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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required He studied and sought dreams to become a teacher Sometime his days and plans are torn to pieces Leaving place of learning without a backward glance Onward to a School of not his choosing. Area described as working class Teenage boys waited for their Teacher Introduced himself, laughter erupted Stood and approached his challengers Passing through rows of desks No heads turned as he passed them The back row his final calling He was amongst his ongoing problems Softly spoken, choosing his words wisely All now quiet within this Schoolroom A group of boys in their last term Would they be interested in his teachings? His subject today, foreign Countries The mysteries of the giant blackboard came into play He occasionally turned, seeing looks of dismay All lost in their working-class area They watched; magical names flowed across the blackboard The look on pupils’ faces was priceless Describe a country and its people An audible groan had him smiling within Pencil sharpener having a workout Lead giving up, pencil issue Walking back and forth between the rows Scribbling on paper was taking place before him Heaven knows what the content would show Two hours up, sighs filled the room A bell signalled the finish of this day On your marks, set, they waited for the words Another day tomorrow Classroom emptied in a flash Some papers without a name, caused raising of eyebrows Others had at least tried As he read the scribbling, he felt sadness within The descriptions showing their World had them captured So sad to read dreams never to be realised Thinking of his own, before reading on Several times he sighed out loudly Living alone, his dreams not yet realised A troubled sleep beckoned Entering the classroom, the following day, unusually quiet He sat at his island, faces, unsure of the day before them Today, I will comment on your offerings from yesterday He realised, that the enemy in the back row were listening What were they planning, would they start laughing? With a shrug of his shoulders, he started a word flow Finished reading each paper aloud They all sat as if waiting for punishment He continued to speak His quiet voice never rubbishing their comments The dreams of his imaginary enemies were a joy to read High expectations from both, silently he wished them well That bell rang, the room emptied slowly Today he left for home, a wry smile on his lips Another day, keeping thirty teenage boys interested The enemy camp was softening to his methods A non-confrontational action was happening The term rolled by, all left with twinkles in their eye The young teacher sat there reminiscing Holidays beckoned as well as career changes Holidays came and went, career path changes did not happen The teacher went to a sporting event He studied the names on the programme Familiar names leapt out at him The names of two back row boys, living their dreams Local pub after the game, standing at the bar in silence A tap on his shoulder by strangers He turned, looking into eyes he had seen once before Hello Mr James, thank you for all your efforts Your teaching methods soothed anger within We followed dreams that seemed beyond us So here we are, fine young men The teacher reached to shake their hands A shake of their heads, they then hugged him The teachers’ soul was on high, he realised He had reached his dreams plateau.
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