Best Grading Poems
I’ve been told, I deserve so much,
for the work I've done, for the lives I touch.
I would like to say, my dear friend,
what I deserve, is a bitter end!
I have hated, I have snapped,
people I love, I have slapped.
I have lied, I’ve also cheated,
believe it not, I have mistreated.
I have envied, I have stolen,
and many promises, I have broken.
I’ve been selfish, and I’ve been greedy,
too many times, I have been a bit sneaky!
I’ve wrongfully punished; and wrongfully accused,
plus for my own gain, I have spitefully used!
I've been so angry, as a sailor I've cursed,
to be brutally honest, I have done much worse!
I’ve been encumbered, I’ve been a drunk
oh yes, my life was so full of junk!
Even though I knew that it was wrong,
all these things, I did to belong!
If you just met me, you’re probably in shock,
but in a sinful nature, yes, I sure did walk!
Then I met Jesus, I heard his good news,
and how for my sins, he was bruised!
how from the beginning, his love ran deep,
and for my own heart he did weep
For every wrong that I ever did,
he shed his blood, my sins he hid!
Now, I'm FREE; ACCEPTED; and thoroughly WASHED,
and that mean ole’ devil, is surly squashed!
Now he can’t touch me with a 10 foot pole,
for it is written, on God’s holy scroll!
God says, I’m FAVORED and TRULY BLESSED,
Because faith in Jesus, I CONFESSED!
In my spirit, I have been CHANGED.
And in his RIGHTEOUSNESS, I'm REARRANGED!
Now, this might sound too good to be true,
But that’s the GOSPEL, for me and you!
You still say, we get what we deserve,
Well, I thank you JESUS, for grading on the curve!
Stacey Brown 2-7-14
Mentors like priests preparing me for holy rite
Institutional slaves to a false trinity
Subduing adventure, exploration and discovery to classroom rigor
Eternal stairway ... moonbeams to the golden dream
Dismatling who I am so I become who you want me to be
Urges denied constructing scaffolds, setting beam
Castling on beam, I climb like Jack the ogre tree
Ability acquiring arrows for what's embattling me
Tensions beyond the classroom, teacher grading my
Intelligence as if it were a canvas to her eye
Opportunity has too narrow a door for all our differences
Nestled in her pocket, I see the ogre search in vain.
Offering us like children to the fires of Molech
Frantic prayers sibilant in flickering tongues of despair
Teeming the locus of the African nightmare
Husked of gold, silver, uranium, copper and diamond skies
Each one scrambles up the vine compassless of self
Nations fall - without the eyes of love we are blind
Emerging people shaken out in global disarray
Groaning for nothing from classroom to classroom
Refer to their budgets and see what is prioritize
Oysters get their pearls from pain, I know, yet
Errors must be corrected, education must mean more, we
Substance truth only by the purge of a regulated history.
the ice cream truck
do you remember in fourth grade when it was the end of the school year?
kids running around in class, volunteer parents planning for field day events, teachers grading tests.
a year's worth of crafts and colorful displays filled the walls like wallpaper.
you can hear singing from the kids in room 4b, ms. mcdonald's class.
the weather outside was a balmy 80 on this june day.
text books, paint brushes, and the obligatory pre-chewed bubble gum filled the desk cavity.
the assistant principle announces something inaudible on the speaker system.
and we are fast approaching the anticipated summer break.
summer. that's when spring lovers finally kiss and the butterflies leave their cocoon.
birds singing and the flowers are saturated with their red, blue, and pink hues.
the last day of school is finally here and the children ride the bus for the last time.
vacations. swimming pools. ocean city. the smell of hot dogs, grass and humidity.
jersey summers are hot. really hot where i grew up. you sweat just by looking out the window.
then one day, the familiar sound of circus-like music faintly approaches town.
louder and louder until everyone knows its the ice cream truck turning the street corner.
the famous mr. softee, or good humor truck, or some local self employed bearded man.
whatever it was, ice cream in all kinds, flavors, colors, and shapes was 25 yards and 25 cents away.
the music kept playing as children seemingly sprayed out of their homes in rapid succession.
a gathering soon followed with parents and children standing all against that delicious truck.
chocolate. peanut butter. vanilla. strawberry. cookies and cream. cookie dough.
sandwiches. bowls. cones. smoothies. sundays. sprinkles. nuts. oh so yummy!
i miss that ice cream truck. i miss those days...
...and i miss you just as much.
a life is a life
there is no grading scale of value
irrespective of
country of origin
or country of residence
or country of destination
a life is a life
we are all children
of God
there is no lesser God
there is no greater God
there is God
the Supreme Being
We are all his children
we call Him by different names
that is to our own shame
He is the same
a life is a life
not man's to take
not man's to torture
not man's to break
a life is a life
the life blood still seeps
into the ground
while we stand by and weep
and still the question echoes
"where is your brother?
where is your sister?
where are the children?
where are the mothers
the fathers?
whose blood is soaking the ground?"
and still we shamelessly bellow:
"Am I my Brother's Keeper?"
and the answer hasn't change
time cannot change it
nor circumstance
"yes"
......"Oh, Yes!"
we are one family
Don't just let it be...
"Who cares!
it's not happening to me!"
Stockholm and Syria
My heart is crying
endless requiem
for those dead and dying
a life is a life is a life...is a life
one day that life will be mine
one day that life will be yours
that life will be taken
taken by force
who places the value on life?
Silence is the breeding ground
where atrocitiesmflourish
"after all, who remembers the Armenians"
Hitler intimated
as the Jews he annihilated
Speak OUT!
a life is a life
death was not meant to be
not for them
not for you
not for me
a life is a life
Eileen Manassian
And In Rhapsody And Colors Life Flows
There in dear morning's soft glistening rays
White beach sand squishing between eager toes
Magical humming as waves blue sky sways
And in rhapsody and colors life flows
About, beyond, into eternity
I see an ant, its miracle divine
Endless waves splash into infinity
Dare I ever try to my soul define?
Do we see truth in blessing of sunlight?
Or dark in our desire to always fight?
Through scenic beauty and heart's tender beats
I sift sweet flavors of salt laced air
Graving far more than life's woes to defeat
I marvel at the birds flying in pairs
What do they think of dangerous mankind
Can they know we are lost seeking our way
Amongst trash we so often leave behind
Racing ever onward without delay?
Do we see truth in blessing of sunlight?
Or dark in our desire to always fight?
I walk in a soft daze wondering why
Life to us seems a magnificent mystery
We think foolishly to our flaws deny
When evidence emits from history
Then a fine gem appears, a strange seashell
Its radiance singing a lullaby
Immediately comes a wondrous spell
Saying, "your life exists to heaven fly".
Do we see truth in blessing of sunlight?
Or dark in our desire to always fight?
There in dear morning's soft glistening rays
White beach sand squishing between eager toes
Magical humming as waves blue sky sways
And in rhapsody and colors life flows.
Robert J. Lindley, June 24, 1979
Romanticism
Old Note-
I hope so deeply that life stops being so damn hard
In my dreams it promises such wondrously sweet rewards.
New Note-
Even now with rhapsody and colors fading
Life cries out, live and love- we are still grading.
Moon, well rounded,
far more approachable
directly than the sun,
a severe Father – melting
with grading glare.
But your gentle
mother nature, willing to
overlook, hide and protect, to love
in shadows as well as light –
Able to ponder and choose
my best stars for safe distance,
having found less glitter often
more appealing, more revealing
than any impatient Truth.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mrs. Collins stood~
feet planted and arms crossed,
ruling the rows of wooden desks
with a yardstick’s sharp tap-tap.
Her eyes were stern as a rock,
her voice a blade,
trimming the frayed edges
of our attention.
Her hands—knuckles broad,
could silence a room
with one raised palm,
or mend a skinned knee
with the same precision.
We feared her, yes.
but when she bent beside my desk,
her starched blouse
whispering of starch and lavender,
with pleading eyes I pointed to my
7 written backwards~
She did not say, You wrote it wrong.
Rather, she said Let's try again,
gently holding my fingers
as together we rewrote the 7
At recess, she watched us
like a mother hawk
with a nest full of awkward chicks.
When Bob cried over a lost marble,
she knelt in the gravel with him
sifting through the rocks until she found it~
not his, but close enough.
Years later I stand
in my own classroom,
mirroring her stance:
feet planted, arms crossed,
waiting for the rustle
of fidgety bodies to still
I hear her when I say,
Look at me when I’m speaking,
feel her in the way I smooth
a crumpled worksheet
before handing it back.
While grading papers under a dim lamp,
I press my fingers to my temples~
her exact gesture
and wonder if she knew
she was sculpting more than cursive.
You may read the accompanying memoir vignette at poetrysoup.com/short_stories/the_attic_the_report_cards_and_mrs_collins_13600
Inspired by a tremendously bold & powerful track, “Who we are” by Machinehead
Once upon a misery call
Deception broke bread with diabetic circumstances
Sugar
Coating
Half-assed smiles
Phantoms of a listless fortitude
Haunting today’s unfulfilled promise
As they wear silken layered Khakis
With African cotton dreams
And unclaimed pocket protectors to share their wealth
Amongst other wealthy failures
They ask to make “change”
While folding up heroin-laced $50s under Cabernet bodies of Christ
Once, twice, three times a deceiver
Who dares draws irradiated chalk upon broken billboards
Not the educated teacher
Satisfying extra-curricular agendas
Grading heat-stroked ovulations
On jezebel’s curve
Nightmare of the philanthropist
Giving unto others’ unexplained wishes
The “hungry”, fed
The lonely, shed
S
h
e
d
Shedding retinal rejections
Over misguided wisdoms
As they listen for audible sanity
Wandering within the bellows of an insatiable burden
(Cricket sounds)
©Drake J. Eszes
love
warm exciting
inviting enticing intoxicating
suffocating down grading instigating
cold vengence
hate
In arithmetic, he wasn't strong.
This math quiz was taking so long.
It was hard to divide.
Still, he tried till he cried,
but the answers kept coming out wrong.
He would solve and immediately doubt
if he'd taken the most proper route.
He'd retry, but alas,
by the end of the class,
his eraser was simply worn out.
The bell rang. The quiz was now due,
but his sheet was a sad sight to view.
There was nothing but air
in assorted spots where
the eraser wore all the way through.
The tests were collected and sent
to the teacher for grading. She went
through each page in the stack
and then handed them back.
He saw his grade: ninety percent!
He pondered his luck with a frown...
To the head of the class from class clown?
Was he smart? Well not quite,
every one he got right
had shown through from the next paper down!
He's a versatile "man of all trades,"
pursues anything new, virtually self-made.
He's a photographer, a minister and a poet,
immerses himself totally but before you know it
he's off and running, tackling something new
He's built homes, cell towers, churches, boss of the crew.
He publishes books, serves as president of our group
If something's happening he's never out of the loop.
A proud do-it-yourselfer, he repairs whatever breaks,
services cars, saws down trees, no matter what it takes.
He took voice lessons, learned to fly a plane,
changed the course of my life, but let me explain.
He was teaching, after hours, for extra money
"I'm saving this for a big vacation, honey.
We're going to Africa, we're gonna hunt big game
for a mere eight thousand, we'll have anything you name.
At this ranch in S. Africa, the wife's a gourmet cook,
irons your clothes while hubby shows where to look."
He built me a special gun, said I could learn to shoot;
took me to the practice range, bought pricey hunting boots.
I took Mother west to Casper visiting my younger sister.
We stayed four weeks in Wyoming because Mom missed her.
Returning home to Missouri, I was surprised to see
he'd purchased a quarter-share in a Cherokee.
I didn't mind much, after initial fear had waned;
I enjoyed seeing America, flying the skies in that plane.
We moved out of St. Louis away from all the noise
built our "old folks home" with retirement as the ploy.
Another trip to Wyoming alone, without my mate
That Piper 235 is history; I returned, alas, too late.
He'd sold his beloved plane and purchased something new,
a grand New Holland tractor painted blue, with a neon hue.
Now he's mowing ten acres and grading a gravel road,
plowing up the garden, with me sharing the load.
My life changed drastically with all my options gone.
If you plan to hunt in Africa, don't go to Wyoming alone.
You must listen closely now for the most important factor,
that's how my trip to Africa eventually became a tractor.
They arrived giggling and giddy, one hundred percent in love. Holding hands, leaning into each other,
Smiling. Young love, nothing like it.
I am teaching GED classes now, something I got roped into.
(GED for those who do not know is the test high school drop outs can take to get a diploma of sorts).
She talked me into it, the boy said. He rolled his eyes.
She smiled shyly, and looked down. He squeezed her hand.
He gave her a little shoulder hug before he released her, and they separated to take their tests.
She was finished first, but glanced over to where he was, and sat quietly.
I walked over to her, handed her a piece of white paper, and whispered, “Draw something for fun.”
I picked up her answer sheet and her test, and went back to my desk to grade it. There were six
Test-takers here on this particular night, a full house, and I had to get started grading.
The girl’s scores were phenomenal, the best I had ever seen and I had been doing this over a year.
I called her over and said to her, “Your scores are amazing. You can take the test tomorrow and fly through it. You will definitely pass.” I whispered this, as some of my students had been taking this test for a year and they were still here, trying to get it right.
The boy’s scores were bleak – thirty percent range across the board. He marched out angry, ahead of her. Her cheeks were pink, she was blinking back tears. I grabbed her hand before she followed him. “Please take the GED,” I said. “You owe it to yourself.” The door shut behind them, and I never saw them again.
I’m sick of hearing that guns don’t kill --
Without an assault-style weapon in his hand
no bullets would have been fired in Uvalde, Texas.
Nineteen children would be alive and happy;
Two fine teachers would be grading papers!
Trample me down, if you really must,
but these children were blown away like wind picks up dust
and, as far as I can tell, those who could do something
have done nothing to stop it since Sandy Hook!
Shame on our state and federal legislators!
You commend the dead to the care of a heavenly father,
but you do absolutely nothing to stop the carnage!
I’m here to tell you, Jesus isn’t the answer. We are!
When I ask myself “What Would Jesus Do?” I know.
Jesus would say rid yourself of your precious toys, for they
are instruments of Satan!
I am appalled that so-called Christians,
who rage against abortion
refuse to support gun control, while assault-style weapons
are killing real live, human beings…not fetuses,
but our sweet, loving children!
Spare me your righteous intonations, for
until you see the problem for what it is
and do the right thing to stop the killings
they will proliferate and you are to blame!
Don’t pontificate and tell me you are pro-life,
for you are not!
You are not, I repeat.
If you were pro-life, you would be standing up for our kids,
You would be doing everything you can to protect them,
You would be supporting anti-assault weapon legislation,
You would be for confiscating them,
You would be for penalizing those who traffic in them.
Wake up and admit the truth,
Guns DO kill people…every day!
Written May 25, 2022
I needed you In love hopefully grading on to what we had unjustly you fleet abnormal in just finished of what is love conjunction,
Bleeding form are love force on - attached by are father’s graced by the idea and govern of power they looked in fear and enjoyment shamed for there adroitly,
We looked in are eyes as you asked if it was real I just beat the words from my mouth crying my words forcefully we love both men and women you strongly loved in a woman I couldn’t get such devotion to one of the two it never came in a day but many that I never doubted tell my mother disgrace you loved to see in doubt and now undoubted fighting it for what we feel is normally is not yours,
You try more feeling the same solution and yet you cry and beg yet I cry to get you're undivided love as a brother as a gamer as a friend it’s not god that stop me it’s what I want are love to be in the since of godliness. He cries not for are incest but for are communicate of protestation in are minds we aroused,
School is what we forced down are trivial honor for David for you to be in his court for me is for you’re existence I try not to cry if I fail you must do the same as of I you must evaluate your options and choice,
You're lucky never touched they desiccative muddily course to loved on the spot of preparation of gashes blanked in inner fears joyed in immurement please don’t make me see you this way go and love the ones that engage in your simplistic act of enjoyment,
One more try not to leaded on are ways are endgame is to let all love but to love all not in the thought of sex we jump with out hesitation only hurting those with preparations of man for God.
I look out there
With a curious stare
An informative world conference experience
Should be attended if serious
No one can be seen
What could it mean?
Except for a gentlemen
A message the individual wanted to send
Holding a nation flag, notebook, and pen
A voice he wanted to lend
“I have a question
If we are in recession?
Have you heard of the triangle?
An international tangle
Displaying a thoughtful right angle
Culture, education, and health care
Are being challenged and dared
Need protection
Thoughtful interjection
Important academic schools
With lifelong skillful tools
For once learned
Decisions made are firm
Finding the right track
Not handled like a hack
I took the inquiry to heart
Swirling the Idea, I did start
Peacefully inserted in my mind
A concept I did not decline
Today we are competing in games
Warriors are athletic names
Many view sports as culture
Winning addiction turns someone into a vulture
Accepting the call
Try breaking down a destructive wall
Blocking interaction
Military might form a written retraction
On letterhead
This is better than counting the dead
If participants are not on stage
No matter the age
A surgical mask is worn
Due to health care virus that has torn
Creating a battlefield scene displaying those in mourn
Hopefully studying these two lessons
Creating a socially accepted confession
Commanding clean up the angry mess in
After grading egotistical testing
Minus violent arresting
Funny no spectators in the seats
Pondering the Olympic flame heat
Just like my speech
Where only one person I did reach
Was that lone soldier enough?
To release the peaceful white dove
Flying above
Filled with love
Getting things straight
‘We live in a world that should not encounter hate’
Remember only an audience that has one
Can get the real job done
Since the spoken word directly would be understood
Masses not tinkering under the hood
Engine conversation perfectly sounding purr
Warming the ice-cold burr
Leaving positive talk in the pot to stir
Honestly defeating any army, endured