Poetry Teacher Poems

These Poetry Teacher poems are examples of Poetry poems about Teacher. These are the best examples of Poetry Teacher poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Couplet |
When he played his violin magic took place!
A sense of serenity shown on his face.

A lover of music so gifted in art...
A teacher to many, known for his sweet heart.

Poetry would become his passion, his need...
A master of poetry in the words that he freed.

The strings are now quiet with music no more.
Still students recall the teacher they adore.

His words we can cherish with fond memories...
A legacy of gems for new reveries.

© Connie Marcum Wong

Bittersweet Contest - 6th placement out of 6
Sponsor Kevin Shaw

*Dedicated to my dear friend and late poet, David Austin

Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong | Year Posted 2017

Details | Prose Poetry |
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

Details | Haiku |

                                                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 

Copyright © Yanny Widjanarko | Year Posted 2012

Details | Free verse |
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.  

Copyright © Robert A. Dufresne | Year Posted 2009

Details | 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.

Copyright © Mariam M. | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
Don't teach me nonsense
Seed my mouth and amplify the need for rare manuscripts 
100 % my degree in exams 
Spelling my conversational law facts 
Teach me more sense 
Release and ease my lazy spirit to tongue twist my images to the right sense 
Teach me less law stress 

Fade away chapters covered in adult pampers
Baby rhythms leaning on group fan fantasies 
Slow mode every click in my tongue twisting slam illusions
Deep kissing my future pictures inspired by scriptures 

Pro Pro Prosecute all free verses escaping jail exams
Pro Pro Professionals don’t live long in prisons premeditated to cage kids
Your lessons will child baby writers
Kids connecting former and future electrified fighters

Their fake ideas were all original 
Teacher don’t teach me nonsense
They spoke so we can speak for all uncaring letters 
Un-curving letters rebuking licences of nonbelievers

Alphabets that endlessly group hug messages in passages 
Words singing bullets pointing to kill silence
Learn to teach lessons with judgments on stillness
Teacher how can i fail your corrections, 
please ease my worries i need protection
I think I am qualified to be a poet though i failed my people 

I wrote exams and failed to finish my languages about punctuality 
Your stop watch gave no sympathetic second chances 
Intelligence is for ever tested but never forgotten in sentences
Your judgments are too hash for our passion 

Teacher don’t teach us your accent
Your language is connected to those ancestors wearing mini skirts 
How can i judge with no law degree? 
Teacher don’t teach me nonsense
Seed my mouth and amplify the need for fresh manuscripts 
100 % my degree in exams 
Spelling my conversational law facts 

© Raymond Ngomane 

Copyright © Raymond Ngomane | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse |
You never listen
Yes I know it's true
I see you try and deny it
How's that working for you?

I will say one thing
You will hear another
I will try to fix it
The misunderstanding you see

I just got in trouble
(Sigh) I told you so
They never listen to me

They say they do 
And I know they try
But all I want to do is scream

All I asked is that you think
What is real?
Do I ever ask this?
Will I ever again?

All I really did
Was ask
For friend

All I want
Is to be free
Free to listen
And free to be me

Sadly though
You'll never see
Just how much your 
Not listening has killed me

I have tried
Really I did
I know that I'm not eighty
I know that I'm not nice
But the only thing I asked 
For was five minutes (at the most) of your life.

I'm sorry that you failed
I'm sorry that I tried but
Mostly I'm just sorry that
I'm not sorry,
Not anymore.

Copyright © Rayne Thomas | Year Posted 2013

Details | I do not know? |
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 looked into your eyes, 
there was a reflection of a cruel world, that’s  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 so 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.
My innocent world was shattered by your touch
Hope no one ever has to experience such
For all the pain, all the cruelty, thank you very much!

Copyright © Farhana Akter | Year Posted 2014

Details | Iambic Pentameter |
I just can't stand poetry!
It badly boggles my brain!
I'm supposed to learn to rhyme!
But uck! You think I'm not sane?

I just can't stand poetry!
With its assonance and stuff!
"These three fleas fly in the breeze,"
I have really had enough!

I just can't stand poetry!
With metaphors I am through!
I'm becoming quite outraged!
A beast I'm turning into!

I just can't stand poetry!
Using similes? The worst!
I think we both can agree,
it's like being in jail! But worse!

I just can't stand poetry!
Personification's dumb!
I think my head will explode!
BOOM! Oww... that wasn't so fun!

I just can't stand poetry!
But I HAVE TO preach it... Grr!
I wish I had not applied
To be an English teacher!

Copyright © Jacob Cra | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |
We have been together
treasured joy now for many years
we trust each other with our
emotions, with affection, tears,

Any day when you are sick or hurting
I feel your pain - significant other,
when eighter-one needs attention
we help one another...

These mutual friendly feelings
for assistance, approval, support
form our tight bonds,
usually never broken

Sharing visions, time together
we respect each other,
regardless of shortcomings
I know you, "I love you anyway"

Copyright © Perry Campanella | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |
Teaching traditional 
Is based on transmission
But is receiver tuned?
Cannot transmit culture.
Culture needs discovery.
A teacher must accept
To hear the students’ words
And work with their conceptions
Constructing  day by day.
No discipline succeeds
With rules imposed as truth.
Discussion is a need
To improve a conscious thought.
Become constructivists!

Copyright © Mario DE PAZ | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |
Listen up but learn deep,
said the non-existent Zen Math teacher.
I'm only saying this once
and it will be on your test
now nearly finished.

1. All nomials are part of the universal network of polynomials,
just as all memes are part of an integral memory system
or there would be neither nomial
nor meme.

2. All nomials are also binomials
for the same reason we call half a moon
a Full Moon
and refer to a quartile of moon
as a Half Moon.

3. Which is also why digital information 
is always binary,
and why double-binds are also double negative oxymorons 
of equivalent co-arising notnot coincidence.

4. And why,
on a Zero Zen-centered Earth,
all polynomials are equivalent to double-negative polynomials,
dualdark shadow yin square roots
trending Yang notnot empty virginity,
remembering (0)-soul bilateral regenerativity
of co-arising Time.

Those are my questions.
Now, could we become a more resonantly comprehensive answer?

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2016

Details | Quatrain |

Oh, you tiresome earthen road,
     this weary traveler faithfully
has walked your hilly, rocky path
     absorbed in its great mystery.

I've traveled far and traveled wide;
     tired, I pause beside your stream.
Its peaceful quiet soothes my soul
     to long for sleep in endless dream.

The fire's made, the chores are done.
     Why must I ever move along?
Just let me lay upon your bank
     and hear your carefree, rippling song.

But, I must move on—on and on,
     make haste while there is sun and light.
More roads to walk and hills to climb
     before the dark and cold of night.

Sandra M. Haight

~6th Place~
Premiere Contest: Contest No 220
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Judged: 10/09/2016

~2nd Place~
Premiere Contest: In The Style Of My Favorite Poet
Sponsor: The Seeker
Judged: 08/27/2016

Rules: An original poem that you feel best emulates the style of your favorite famous poet.
Favorite Poet: Robert Frost
Inspired by his poem "Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening"

Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2016

Details | Verse |
Oh dear kind Lord, I beg you and, when on my knees to pray, I need a little helping hand to guide me through this day. I have to face a motley band who can’t think what to say. I give them all the guff and gen to help them understand. The work is very simple when they’re organised and planned. And yet their fumbling specimen look strictly second hand. I guide them all, the usual way, to seek some homonym. To no avail, day after day, their efforts still look grim. Oh please may I confess and say; “I find them very dim!” ~ For Anne's "Confessions" Competition.

Copyright © Charles Clive | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |
I had some very good primary school teachers who were awesome 
But in all my schooling, one of my college instructors stood out to be super awesome

In our first day of class we all sat on a beautiful mat that she had acquired from one of her travels to a middle eastern country
Then we drank tea in tiny little cups
This is a welcoming gesture that she had learnt from her travels
This special gesture always reminds me of the book Three Cups of Tea
We were about twelve students, about five minorities 
It was called World Studies

That little gesture brought all of us closer

On our last day of class we had an international potluck where we each brought food from our different cultures and ethnic backgrounds
Am sure God was smilling on that day as he watched us try each other's foods and learn about each other through it

I remember a story she told us of how she wore a niqab to her church and stood by the door as a greeter
She talked of how most people avoided her direction, some not even looking at her

She was this petite white woman
She had travelled to twenty something countries worldwide doing missionary work
She had walked on soils where women were regarded inferior and unworthy 
She had put her hands during her missions, in places where white people were loathed

But even with some of the dire situations she found herself into, she still had that caring and loving heart

I remember the projects we did for refugees 
Another of her many passions
She provided healthcare, education and assisted with basic needs acquisitions for them

I learnt that we can all sit down, have a cup of tea, put down our differences and accept each, 
to make this world a peaceful place

Copyright © njeri hunjeri | Year Posted 2015

Details | Light Poetry |
The student sits in third row last chair
His foolish words of attention are blurted everywhere
He understands not the value of listening
For he seeks laughs and howls for the teacher’s off>< pissing
Until finally the day of teacher student conflict
The teacher enquires of the student’s gimmicks 
Young man confronting the joker for all to hear
Your gall for the learned compliance suitable for classroom learning
Indicates your true ability of one of extremely asinine qualities
I must admit as all the students are listening here
You are the greatest highly intelligent gluteus Maximus I ever did hear

Copyright © Mark Goodson | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |
this poem is dedicated to my Mr mellors i hope he reads this

The Cop, The Math Teacher, The Guide you've been there for me when i was confused and could not see the forest or the path you were there when school was hell and life was black as midnight you were there when i screwed up and found myself trapped by my own mistakes even though i disappointed you at times and made you want to tear your hair out you were there you've always been there and cannot thank you enough Thank You Mr. Mellors

Copyright © Wolf Lief | Year Posted 2012

Details | Free verse |
In a moment there was time a child could grasp corporeal and gracious
It stopped and I carefully gave non notice to educasees
that paused me to bleed blend assinine inaccurate aforementioneds
to preprocure a mule measured primrose pathos of interposes to analyze the ex ever jutaposes of irrevelant psuedo spawn spellings intrinsic of piss patterns nego 
nero nitro nuego of lunar literant intent grating gravity gunite givings presupposing cannon quantites quotient of add, substract, multiply, divide, die in my seat work consistent of soulservitude a prisoner of seatzenda, a great book read poised to a 
selling of elementary sealed solvent sedintary solices sleeveless saints of sanitary sectors sanctioning soulful sensibilities senitent of sailable sanities. Boys will be boys, ADD,ADHD a cool cover up for 80 % legis lay teachers to drugafy, deamplify, villify, castrate, humilitate, propogate the post predisposition of that which is normalcy to a degree of zombie cumulo butt compliance for the powers at be be-gone, biploar bulimec, blandering, blistering, bloging, bifurcating blog bog billows, stress all that is pharmacorelative with respect to the adultoparentive coaxial moneyisms that speaks to a bygone exoera of residio responsibile valiumviscous banailty. Cool calm creepy excel expenditures procede pre positive parental protocals procreating patterened presentials to predictive humo end hiatial hemorroids. In the end we prosperspire in pain pile potentials. Predictable predicates promise postmortem primal preordinates. Enjoy eating educational entrails!

Copyright © Dave Collins | Year Posted 2013

Details | Verse |
Interrupted Solitude

A sentence here, a comment there
Your ponderous thoughts you were forced to share
"Who is this man?" I'm sure you said
As words were drawn from within your head.

‘Twas on the flight, a normal one
Until your thoughts and reminiscences - gone!
Those abstract feelings within your mind
Temporarily suspended - did you really find

The puerile chatter of things like verse
From some pedant, sure to disperse
The many who really understand
The written word of our fair land?

A voluminous poem of no set school
Scrawled by one, who though no fool
Really tried - not to impress
But to get comment from the Bards' mistress.

Comment given, yet little criticism
Of the traveller's cynicism.
Relate you did - or so I thought
Or else these words would come to nought.

The serenity to the world you show
Scarcely hides the turmoil below.
For though your manner is no pretence
Your well thought words seem so intense.

There's something there inside of you;
A pain so deep it's like a screw
Turning deep into your heart
As you search your mind for the words to start.

Because of this these lines did I show
Because of this I felt you'd know
Just what it was I was trying to say
As you read them through, without dismay.

Was it this - a common ground,
That hidden pain without a sound,
Which made you talk, while instead
Your book of poems you could have read?

And so I thank you in my small way
For your time shared with me that day.
And I hope that soon you'll find 
That so elusive peace of mind!

Copyright © Thomas Mansfield | Year Posted 2014

Details | Light Poetry |
The Show Must Go On....

The program has been meticulously drawn up...
Planned to the smallest detail to ensure no slip up..
The performers are primed, lined up and all ready...,
The guest of honor is well seated, calm  and steady....

We're gathered today to pay tribute to a dedicated teacher...
Who tendered 36years of his working life to education....
In his humble and unassuming demeanour  synomous with dedication...
Therein lies a character of honor, love, understanding and compassion ...

Unobstrusively he goes about his daily duties in teaching...
Spreading knpwledge , facts and wisdom unceasingly...
Today is a most historic day full of significance...
For we are here to salute the giant of a man in Mr Leong...

Teacher extraordinaire who teaches without any fanfare...
It is sad to realise this dedicated man of knowledge....
Has to draw time on his pilgrimage to enlighten students....
As one we all wish him well and may he well continue to prosper...

In health, wealth and happiness, and all things good life can offer...
Happy retirement, O great teacher, All the best as you gracefully retire...!

Copyright © KENG CHUAN SENG | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |
Let nature be your teacher
Look around you 
delight in the view

The sky unveiled the rainbow
moonlight paves the way for you
to walk among the stars 
Listen very carefully 
they will tell who you are

The leaves are turning 
crimson, golden and maroon
mums scattered everywhere
announcing fall is coming soon
its time for sweet hot cider,
pumpkin pie and harvest apple picking

Let nature be you teacher 
learn each lesson well
we are all one in each other
let the stories folks will tell
confirm our oneness
our interdependence 
our brotherhood and love. 

Copyright © Gladys Acosta-Melendez | Year Posted 2016

Details | Light Poetry |
When A Teacher Retires....

Beloved students they suffer a loss and feel deep regret..
For the loss of accumulated knowledge they can no longer get...
It pains me to pen these heartfelt lines when a fellow comrade...
Reaches the end of a long served career of teaching children...

Poignant memories of worthwhile moments are etched timelessly...
Making many a student and colleague shed a passing tear...
For in celebrating a distinguished career that come to end...
It too signifies the breaking of a new dawn for the celebrated one...

With much farewell wishes for golden years to come...
Suffice to include here some simple prose from students so dear...
Bidding goodbye is always tough, Words never prove enough...
Saying goodbye is never simple,  To a teacher who's so special...

To a learned friend, dedicated teacher and fellow colleague...
A new world opens like the proverbial oyster to you...
All the best for your future undertakings and may you well prosper..
Like in the Star Trek series, henceforth  go where you have not gone before...

Copyright © KENG CHUAN SENG | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |
I teach a martial art. I’m not tough. I don’t teach fighting. I don’t teach self-defense. I lie. I do teach self- defense. I teach proper behavior. I teach courtesy. I say, if attacked, take balance. What does that mean? It means a different thing at every turn. It means being soft or being hard, but do not pour gasoline on the fire. Be in love with your attacker. I only have a few students. One is really strong and has fought a lot. One is really young and playful. Who knows what he makes of my classes. His father is my third student. He is an obvious black belt yet he wears the apparel of the student with grace.

Copyright © hiram lewis | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
Energy and passion,
excitement breeds attraction;
a brilliant work, a masterpiece
explored in true love fashion.

Traversing plots with disregard
for clear-cut truths,
it must be hard
to take.

Our cartoon minds
can’t comprehend
the words she spins,
the twist; the end.

So calmly,
I walk out the door
and know my thoughts mean
nothing more,
than love.

Copyright © mitchell eadie | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
We walk talk like champions in the streets of nowhere planting seeds birthdays turn into funerals the life cement was not strong enough to build our hopes or blessings that petrol drive through our hidden abilities we all have spare wheels that God personally manufactured for us and He made education our only air filler for flat tires and this is why we don't stop and breath on our way to our dreams before we get admired right at this moment sum1 is getting cured through the love of spoken worded words laying clear pictures and he could name us life pitchers with endless scriptures and that's for his ears as he turns to be the world's champion

Copyright © Raymond Ngomane | Year Posted 2013

Details | Quatrain |
- by Bob Atkinson

"... ode to those
who teach creative
writing at the
college level,
yet have not the
talent nor
to produce something
worthwhile ..."

to listen graciously
then turn away
feeling for the
first time
wonder at his

carries burdens
newly minted
for my life on lumpy
simply put this
wreck of words
drives not my lucid
in fear of simple
castings made
those so hard to
correctly gage
find difficulty in
what should or
shouldn't stand

feed me what to this
has not been allowed
to equate justice
against wispy
thoughts berated

metaphors mixed
until complete
that nonsense we all
believe in
can only drive us
deeply down
a path toward firm

Copyright © Bob Atkinson | Year Posted 2014

Details | Rhyme |
Imagine a king who has many
Servants staying at his palace
It would make no sense at all if those
Servants do not fulfill their purpose

Those servants were ordered to work
And to respect that king at all times
While the king gives them a place to stay
They should always make his palace shine

Any slave who does not work may
Eventually be kicked out soon
Any slave who works improperly
May likewise end up without a room

That king has a right to command
His slaves to sing lovely songs of him
To choose the number of times to wash
A staircase, because he is 'king'

That king has a right to command his
Slaves to do well to his family
To treat his close friends with respect
And welcome his guests cheerfully

To tell them not to touch this and that
To disallow them from certain rooms
To do what he commands them to do
As he is the owner who rules

So when Allah gives a command
A command that must be obeyed
You must obey Allah's Commandments
Or else you might get yourself astray

So if Allah commands you to pray
To Him, five prayers everyday
Don't ask 'why? ' Don't ask 'why five salahs? '
Just listen to God, and obey

God lets you walk on the earth He made
God gives you fresh air for you to breathe
God keeps the clouds above you floating
And gives you drink and food to eat

God gave you a brain with which to think
And still you ask 'why should you pray? '
We pray to Allah, the Mighty King
Who lets us live each night and day

When you're awake, when you're asleep
The air you breathe each night and day
What you inhale and what you exhale
Are some things from God which you don't pay

The ability to taste is a
Gift from God which many just ignore
Imagine if you could not taste the
Food you eat, eating would be a bore

You eat fruits and vegetables that God
Created, from plants that Allah made
You drink water which belongs to God
And yet you ask 'why must we pray? '


Copyright © Mariam M. | Year Posted 2013

Details | Light Poetry |
“White pumpkins are an aberration,” from the pulpit cried the preacher,
As his eyes scanned the congregation before landing on the teacher.

“Pumpkins should always be orange just the way that God intended,
To have them any other way is proof Satan’s powers have been extended.”

The teacher that was new to town started squirming in the pew,
For he was growing white pumpkins in his patch but only just a few.

He had in mind to try something that no one else would ever try,
He wanted to know if it was possible to make a pure white pumpkin pie.

But now his pie experiment has been condemned as being full of sin,
And to continue on with his curiosity would only invite the devil in.

Yet the thoughts of possibilities had taken root inside his head,
And he wasn’t going to give it up no matter what the preacher said.

So he snuck out to the patch that night with orange paint and a brush,
And to each white pumpkin on the ground he gave an orange-ish blush.

And when the time had come to harvest the ivory pumpkin crop,
The teacher tried to resist but he found he couldn’t stop.

He sliced and diced and mashed and baked until the pie was made,
And then with a fork held in his hand he bowed his head and prayed.

“Dear Lord please deliver me from this dish that I’m about to eat,
For if it has been Satan’s will this pie will lead to my defeat.”

But no sign was given to him and there was only silent night,
So he shrugged his shoulders and raised his fork and then he took a bite.

They found him the next morning and they knew what made him die,
He couldn’t survive the ecstasy of eating forbidden white pumpkin pie.

“Let this stand as the teacher’s final lesson to the students that he taught,”
 The preacher cried “If you pick forbidden fruit it’s you who will get caught.”

But the kids knew that the preacher’s words were somewhat out of place,
Because they’d seen the teacher buried with a big smile on his face.

Copyright © Tony Lane | Year Posted 2011

Details | Verse |
Read the poem, and the poet
Paint the roses, and the vase
Envy the role, and the actress
Enjoy the soup, and the dish.

Love the person, not the looks
Miss the kiss, not the lips
Ride the road, not the bike
Smell the ocean, not the fish.

Grow old, but stay calm
Write bold, but speak less
Dream often, but cry more
Hope big, but make one wish.

Copyright © A.O. Taner | Year Posted 2016

Details | Light Poetry |
Trees and plants,
In silence like a dumb,
Winds and rain,
Teaching them talking!

Copyright © Muhammad Safa Thajudeen | Year Posted 2014