickname
But once in class I was asked to give a speech
The teacher was writing, so bold I became
Her attention I was trying to beseech

Being a contortionist since childhood days
Locked one leg and arm, looked like a flamingo
I perched on one foot for each eloquent phrase
The teacher looked up and called me a weirdo

The class agreed and “weird Carolyn” was born
Frequently called upon to put on a show
Much laughter I bestowed, accolades adorned
Never understood why I didn’t have a beau



*Entry for Francine’s “Tell us something we didn’t know” contest.  Okay, the secret's 
out and I'm ready for my punishment.  At high school reunions I'm still called upon to 
perform.

Details | Teacher Poem | |

And People Ask Why I Don't Take a Class

My vacant stare was sure to be 
a giveaway to anyone that saw . . .
I was a Pilgrim there to the land of techno-jargon,
of icons, Help instructions meaning nothing,
and a world of young and savvy operators.
Our teacher wasn’t there. 
Certain that the worksheet explaining all the basics
would be a breeze for us to carry out,
he’d arrogantly left the room
and left the lot of us to the mercy of
a keyboard and computer.

I looked up from his worksheet 
to a screen that stared right back at me,
awaiting my commands.
I was on the starting path to what is often called
the Super Highway, 
and my boarding pass, tuition to the class,
was non-refundable.
Overwhelmed, I started out.  Then I hit a rut
and didn’t have a clue what next to do.
My learning peers already seemed to know
the route quite well. 
Some, in fact, were calling it a day
while I stayed on, ashamed to bother
any of the others there for help.

I looked around the room, my tired brain
a hot plate in the midst of younger minds
with the speed of ovens made for microwave.
Perhaps they’d all conspired to put 
the older lady at unease.
It seemed the more I tried to understand,
the more pathetically off course I’d go. . . 
Till finally (longing for a time when 
“cut and paste” implied the use of scissors),
I got up from my seat and left behind
the self-instructing worksheet which
that egghead teacher said would be “a cinch.” 
Two big words were scrawled across the top
of its first page, two big words in red,
written with the one tool I could trust: 
SCREW IT. 


For Natalie Whitlock's 
"Talkin' Technology" Contest

Details | Teacher Poem | |

4th Grade Music Room

Under her guidance, we stood at attention
forming a row  for the national anthem
"Oh Say, Can You See?"...those familiar old words
We would sing, not in unison
but with avid enthusiasm
out of tune, out of rhythm
with our childish delusions
that we were quite good!

As we  stood in the room
she would move down the line
with a frown in the lines
of her brow, then would bow
till her ear matched our voice
and her hand would be poised
with two fingers ensued
keeping time with the tune.

She would grit all her teeth
bite the inside of cheeks
Such a serious task!
it was all that she asked
that we please..do our best

When we mastered, at last
She would gasp, then exclaim
as we sang each refrain
Mixed with tears, she would clap

I remember it now...
Here I stand in this row
with my hand on my heart
as the first strain imparts
Yes, I know those old words...
they'll remain part of me
'til the day that I die
"O Say, Can You See?"...still familiar to me

But no..............I can't see....

          There are tears in my eyes...




_________________________________________________
For the Project UFO Contest: Sponsored by Robert Heemstra

Details | Teacher Poem | |

The Lost


                                                Innocent lifeless
                                       Pretty children rest in peace
                                             Let us pray for them

                                            The kids were victims
                                       The shooter was victim too
                                             Let's not put a blame

                                                 Exclamation sign
                                          Love family, love it right
                                        Don't loose, hug them tight

                                                  Dear educators
                                           Part of the victims as well
                                               The lifetime tribute

                                           Mourn traveled the world
                                         Burn by cause last on effect
                                               Careful in our steps

Author's Note:
Deep condolance for the victims of Sandy Hook School in Newtown, Connecticut,
Inspired by Zamalea George Poetry "Sweet Children, Sleep"
*****************************************************************
4th place
poetry soup VIGIL" Free Poetry Contest 
Sponsor	SKAT- AB SIN THE-

Details | Teacher Poem | |

My Poetry Begining PoetrySoup

It was the last day of school twenty some years ago
The teacher asked us to write a poem, in any form that we may know.
Never doing this before, I let the words flow, just letting it all hang out
After I handed it in, the teacher was really impressed without a doubt
She showed it to some other teachers saying,"Hey look at what Dan has wrote"
None of them could believe I wrote all those silly words down in a little note.

Seven years after school, I wrote my prewife a little poem
She said awww how sweet, and into a junk drawer it was thrown 
Five years after that, I wrote a poem in a homemade Valentines card
She looked at it and asked "was buying a real card just to hard"?
Another five years later, sitting by myself and drinking alone
I entered a poetry contest, because I felt my thoughts needed to be known

They sent me a letter back saying they wanted to put my poem in a book!
I right away sent the letter back saying ok, without even taking a second look
That's when it all began, I started writing poetry it seemed like everywhere 
Reading it to my friends and they would listen with a unappreciative stare
Then one day I came across this site, kind of interesting called Poetry Soup
I couldn't believe all the heartfelt kindness, they made me feel I was part of the troop


Dan Kearley:12-6-11


Details | Teacher Poem | |

Home schooling

Home schooling

My Grandson Jakob lives with me
He’s quite intelligent
Now he’s a ‘one of’ kind of lad
He’s deep and he’s intense
He used to go to the local school
Where bullies did abound
And though he’s such a peaceful lad
No peace for him was found.

So we took him out of school
And his mum, she teaches him
He’s showed since she has started this
That he’s anything but dim
His grades have shot up very high
Since he left that school
And no one bullies him no more
Or treats him like a fool.

And yet I hear so many say
Home schooling is real bad
So I do say to all these folk
‘Well you should see our lad’
He’s happiness just shines on through
He’s getting brighter ever day
I think home schooling is the best
In every kind of way.

18 May 2014 @ 0940hrs

Details | Teacher Poem | |

Cindy Had A Little Bird

Cindy had a little Bird, 
Little Bird, little Bird, 
Cindy had a little Bird, 
Its feathers were yellow as the sun

And everywhere that Cindy went, 
Cindy went, Cindy went, 
Everywhere that Cindy went
The Bird was sure to go

It followed her to school one day
School one day, school one day
It followed her to school one day
Which was against the rules.

It made the children laugh and play,
Laugh and play, laugh and play,
It made the children laugh and play
To see a Bird at school

And so the teacher turned it out,
Turned it out, turned it out,
And so the teacher turned it out,
But still it lingered near

And waited patiently about,
Patiently about, patiently about,
And waited patiently about
Till Cindy did appear

"Why does the Bird love Cindy so?"
Love Cindy so? Love Cindy so?
"Why does the Bird love Cindy so?"
The eager children cried

"Why, Cindy loves the Bird, you know."
Loves the Bird, you know, loves the Bird, you know
"Why, Cindy loves the Bird, you know."
The teacher did reply

Details | Teacher Poem | |

THE PARENTS' ROLE

Blame
yourself for
the things your 
children say and do; 
they got them from your 
nasty looks, gestures and unkind words...
read them some stories from the Bible!
Mothers more than fathers should be their teachers;
no vile words they should speak, good manners count:
clean and obedient upbringing pave the way for future success,
discipline and behavior makes them stand out from other naughty kids!
All parents must play an important role in their children's lives,
if they do stupid things, correct them, not rebuke them;
nicknames aren't that funny and they will resent them,
have patience, teach them all the right ways
by allowing them to make some mistake!
Isn't perfection so hard to achieve?
Does that perfect one exist?
Human Nature has flaws, 
fall and rise:
glory is
yours!

Entered in Shadow Hamilton's contest,
" Double Reverse Etheree "
Written on 9/ 20/2014

Details | Teacher Poem | |

To My Super Souper Friends

Alot of you folks have been able to say what you feel this holyday season with exquisite 
wording and beautiful sentiments. I can't do that. Maybe if I tell you a story about a 
little kid who was raised and worked on a farm. A farm boy in a class of city kids is ridiculed 
for some reason and beat up alot cause that proves to city kids that they're strong when 
they beat up a farmer kid. So I did the best I could with my sense of humor, got beat up 
when challenged and avoided other confrontations by learning to run real fast! When they 
picked teams for basketball, I was odd kid out. Too little. I found it hard to fit in anywhere.
    One fine day our 7th grade teacher gave us a homework assignment to write a poem 
which we would read aloud in class the next day.The stipulation was that, on your honor, you 
could have no help whatsoever. A solo project.
   After chores that night, I did as she said and was surprised at how easy it was. The 
next day, when it was my turn, I timidly read aloud to the class the first poem I ever wrote.  
When I finished, I awaited the verdict . All was quiet. The teacher told me to sit down. I did. 
She then admonished me for cheating on my assignment and getting help. Of course I did 
not. I still vividly remember how it felt to have all my peers watching me as our teacher 
dismissed me for a cheater with a look of disdain on her face. I was speechless, devastated 
and embarrassed by what others thought.
   The experience pushed me deeper into myself than I had ever been.. It's amazing to me 
how these feelings are resurfacing en force as I write about it. I've written poetry on and off 
since then but never taken it seriously. It was just some force that reared itself once in a 
while until it was subdued by writing one.
    Now, in the autumn of my life, something very strange and wonderful is happening. I 
have been introduced to you, my poetry soup friends. The injustice done to my poetic soul is 
every day being identified by myself, rectified and healed by your loving support. I'm no 
longer throwing my poems away. You have given me in two months what has been missing 
since the 7th grade. You have given me courage, confidence, encouragement and the 
companionship to take up where I was left off. Because of all of you, I can grow again. I was 
at a stalemate in alot of things and then this. Coincidence? More like Christ incidence. Get it? 
YOU are my Christmas gift from Love come down! This is my card to you.  
 GOD BLESS YOU ALL.- ROBERT

Details | Teacher Poem | |

Mr Moore

 tercet 

Mr. Moore taught us English lit
but more important than that,
he taught us how to use our wit.

He willed us to go way beneath
the surface and there discover
treasures hidden under the heath.

He urged us all to cast our lines
way far out into our waters,
waters of thought, we could refine.

We found Truth was for Mr. Moore
like a shield or coat of armor.
These well-known words tacked to his door -

"Above all, To thine own self be true."
Then, does it really matter much
what others choose to say or do?

Virtue we came to realize
exists in the mind of the man -
his character without disguise.

Reason A. Poteet
for Contest - Sketch a Character, gautami phookan
16 Oct 2014

Details | Teacher Poem | |

LIFE IN THE FREAK ZOO

LIFE   IN   THE   FREAK   ZOO

When you meet a deaf guy no one says  - 
Wow, can’t  you hear this  (whistle)?
How about this (bell)?    Or this  (handclap)?
When you meet a blind  girl no one says  -  
Oooh,  can’t   you  see this  (flashlight)?
Or this  (computer screen)?
So why do people enthusiastically  check out my ability 
When they hear  I’m colorblind?
Colorblind ? !   Oh  boy,  ( a freak !) this is exciting….
Can’t  you see green?  Red?  How about yellow?
What color is this sweater?   That ball?
What colour does grass look to you?
What about traffic lights?
How do you watch television?
Feels like I’m in a zoocage.
At school I was always in trouble because 
In my drawings I colored the grass red instead of green.
All the same to me, but the teacher 
Got quite abusive   and angry  because 
In her world grass had to be  green.
And tell me, who ever made it law 
That oceans should be colored blue?
Mine were always purple,  all the same to me. 
Would the teacher have said to a blind kid,
“You little fool, can’t you see the grass?”
Or to  a deaf child, ”Hey stupid, can’t you hear the music?”
Oh it doesn’t really bug me  but
It’s interesting to see people’s behavior 
Towards certain afflictions.

Details | Teacher Poem | |

RIP Virginity

Dear Sir,my innocence is gone now, no more fear ,
Do you love to **** me again, I am always here.
I wonder when you taught me how to use a pen,
I was so into you but my ****** was in pain !
I was crying, i was too immature to understand
I was turning only 13, I couldn't feel what happened.
but I promise I never forget what you taught me at the end.
I begged you to stop and I looked into your eyes,
there was a reflection of a cruel world,that what I deserved!
Don't be afraid, mommy never knows what you did,
Nobody knows that you made me bleed.
Dear sir,my innocence is gone with all my tears,
as I had no safe place to hide myself from fears.
Nobody saw anything as your world was blind!
having hidden hatred inside,a virgin died.
Dear sir, time cannot erase your memories,
time doesn't heal all wounds,that you marked,
yes,you took my innocence that will be always on my mind.

Details | Teacher Poem | |

My Kindergarten Teacher


My kindergarten teacher and I’d guess probably yours
Taught me all I need to know to open all the doors
She taught me all my letters and how to write them out
She taught me about indoor voice and there is no need to shout
She read to me for hours; she taught me 2 + 2
She said “in learning there is power and I’m giving that to you”
She taught me how to make friends and how friends help friends get by
She taught me how to make amends when I made others cry
She taught me that in sharing I get more than I give
She taught me that in caring a better life I’d live
She taught me about teamwork and how to be discerning
But most of all she taught me a life-long love of learning

My kindergarten teacher passed away some time ago
I never got to thank her but I’d hope somehow she’d know
A kindergarten teacher is an angel in disguise
Leading – loving – learned - intelligent and wise

If not for kindergarten teachers who knows where we would be
Thank your kindergarten teacher, once for you and once for me

mdailey


Details | Teacher Poem | |

Teacher, shall I write a sonnet

Teacher, shall I write a sonnet? Must I?
When I’m not so sure of my poetry…
Shall I write a poem of fourteen lines?
In iambic pentameter –by me?

What shall I write about? What can I say?
In this sonnet which I must jot down now?
My sonnet should be about what today?
To write a great sonnet I’m not sure how…

Teacher, can I write this sonnet later
For I’m not sure of what to write about?
The teacher then takes my simple paper
And “you already did.” my teacher shouts.

‘Detention’ my teacher says, ‘for lying,’
‘But thank you,’ she adds, ‘for at least trying.’

 © Mariam Mababaya.