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Best Teacher Poems

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

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New Teacher Poems

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

SMOKEY AND THE TEACHER by Ball, Judy
My teacher said by H.K, Ramesh
The journey of a maths teacher by Raynes, Lewis
Teacher of Love by Kimathi, Teddy
GREATEST TEACHER by tran, hien
When am I ever going to use this in real life, teacher by Raynes, Lewis
The Forgotten Teacher by Langford, Eton
The Great Teacher by Lewis, David
My Greatest Teacher by McConnell, Gordon
Compliment to My Teacher by Makama, Funom

View all new Teacher Poems

The Best Teacher Poems

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Money-God

Trust not in the words ("In God We Trust") that are 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 that 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, 
stretch beyond the bristle-board of rehabilitation.
Even Clockwork Orange bleeds into crimson spatters.

When a child survives a massacre,
then 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 any more.
I think all my friends are dead.",

then innocence has been lost, and the Money-God is further empowered.
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.
The Money-God is a projection of mankind,
made in the image of mankind’s weaknesses.

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 am given the chance,
I will try my best to 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.



January 7th, 2013



In remembrance of S.H.E.S., December 14th, 2012










.


Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2013

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Newton's Law

I was inattentive in Science class one day
When the teacher at random looked my way
I didn't look up, I wouldn't dare
There's no escaping that intense glare.

Asked me to explain to the class
Newton's Law of Gravity and mass
My mind was a blank, heartbeats louder
For an answer I started to flounder.

I stood before the class trembling with fear
"Gravity" I said...and then oh dear!!!
I fell off the stage on to the floor
How the class with laughter did roar.

The children tittered in great amusement
They didn't know my sad predicament
The teacher said, "You've demonstrated gravity"
"Although you did it with much levity".

At length I returned to my seat
With many applause did they greet
Now I look back upon this and ponder
I decide to listen and not let my mind wander.


Copyright © Nandita Das | Year Posted 2015

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Our Beloved Teacher

Our Beloved Teacher ( Sonnetina Rispetto) Torch of knowledge from you we take You hold our hands for our dreams sake Values and love we emulate Like dad and mom, you truly care We grow in your nurturing grace Your guidance gives us strength and faith Torch of knowledge from you we take You hold our hands for our dreams sake You look after us the whole day As we read, learn, dance, sing and play Values and love we emulate You guidance gives us strength and faith Torch of knowledge from you we take You hold 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


Copyright © Galeo DS | Year Posted 2014

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A Golf lesson

Over fifty years have passed,
Tho’ it seems like just the other day;
My father gave me golf clubs,
“It’s a game you need to learn to play.”

He said, “It’s very difficult, but so is life.
There’s more to learn than grip and swing and rules,
Like honesty and dealing with adversity;
Then, pointing to his head, “… and how to use ALL your tools.

Play the Course… and Mother Nature…
Focus on just one shot at a time;
Try to learn from each of your mistakes;
Then, do your best to leave them behind.

These clubs will teach you more
Than our ‘man to man’ talks.
This you'll learn for yourself,
So you can “walk the walk.”

“Practice makes better, but not perfect.
And always remember what they say:
‘”Golf is not a game that we can win.
It’s just a game we play.’”

His lessons served me very well,
Took them to heart and play the game.
And life is much like a round of golf.
Despite the bad shots, I’m always glad I came.





 










Copyright © Robert Candler | Year Posted 2014

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having sex - footle

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


Copyright © Verlena S. Walker | Year Posted 2014

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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.



Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong | Year Posted 2014

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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.


Copyright © Annika Johnson | Year Posted 2013

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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. 


Copyright © Kim Morrison | Year Posted 2013

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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


Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2014

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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 twelfth grade, I was really afraid, that my trust would slowly fade, But I was very wrong, the bond is still strong!
Even Though you don't have time, you at least 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 alright!
I am so glad,that 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


Copyright © sakshi sitoot | Year Posted 2014

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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 | Year Posted 2014

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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.


Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2011

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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


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2011

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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-


Copyright © Yanny Widjanarko | Year Posted 2012

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Actions Speak Louder Than Words

Actions Speak Louder Than Words


Actions versus words
Actions speak louder
Louder is figurative
Louder is expressive
Figurative language is effective
Figurative does not truly speak
Effective is deeply important
Effective is walking the talk
Important lessons must be demonstrated
Important lessons show you don’t tell you
Demonstrated lessons are shown like an exhibit
Demonstrated lessons than may be emulated
Exhibits can be observed
Exhibits are seen not heard
Observed actions are watched
Observed actions trump words
Watched love is full of verbs
Watched love shows it is an action word
Verbs are action words 
Verbs help one’s mind create mental pictures
Words alone are soon forgotten
Words are remembered when taught with an action
Mental pictures formed in one’s brain
Mental pictures are recalled simpler than jargon
Brain stores memories
Brain loses words
Memories are potent tools
Memories recall meaning
Tools seen in use is vital 
Tools talked about remain idle
Vital is performance
Vital is activity
Performance is an execution 
Performance is a rendition
Execution creates stimuli
Execution shows not tells
Stimuli create neuron connections
Stimuli causes better recall
Connections boost like a catalyst
Connections fuel memory
Catalyst spark visuals
Catalyst evoke images
Visual aids are useful to teachers
Visual images are appealingly vivid
Teachers must display good character
Teachers may not just define it
Character is taught by example
Character in not lexically learned
Example set is learned in action ~
Example cannot be set with words


For Silent One’s Cliché Contest
3/28/2016


Copyright © jill spagnola | Year Posted 2016

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4th Grade Music Room

Under her guidance, we stood at attention
forming a row  for the national anthem
"Oh Say, Can You See?"...( familiar old words )
We would sing,  in unison,
but with avid enthusiasm!
Out of tune, out of rhythm
with childish delusions
that we were suburb!!

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




_________________________________________________
Resubmitted for PD's Contest: 101 In a row #4


Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2013

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Owl's Requiem

The rising sun has set.
Night has fallen.
The plow rests,
tillage and toil finished.
The corn ear withers,
but seeds are saved.
The scrolls are opened
event recorded;
the news spread:
"The sun has set,
the old Owl has flown
into the Heavens."

Yet, the sun will rise
and peek over the horizon,
the tractor will roar,
a new crop will sprout,
Green hands will turn brown
the flag will wave,
financial accounts recorded,
hospitality offered,
and the light of brotherhood shared.

Your torch has lit fires
that flicker and flame;
The fledgling will grow
and, hopefully, become wise;
New eras and life-chapters
will begin, 
continuing the credo
as a Legacy to you:
"Learning to Do, 
Doing to Learn,
Earning to Live, 
Living to Serve."*


*National FFA Organization Motto


Copyright © Jaycee Cervenka | Year Posted 2015

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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!


Copyright © John lawless | Year Posted 2014

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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.


Copyright © Cona Adams | Year Posted 2014

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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


Copyright © Reason A. Poteet | Year Posted 2014

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What Would You Think

A Note to Kenny 
A Gifted Young Man and Student
“WHAT WOULD YOU THINK”

If you saw
A caged bird without a beak
Or heard a deaf song
From a parakeet?
A gazelle that could not run
A midnight black morning 
Without the sun
A mother that refuses to hear
The sobs of her daughter saying
“Mother Dear,
Please…”

It would be tragic indeed.
Only one other tragedy could compare. 
That of seeing a 
talented
black young man
refuse to declare.
Make known to the world,
“I am here…”

Yes tragic indeed,
to see an intellect
that we couldn’t even forget
Because it was never 
used 
to remember.
Can such a curse be forgiven?
It would be my sin
to see this wrong and remain 
silent.

So in this poem I yell!
Plead with the black young man

“Do tell!”

You with something to find

Seek…

You with something to stand

Be…

You with something to say

Speak…

 While there is still time
Make up your mind

And shine…



Copyright © Tyshawn Knight | Year Posted 2014

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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.


Copyright © Sidney Beck | Year Posted 2011

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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


Copyright © Robert A. Dufresne | Year Posted 2009

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Head of the Class

My heart sank, her buttery sweet voice
summoning me to the front of the class
I stood there chalk in hand, with my shoulders slumped
The question she asked, for the answer she already knew
She chose not to teach, but rather to embarrass me
I was not a welcome guest, Hallowed Halls of learning didn't seem to fit
I stared emotionless at a blackboard covered in white chalk dust
Laughter filled the room until I could shrink no further
Oh how I wished I could disappear, escape to my place of daydreams
Then the teacher called on one of her special ones
The girl with perfect clothing, a perfect smile, she was the apple of teachers eye
That favoured girl removed the chalk and burden from my hand 
Red faced, I returned slowly to my place of shame
I sat there in my wooden desk, with my blue eyes turned down

Perfectly put in my place at the head of the class!


For  FJ's "Jaw Dropping Contest"


Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2016

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Teacher

Why, why, why? Is all I ask
Do you send these folk my way
They're not the ones I'd choose myself
But I attract within hooray
You must have plans to work me Lord
Have I really gone astray

I try so hard to be polite
You send me those who groan
From trials of life
Crying painful body drones
But I face a war continually Lord
Spine crumbling pained bones

I questioned much over the years
Of those you sent my way
But each one has had effect on me
What will I have learned today
I want to tell of things you've done
And why I've learnt to pray

You sent me counseling to help
Through things wrong in my youth
Then church fellowship did help me through
When marriage went down sluice
A teacher friend taught me much
In assertiveness and truth

You sent me someone kind and true
When I'd thought life was gone
A friend of a friend a neighbors brother
Turned out to be the  one
Who'd bring me home and settle again
Protect me and my two sons

You showed me work where I did learn
The skills to pull me through
In kitchens I did learn to cook
In schools help my children too
The staff within were pillars and rocks
In illness helped me do

You send others now to my house
Now I can't go out all alone
I used to sit and ponder sorry
I couldn't do things on my own
But now I have found new waters
I can swim and write a poem

I help others through my charity support
When I can get to phone
I can help in ways that others cant
And control load with able zone
I listen to those there struggling
Look at positives not moan

So I'm thankful for those folk you sent
Though I don't understand your process
But each time one has helped me to 
Understand and cope it's noticed
So send someone to help I'll pray
And I'll listen as perfect hostess




Author's notes

Okay, so I realize as it stands it needs tweaking, but at the time the pen flowed and now it 
needs some TLC... any ideas welcome, although I do not want to detract from the 
meaning/depth.  Any idea of rhyme was not originally intentional so please forgive I know at 
present its dreadful!! Help please?


Copyright © Anna-Marie Docherty | Year Posted 2009