Best Lecturing Poems
Do you know what grinds my gears?
Its been building in me for a few years.
People driving and texting, just letting their mind linger.
They almost hit me, then cut me off, then give me the finger.
Then the teacher tells everyone not to text during class.
She starts lecturing and all heads go down like a ceremony at mass.
They all just sit there and talk and text away,
or just sit there and get frustrated at the games they play.
Another thing that gets under my skin and must go,
is when people talk to me, using phrases and words I don't know.
For Example, my friend spent some bones on a whip and got a bucket.
What? Is everyone all right? What happened? He explained it.
What that means is he spent money (bones) on a car (whip),
and its a piece of crap (bucket), and it won't last on a long trip.
Another is: I got a trick that we can flip and make some mad.
I'm not sure what he said, but I could end up in the most wanted ad.
Then he explains, he saw a nice car (trick), that we can buy and sell (flip),
and make a lot of money (mad). So a bucket is a trick and trick is whip?
Why can't you just say car? Because it sounds cool and you know it.
You sound like an idiot and I can't even understand you and I'm a poet.
I don't get why this world has to be so frustrating and get in my head.
He's gonna skeet and drop it til then, so I have to figure out what he just said.
**For Natalie Fllikkema's contest “What annoys you”?
I was a city born and city bred young fellow,
whose shoes had mostly only touched concrete and tar.
Oh yes I had seen grass, but out on a footy ground
and my entertainment was drinking at a nightclub bar.
As a city bred young bloke I had never seen the stars
for blanket smog and neon lights had blocked them out.
I never knew what clean air was, nor really cared at all,
and rain was just a nuisance that I could do without.
I had no idea where food comes from - why should I?
I just hand across ten dollars, and bingo! In my hand,
is warm and crispy chicken with leaves I throw away,
and chocolate milk comes in a carton with a brand.
But I’m informed one morning, this is not the case.
Milk, like cheese and butter, and yoghurt too somehow,
comes to the city from the country, for us city folk.
And I didn’t quite believe - from the inside of a cow.
A cow! I’ve never seen a cow. What’s a cow look like?
That’s right! I admit I’d not seen a cow in all me life.
I barely knew the difference, between a cow and a pig,
until in a nightclub - that’s where I met me future wife.
Jean is a lovely girl; so pretty, and near rural to the core.
She knows every breed of cow that is written in the book.
Jean has milked them, immunised, dehorned them in a crush,
so she’s quite strong in the arm and can land a great left hook.
I’m talking of me own experience; me jaw is still quite sore.
The lesson that I learnt is to choose words more carefully.
I’m not sure if the listeners sed at what I had said,
or were pleased to see an enraged woman acting like a bully.
Since we had married in the city, and lived in a city flat,
me darling Jean for many months suggested time and time again,
we should go back to her hometown where Jean promised me,
that I will finally see a cow and Jean won’t have to explain.
Now I’ve seen Friesians, Jerseys, Guernsey’s, Ayrshire’s;
I’ve eyed Poddy Calves, yearling Heifers, Bulls and Steers.
I’ve become an expert on cows, and just what is required.
I know everything that’s needed about cows so it appears.
But when lecturing colleagues with Jean close by me side,
it became the catalytic weapon to cause a murderous scene,
for I proudly uttered loudly without consequential fears,
that I had never seen a cow until - I met my wife Jean.
Did you tire of one President's lecturing and preaching?
Do you cringe at another's tweets, his lechery and "leechering?"
Then as George W Bush Jr's term fades from the annals of recency
Let us recall the stirring words of this man of abiding decency
"Junior" as the USA's President was a bit of an anomaly
As he observed: "I know how hard it is to put food on your family." (Jan, 2000)
It was rather hard to take his Presidency all too seriously
After this: "I know the human being and fish can coexist." (Sept., 2000)
For education, he and Laura shared a passion, a yearning
To wit: "Rarely is the question asked: Is our children learning?" (Jan, 2000)
Of course, Bush could also be sharp as a tack, downright uncanny
Like the time he bragged, "They misunderestimated me!" (Nov, 2000)
And after eight years in office, "W" had become quite the orator
As seen in this reflection: "I think I was unprepared for war, --er." (Dec, 2008)
So there you have it, a smattering of evidence
~ That speaking the King's English is not required of a President
I chose
I could’ve been
A homebound hermit,
Hypnotized by the hum
And hue,
Of a high-tech
HD computer screen.
A slave
To the
Rhythmic rap
Of
Clicking keys;
Depriving me
Of much
Needed rest.
I’d Search
For Love
And friendship
In a network
Of strangers,
Oblivious to
The world
Outside.
I would’ve
Made a great
Defense lawyer.
With my
Appetite to argue.
I’d rescue
Common crooks,
Convicted of crimes;
From the
Confinements
Of a cell.
I’d lobby
For leniency
With lavish
Litigation laws.
Dedicating myself
To Dissembling
The Death penalty
I should’ve
Joined
The army,
A proud patriot,
Surpassing
My peers
Through promotion;
From a potato peeling private,
To a more
Prominent position.
Pushing my
Paratroopers out
Of a plane.
Parading my men
On the field
Of battle.
I’d receive
A war
Winning wound,
Perhaps a
Purple Heart.
I could’ve
Been a detective.
Cleverly cracking
Cold cases-
CSI style,
Coercing confessions
From criminals
And Con-men.
Collecting a
Cheap watch,
As compensation
For my commitment
To the precinct.
I should’ve
Been a doctor.
Devoting my life
To curing
The incurable,
Letting long hours
Deprive me
From family.
Always
At the
Beckon call,
Of work
Provided beeper.
Carrying out
Curative procedures,
On clients
That are
Scarcely clinging
To life.
I would’ve
Made a
Terrific teacher.
Choosing to
Live my life
Through the
Youthfulness of
My students.
Teaching them
To take on
The world
With caution
And Confidence.
Lecturing them
With lessons
Of longevity.
Disguising
My desire-
Jealous of
Their youth.
My choice,
Was not to
Focus on
One aspect
Of life,
But to
Experience
Them all.
With the stroke
Of a pen,
I walk
All paths.
I chose
All destinies.
I could’ve
Been this,
Or been that…
I should’ve
Done this,
Or done that…
I would’ve
Made this
Or made that…
Instead,
I chose to write.
Though tempest's foaming deep swells far from land
and restless waves should buffet his small boat,
the Captain at the wheel with steady hand
trusts Providence to keep the crew afloat.
A Shepherd finds green pastures for his flock
protecting them that they may safely dwell
and carries injured lambs who cannot walk
to nurture them with love until they're well.
Preparing lesson plans and lecturing,
the Teacher answers questions patiently -
delighting in the joy knowledge can bring,
imparting light for growing eyes to see.
Lord, please grant wisdom, strength, and grace to me
to captain, shepherd, teach my family.
Written 18 June 2022
Happy Father's Day
i remember well the name of my 11th grade English
teacher---
Ms. Tominson,
who had been rumored to have given
some of her students
********, during the time when she wasn’t lecturing on
Shakespeare---
perhaps it was the passion in her that
let her go wild after hours,
drinking with her teen pupils &
then sucking them dry---
but what led to her decent into
christian science,
one may never know---
it was a part of her life kept secret,
an insanity that only she knew &
when she fell down her stairs
(or so we were told),
she refused medical treatment,
lying in bed, unable to move,
hoping, no doubt,
for “the good lord’s guidance”---
but it never came,
um, pssst…..
(whispering) because “he” never does
&
she died TWO MONTHS LATER.
when her death was made known to us
over the loudspeaker,
in early morning home room,
those who had been rumored to have been
pleasured by her,
had conflicted feelings,
because though they still wanted blowjobs,
they were sad to see her go,
for she was, after all, a good teacher &
a fun person,
despite having been brainwashed by the
absurdity of Eddy.
To speak a truthful opinion correctly dressed
attacked by false faces clearly visible hate
trying to shut down facts crying victim's
Judgemental liars falsely claiming right's
let's look into your heart and see who pulls the strings
Firstly you support human sacrifice
from there on in everything uttered is cornered
becoming a lost cause when it boils down to lecturing
shape shifting words that overturn
the righteousness of our cause and beliefs
Worthless views push agendas overshadowing the truth
then with branding irons enslaving good values
biting with venom hook line and sinker
taking a back seat as you begin war cursing honesty
This battlefield lawless in its behavioural patterns
accuses those caring virtues of being on the opposite side of the coin tossed here where wisdom holds ground
when clearly they are spinning out of control
condemning those of us trying to save them
This split in the tongue clearly is trapped morally corrupted
begging your forgiveness under blindness
take a long hard look in the mirror reflection bitterness
we are all sinners at the end of the day
a firm purpose of amendment brings you closer to the light
lingerie lullabies
lecturing lucrative locomotive
lacy laze lace-works
looping along like licentious
leopard lunacy lore
the liquor literature of fancy leggings
looking legendary in
lethal licorice length
licking linguistics that liberate
lollipop lyrics of longevity
so lovely
the
long
short
thick
soft
creamy
pillow like
dreamy
plumb
slender
bony
athletic
muscular or thunder thighs
totally exposed or fully clothed
suckable inner, outer
all around working structures
legs of a woman
Who am I talking to
as I rehearse my memory stories,
shadow voices,
echoes,
and my own heroic victim analysis?
How snugly language fits
within karma's great chain of becoming
Earth's prophetic saintly sage
lecturing Othered parasitic peers
Living off malnourished Mother's
ambivalently valued,
too often ego-possessed
yet slavishly steadfast
bicameral creative mind
and reconnecting heart
and communing bilateral root
System seeking just right peaceful race
amusing pace
sage sacred place
Bicameral lungs
seeking midway co-gravitating energies
of Yang's grace face of Yin-squared win
bilateral neural processor
Ego-voicing within egocenter
Id-choicing within anthrocenter
SuperEco-dancing YinMind/YangBody Earthcenter,
polypathic
multisystemic
0-souled chi
1-identity...
My owned HereNow listening
incarnating SpaceTime-self unfolding
Triumvirate Tiered post-Freudian sacred stages
Sacred musing
EarthTribe's perennial ringing
singing
dancing EarthTree of Life
Rooting down into Dark TreeCore Vortex
Death promising integrity's ReBirth
without aversive grasping,
no warring against life's composting light,
when wrestling with death's night vision,
balancing Left with Right...
How do my pre-languaged
Universally Intelligent and Informating
natural systemic cells and organs,
embodied skin embrace of chi-center soul,
speak my Left-brain semantic thoughts
of past revisited
with future hoped for
and feared
belong to
longed for
since all past Elder enculturing regenerations
stepped into this HereNow
embyronic enbrightenment
to light past's future Nature/Spirited memories?
If any sage outside
listens to internal musing questions,
revolving hypothetical inclusive
resonant win/win resolutions,
these prayers for self-healing co-redemption
re-seed Earth's exegetical ecotherapy
absorbing my own Ego's dissonant pathology.
You remember Stacey?
You know, the girl who was trampled in the hall.
Always in detention,
And made to face the wall.
You remember how she looked?
Her clothes gave away the sign.
Her life was not easy,
She walked a real bumpy line.
You remember how we giggled?
When the teachers made a fuss,
Always late with assignments,
Always late for the bus.
Well you should see Stacey now,
All dressed up and lecturing classes.
Cruising in her car,
And wearing those fancy glasses.
I am happy for you Stacey,
Life did not keep you stuck!
Perhaps I can learn from you now,
And pull myself back up!
a single “truth” would
dispose of her/his motivations,
something so recognizable
that the head could no longer be
turned away,
something that bubbled on the fine
line between a stomach full of
butterflies & a stomach full of
wasps---
a single “truth” would condemn all
the lies,
holding up a mirror to the world
with a hacking of a phlegm wad
into the wrongs of history,
regardless of whatever liar was
lecturing &
a single “truth” could get the heart
pumping again, out from this
deadened accident---
a single “truth” like the one great
work that the artist dreams of,
could change the former word to
“can,”
yes, a single “truth” could
glue the puzzle pieces with
permanent fixture &
if unyielding, maybe it would stand
the test of time &
if unyielding, maybe it would start the
positive ball rolling &
if unyielding, maybe it would end the
need of a world like
“maybe”---
it might be
something that could illuminate,
it might be
something to feel & not feel guilty
about feeling,
it might be something as beautiful
as
a soundtrack to die to,
but it would bear no explanation,
for it would be pure &
it would bear no need for purity,
because it would eliminate the
other, but then it would have to
present itself in some kind of place
where all was diametrically opposed &
yet the grey area remains---
the discovery of just how naïve
a short human life can be,
comes slapping like a hard hand to the
face on the briskest of Winter days,
reminding that all the inner workings of
the actual body,
churning, twisting & grinding all aspects of
this biomechanical thing called a
“self,”
do so on their own,
without the need of any questions,
any “truth,” any meaning, any
song to sing to.
Upper class clowns and socialists
always whining from their crystal palaces.
Fine dining ...greasy lipped pimps
Lecturing the working man, on global warming,
who just topped off their private ride
with ozone poking jet fuel piss-
Upper class clowns and socialists,
always cawing about American gluttony
the distribution of wealth.
While wearing dead pelts around swollen necks and double chins
blood diamonds dangling from pampered pinkies
weeping crocodile tears about the evils
of the second amendment..
While behind Clive Christian scented ((((gated communities)))))
their private security dogs armed to the teeth-
Upper class clowns and socialists
burning brooks,,, babbling about lack of freedom
while strolling naked over minimum waged-manicured lawns.
dipping painted toes in minimum waged maintained pools
sipping minimum waged martinis under a commies red dawn..
So eager to take you to task
for not wearing one of their commie red masks.
Playing their little shrinking violet games...
Only half out of their-socialist closets.
hypocritical yapping -socialist autocrats-
Off the top of my head
and in a blink of an eye,
wanted to write a poem
that was on the tip of my tongue,
Meantime was having a brain fart
and pulling my hair out,
didn't want to sound cheeky
or put my foot in my mouth,
So bought "Poetry for Dummies"
which cost an arm and a leg,
and wanted to foot the entire bill,
while dining out with some friends,
One friend said I paid through the nose,
while another was lecturing an earful,
another's comments raised eyebrows,
said I shoulder it and be more responsible,
I thought they used to be so hip,
as I sat with butterflies in my stomach,
I thought of wringing their necks,
or telling them to button their lips,
So I told them to stop stepping on my toes,
that I always kept abreast of my money,
then realizing I'd forgotten my wallet,
ended up feeling just like a donkey.
Inhale…Air… It flows ‘round my lungs,
I’m alive with another pulse through my vein.
This blue and red tube streaming my blood,
Where it tunnels right into my brain.
And it keeps me alive on this colossal abyss,
Floating on this ocean, this sea.
Floating enough for this oxygened heart,
So my lecturing soul can be free.
Yet, all it would take would be a tale, a whisper,
Just one fabricated sleek lie,
A load of a scandal sinking me down,
To the scholar I’d be saying goodbye.
Goodbye to the class, goodbye to the books,
Goodbye to the teacher I knew,
And hello to the biggest new start of my life,
With an honorable, genuine debut.
We cannot listen
or learn easily
when we do not feel safe,
said the environmental science students
to their corporate sponsored teachers.
Our lungs cannot breathe easily
or our hearts beat steadily
when we are not sure we can trust
the anthrosupremacist resource
currently lecturing
preaching
pontificating
If not explicitly,
then in some implied
win/win, too optimistic sin,
win/lose, realistically right
more than left sacred,
lose/lose, nihilistic blaming Earth
for our economies of immoral
EarthTribe scarcity,
scary complicity
Toxic inside learning anxieties
anticipating outside cooperative
therapeutic
organic incorporations
like cooperatively owned forests and meadows,
mountains and river valleys,
Contextually embraced
by RightOne practical survivalists
and Left ZeroZone
outside classroom thrivalists
learning inside civil manners
from MotherTrees
and their sacred mountained forests
and lakes,
green and blue
and cloud covered too
Studying vast lands
of win/lose uncertainty
taught verbally
for capital-embedded ears to hear,
repeat,
memorize
And patriarchally reteach
reparent
ignoring our indigenous ecofeminist
deep green sacred
customary way of learning co-passionately felt
dialogical bioformation systems
Inviting conversations
between thoughts and feelings
as they inevitably
dipolar co-arise
When we are listening
deeply learning
easily curiously active
when we feel safe
and healthy
and sure we can trust
our cooperatively owned
sacred outdoor classroom gifts.