Teacher Poems | Examples of Teacher Poetry

Leadership once stood so tall, But lost her spine along the hall. No knocks, no words, just silent calls— She wiped away the names on walls. Silence sits—a secret scribe, Whispers soft, commands prescribe. No voice to speak, no hand to shake, Just shadows where the echoes break. Respect once tried to find her place, But Ego barred her from the space. He strode in...

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To those who should have heard my plea— I write not bitter, but silently. In shadows where the messages fade, I found myself in silence laid. It started with a hopeful thread, A truth that whispered, softly said, To stir the waters, call a friend— But stillness echoed to no end. No ripples came, no words replied, Just empty space where trust had died. “You...

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Inspired to share my knowledge, Dedicated to teach with courage, I gave my service with all my heart— In my students' lives, I played an important part. Three decades of guiding the young, These are my riches, the songs I’ve sung. I may be a candle burning low, But the light I gave will always glow. Proud to shape each growing mind, And when...

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I can also say that, in my heart, I firmly believe... Since my youth, before bedtime, kneeling on my bare knees, I prayed to God. I prayed that way until I reached the age of 50. From that time onwards, I pray a bit different, but it doesn't matter, the essence is the same, and...

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Within the circle’s quiet pulse lies a deeper truth: when we shape our ways by kindness, trust takes root. The classroom holds a sacred space, where hearts find hope, and fears erase. Not just a room with desk and board, But a haven where the soul is restored. A whisper heard, a glance that sees— Each moment sown like sacred seeds. Mistakes aren’t...

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My teacher who thought sun-bathing made her well-red, graded me average, she was mean to the power hundred. She was once a banker, but after some time lost interest, wanted to be a pilot, so her career could take off for the best. She thought to be able to fly high, could be truly uplifting, instead she bought a boat,...

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Each morning drifts like mist— soft, uncertain, but somewhere in its hush, I feel the weight of something turning dark nearby. I once imagined this place would be still, that the walls would not echo with things unsaid. But peace, it seems, is not something we always share. Patterns repeat— whispers circling like wind in a cage. The days loop like shadows on the same old path, a wheel that...

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Q Does the tribulation start right after the rapture as this writer previously believed? A No, it doesn't, the rapture takes place, Rev. 4:1 and the first seal is not unsealed until Rev. 6:1. "Come and see." And the first white horseman ...

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-The Chalk Beneath My Fingernails- I walk a path where roads dissolve, Where rivers rise and hopes revolve, Through jungle mist and dusty lanes, With every step, I carry names— Of children born with hollow bowls, But eyes that shine like tempered coals. The schoolhouse leans against the sky, Its roof a patchwork, spirits high. The walls may crack, the floor may creak, But voices...

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(She taught while her child was sent home in the tongue of olden sorrow) She stood before the class— chalk in hand, heart in shards, yet her voice did not waver. The sun poured through cracked windows, spilling golden lies across the floor, as if the world outside cared. But behind her calm, behind the grace stitched in her wrapper, a storm raged— not of thunder, but...

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He taught me how to wield the weapon made of words— a blade that kills, now saving lives, like it once saved mine. My own work pulled me back from the edge. And in it, he lives— my teacher, the man behind the lines. Words— once carved deep in the mind— outlive the flesh, outlast the hands that once shaped them. His words stopped me from falling to the hundred voices that came to...

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People count the years by candles and quiet tears. The twenties, they say, are when we wait for the first cry from a miracle just learning to breathe. But some of us, like me, never quite grow up. Peter Pan weeps each time the rain brushes my shoulders. I come alive again only in fleeting moments, like the string that’s slipped from a flying kite. Just days ago, that child stirred...

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Provoking her is not easy to do She’s been teaching children since fifty-two Spanking was the norm back in the day I still like to use it she will often say Alas times have changed, children now play Wasting their time each and every other day Ridiculous she said when she finally retired Just months before she may have been fired....

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For my friend Patricia who followed her dream, and became the teacher she was meant to have been. * * * When I was a little girl, long ago Uncle John bought me a box of chalks A blackboard too, a dream coming true The teacher in me was being born. I played teacher, the pupils my toys Hour after hour...

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Silence, silence—pin-drop silence, Commands the teacher's voice. Yet in the hush, the children scheme, Their whispers soft, their hearts rejoice. Even in silence, eyes convey The thrill of games at end of day. Their glances speak of plans anew, Of bonds they’ll strengthen as they play. With nodding heads and thumbs held high, Cute smiles flash, some gaps reveal. Twinkling eyes and brows that dance, Their...

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