Best Seminars Poems
My dear brother Butch,
Hair are the highlights of my week:
I got a job at the Hairway to Heaven salon!
Our motto: "We color your hair or dye trying"
When the interviewer said "I mustache you a question..."
I answered, "May I mullet over?"
Seriously, working there is a shear delight,
with some nice fringe benefits
They're a real cut above the rest
and I shave a lot of money on hair products...
I bought Dad a comb for Father's Day… I bet he'll never part with it
It is a long drive to the salon, but now I know all the short cuts
Oh hey, I know hair-growth seminars are not your style, but
call up your receding hairline buddies and comb on over!
It was great to see you last week, you are looking so trim!
I still feel terrible about the curling iron incident…
You can rest a-sheared I'll straighten it out
but I mussed warn you, you might get fro straighted
Just remember, $15 for a hairpiece is a small price toupée
You may not like short hair at first, but it will grow on you
...that's the mane thing
Did you hear Mom and Dad had a brush with death?
It was a very hairy situation with a real twist:
buzzing down the highway at a decent clip
someone tried to cut them off
Mom was ready to wig out, curl up and dye, but thankfully
Dad went to great lengths to avoid an accident
so there was no permanent damage
you had to see it to be-weave it
Ok, time for a couple of jokes to lighten the mood:
How does the man on the moon trim his hair?
Eclipse.
Why did Pavlov have such fabulous looking hair?
Conditioning.
Why do felines groom with their tongues?
They can't find their catacombs.
Why did the little girl watch "Black Stallion" more than "Babe"?
She liked pony tales more than pig tales.
What was the barber's sign before he went on vacation?
"Hair today, gone to Maui"
Did you hear about the novelty store selling fake piles of dung?
It was sham poo.
Just teasing!
Take hair,
Curly
Inhaling, hushed, from hashed cigars
my mind implodes in Malimar
where Naiads bathe in caviar -
I dream of dwarves and three-eyed tsars.
The captive kiss of Princess Mars
(who talks in tongues at seminars)
burns red beyond Her blue boudoir -
I writhe within Her pale peignoir.
Her Maids gloss lips with cinnabar,
bedizen cheeks in dusts that mar,
serve teas beside the reservoir -
I sip them from a samovar.
Disguised in smoke and lamps of spar
Her Genies gender gold dinars,
evoking flames in ginger jars -
I plea before the Commissar.
At Princess’ neighbourhood bazaar,
white shadows slip through doors ajar
to drape my dreams in ash and char -
I long await the Avatar.
Her Merchants (preening, proud Hussars)
paint pretty scenes on VCR’s
while sailing ships to Zanzibar -
I strum the strings of warped sitars.
Her Prophets sometimes cruise in cars
else while at each and every bar
to speak of space and time bizarre -
I pass my pride for small pourboires.
Her Necromancers trace in tar
tall tales of wisdom flung afar,
transported by the Registrars -
I hitchhike on their handlebars.
Her seers conjure repertoires
where She and I are on a par
in infinite surreal memoirs -
I sometimes sense the void is ours.
My Princess never sees the scars
cut by Her whispered “au revoirs” -
I often wake to ask ‘who are
these Gods that sail the distant stars?’
My life as a grade school teacher
Is like a life-long student and schooler
Always working with colors, pens and papers
While taking care of kids as their second mother.
Still, I oftentimes sleep quite late at night
Check exams, plan learner’s lessons that delight
In the morning, I need to wake up early
To be at school before our flag ceremony.
As I impart my knowledge and skills
I learn a lot of things, head down to my heels
I learn to be more patient and understanding
More hardworking, very kind and loving.
I learn by experience, seminars and discovery
Embracing new teaching techniques and technology
Continue enhancing all my talents and creativity
In many areas, to teach my learners efficiently.
I’ve got so many other exciting multiple roles
Classroom maintenance, nurse, guidance counsellor
Dancer, singer, artist, director, actress or actor
A lot more, to mold and shape learner’s life and future.
I also play with my learners like a big kid
To promote relationship, inculcate values, I also read
Despite our emotional farewell on every graduation
They’ll always come, visit me in my school-roles repetition.
I believe, teacher has a schooler’s life that'll last
Only after a long journey loaded in a carabao's drawn cart
Grand graduation will come with unimaginable fulfillment
And achievement felt in the heart only on age of retirement.
Written by Gail DeBole on October 16, 2014
Updated on October 21, 2014
Note: All unscheduled times are for unplanned miracles.
Monday – 1:00 a.m. - Protect William so that he survives a tragic car accident.
10:00 a.m. - Greet new arrivals to heaven with orientation and tour.
Tuesday – 11:00 a.m.
Attend the funeral of Janet to guide her spirit.
Wed. – 3:00 p.m. – Guide Arthur out of a coma.
4:00 p.m. and on - Help trapped families escape a flood.
Thurs. – 5:50 a.m. - Put the idea for this poem inside Gail's head.
7:00 a.m. - Get wings manicured and halo adjusted.
8:00 a.m. - Look for a more comfortable white puffy cloud to live on.
9:00 a.m. - Attend team meeting with other Angels.
4:00 p.m. - Attend Celestial Happenings meeting.
(Group for Angels to share experiences.)
Weekend Mornings - Attend half-day seminars. Presenter: God
The time has come your passing has happened
Your desire to live was never dampened
The great Scottish debate for you to stay or go
I screamed yes, but the haggis of your heart said no
The split of our nation represents the split in my heart
But now the time has come and we must part
Much like our dreams of reaching the sixth form debate final
“Page 32” you crowbarred into conversation
infuriating Ash to the point of self-immolation
your self important boasts of superior knowledge
turned my my weakened soul into watery porridge
You were not a stereotype, despite what many said
Unlike most Scots, you ate more than simply fried bread
Your challenge with crackers so lascivious that I lost my thread
And since then I yearned for a way to do more than simple observe your bed
But your aggression was endearing, cutting and clear
Tearing opponents to shreds, speaking to all that will hear
But I was behind a glass wall, simply shedding a tear
As a limp invitation to a party was the closest I could near
I sit here now and remember our lark
Our time together, characterized by a battle with a shark
The verbal brutality was shocking that situation was stark
But your retorts were quick witted, but often loaded with snark
This took so long to write as my heart still bares scars
An open mouth like yours could give hour long seminars
Yet you still saved me from being bundled into one of Bennet’s cars
Yet I must hope that we meet again, underneath heaven’s stars
A Passel of People Participated from all Portions of the nation.
The Purpose - To Promulgate the Pickle Pickers and Packers Association!
Parsimonious President Dill Presented a Pretty Powerful oration,
To Pitch a Passionate Plan for their Prestigiious organization!
Picker seminars Provided Pertinent Particulars for Participants,
Pertaining to the Proper Pampering for Perpetuating Pickle Plants.
Packer Panels Propounded ways to Perfect Professional Panache,
For Packing dills and gherkins Perfectly so that they dare not smash!
A blue-ribbon Panel Picked the Pickle Princess in all her Persnickety Pomp.
A working Party Picked the Pickle Prince and his Pompous aide-de-camp!
A Patron Provided a Plastic Plaque for the Pickle Picker of the Year.
A Packer won a Prize as top Pickle Purveyor, the Pinnacle of his career!
A quorum was needed but a Passel of People were Pickled in the Pub.
The President was Perturbed, not easily Placated, there in lay the rub!
A Plethora of Pixilated Pickers and Packers Presently repaired,
Protesting that they were Prepared to vote, not in the least impaired!
It was Paramount that the Proceedings not end on a sour note,
So the President Proclaimed a Positive quote for all to Promote:
"We must Project Professionalism and Perfection in great number,
As we Proudly Proclaim the Palatability of the Prosaic cucumber!"
What is this fell beast, whose image swarms within my head?
An interloper, psychopomp, who gazes with the dead?
Swarming visions of the dark, Shades advance through Asphodel,
Silently shambling with minds dulled, no more secrets left to tell.
What can we look for in the light of tainted stars?
Looking for enlightened signs of blessed seminars
when there is nothing in this darkened sky to love us.
Gazing at the eternal cold expanse above us
and realizing, once more, with awe and dread,
the insignificance of everything that's bred.
With existential certainty on the long road ashore,
and nihilistic impulses screaming yet for more,
the road we walk can seem an endless nightmare.
but fear not, for fear has died
die gently, having never cried
see the world for what it was
embrace the world for what it is
Time and tide, shifting sands in the hourglass of time
swift approaching that climactic final climb.
Transcendental thoughts disorganize into the void that is eternity
and find peace in the emptiness of our existence.
It’s an honor and a privilege
And a lot of fun to be
A Team Member
Of the SSP
In 1956
Back in history
The Secretaries Club was born
At UTMB
To orient, teach
And meet socially
With seminars, programs
And luncheon meetings monthly
With groups
Of developed committees,
Fundraisers and contributions
Support the university
It’s now much more
Than a club of secretaries,
It’s the Support Staff Professionals
Called the SSP!
Florence McMillian (Flo)
Super Star Hotel,
Supremely, located at the center of Takoradi city
It’s magnificently attractive, beautiful and excellent,
Coupled with the nicely-looking light green colour which reflect its purity
Besides, it’s hardworking, cordial professional management.
SSH, is capable to host students who dislike the difficulties of hostel
Thus, to make research, studies and attending lectures or seminars bearable
Believe you me, there’s good approach and comely reception
Plus the vital space to make your car-parking, loading and off-loading possible
How can I forget, it provide both proper fan ventilation and chill air-condition.
Super Star Hotel,
Superbly, appreciated and accepted due to its cherished hospitality
Irrespective of your race, religion or ethnic background its remains decent
Coupled with all what’ll make you have pleasure, love at heart, peace of mind and integrity
Aside, there’s conference room for your business meeting, program or event.
SSH, is reliable to make you and your guest or partner feel at home unlike a motel
Well, in terms of rate or price it’s highly affordable
Be it in your country’s currency or local Cedi, it’ll have your reservation
As it’s open throughout weekdays (24/7) to make your visit memorable and loveable
Hence, you’re welcome to establish contact for your next vacation and enjoy the relaxation.
I’ve sipped my tea then let it fester
Now I search in vain for a wrigleys extra
The seminars over but I’m stuck to my seat
Preferring death to the “meet and greet”
Just how does ‘one’ learn to talk shop
stop...(look, listen)
then thoughtfully digest?
Press the flesh
feign genuine interest
On a range of subjects I loathe and detest
Sparkle (effervesce)
Then work the room like a stale breath sex pest
You’re oozing B eau as you move through the room
Your Pink shirt and pin stripes pre-ordained in the womb
Your hairline
your i-phone
your chin like a shoe
Still when I grow up I’d like to be you
"My mind was once the true survey,
Of all these meadows fresh and gay,
And in the greenness of the grass,
Did see its hopes as in a glass..."
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Windswept village,
Ancient 1836,
Tornado torn,
Blasted to bits.
Here is the steeple,
Here is the bell,
Here is the clergy,
Hurried to hell.
Perception: paragraphed.
Gracious gusts of air sliced through the saloon and side-swiped the sheriff, newly
desert bound. The blacksmith, now inclined to move, found his organs strewn
amongst a congregation of cacti. Somewhere in the busiest part of town, 3 iguanas
regained their birth-home.
Desert;
Impatient tumbleweed,
Sole-searing sand,
A band of train robbers,
A lonely locamotive.
The charcoal smeared engine breathed gun-smoke. 3 men, wild-eyed from birth,
filled burlap sacks with yellow shapes, shiny prisms, aurum, gold bars- money. They
were wearing greed, 50 pounds heavier in offensive sunshine. Miraculously, it took
them 20 seconds to escape to the southernmost point of Death-Valley. The robbery
and the escape were a success, but the men were dead: they were tornado-
transported.
Studescent schoolhouse,
Sleepy seminars:
Murderous math,
Luminous literature,
Romantic religion.
Guillotine glass,
Wind-wood,
Bothered Bonnets-
Homeless Heads,
Breeze bent bowler-
Motionless men.
"God is art, since we can't form him in marble, or smear him on canvas, we paint him
as the ocean, as cloud-air, both flora and fauna, and most importantly in our
selves". Dogma drags down drooping doors: dripping mouths, students torrid in
tantric trance, minds elsewhere. Bethany's brain is buried in the bestial sands:
Cyclicide.
Oh ancient town,
forever replicated,
no memoir shall remain,
of days undecimated.
1836,
is all but mixed,
in the minds eye,
where chaos is free,
and order bound,
to sight,smell,touch,
and sound.
I can tell you that life consists of rush and wait.
That’s all there is to it, nothing profound, don’t look for meaning.
Our parents wait wait wait for us to be born.
Then it’s rush rush rush to keep up with the other kiddies.
We wait wait wait and rush rush rush all our lives, alone and with others.
We wait wait wait to be enrolled in school.
We rush rush rush through grade after grade,
And going to the bathroom, to the movies, on trips,
And I could write a book on going to hospitals and doctors!
We wait wait wait to get a date.
We rush rush rush to fall in and out of love.
We rush rush rush rush rush to turn into grownups!
We wait wait wait to have a vacation and fun
Only to rush rush rush so we can prepare for the next school term.
When we grow up, the wait wait wait continues.
We wait wait wait to find out how we did on that tricky job interview.
If we get hired, we wait wait wait to be approved by our supervisor.
If we don’t get hired, we wait wait wait in long employment lines.
If we’re good at our jobs, we rush rush rush to get promotions.
If we’re mediocre on our jobs, we rush rush rush to shape up.
The more successful we are, the more we rush rush rush and wait wait wait,
Attending seminars, catching planes, trying to meet deadlines.
The less successful we are, the more we rush rush rush and wait wait wait,
Applying for more loans we can’t pay off, tackling more jobs we can’t handle.
Sometimes it’s rush rush rush to marry, wait wait wait to be divorced.
Everyone knows traffic and phones are totally wait wait wait and rush rush rush.
In having our children, depending on circumstances,
We either rush rush rush or wait wait wait.
Then we go through the same routine with them that our parents did with us:
Wait and rush, rush and wait -- that’s what life is all about, believe me.
Teachers work best when in seminars
Poets read verses in smokey bars
Chefs rock with a spoon
Plumbers show their moon
But Astronomers shoot for the stars!
January 5, 2019
IF JESUS ASKS
Dew on the grass
Wants to disappear
As a day wakes up
Frightened by the red eyes of sun.
Again all those men
Will remain tireless
For some more hours.
Sharp arrows from their mind
Defeated-
Distance on the earth,
Boundary of the of universe,
Pride of stars being alone,
Even the game fate plays.
But today’s day is tired.
That green tree
Standing naked in a landscape
Used to
Sunbath during winter,
Play with wind on stormy days,
A born again make up
As spring bade good bye,
Or get drenched in rain
Like a farmer’s son.
Old days have enjoyed them all.
That green tree
No more there,
City’s claw has removed,
Roots of its existence.
Is it only that lonely tree
Has been killed by city life!
Did not you see the tears of ocean!
Her tides,
Like a beloved lady
Wanted to wipe out
All weariness of humankind.
And in exchange
Modern life poisoned her heart
With all its senselessness.
When the day,
Wants to hide her face,
From shame.
Men are still preying,
What else is remaining?
What else is faraway?
When daylight disappears,
They declare
Now penguin’s blood is our subject matter.
Or if this world becomes a bomb in fire
Then we shall hire
Our extraterritorial neighbor
To settle us in space shuttle,
Above the earth atmosphere.
So, the day unwilling to wake up any more.
Only the red eye of sun wakes her up.
Remember how morning birds
Use to sing melodies,
To wake her up.
All that resonance is missing,
As dew fell from leaves to leaves.
Glorious smile of shining water drops
On a lotus leaf
Cry alone now.
Misses how pleasant was twilight’s tune.
In today’s day
Who is there has time for them all.
But every year
There are seminars
To declare
Those entire glorious chapters
Sun, moon, even heaven is not too far.
And many more
All are in the memory of a computer.
But today’s day
Redeye of sun wakes her up.
She doubts,
Are men no more sacred now!
Yes;
May be like polluted water,
As sacred from holy Ganga river.
So one day,
Jesus asks to the heart of mankind,
You have achieved so much,
Your glorious days are here,
Then why you still keep me crucified!
For how many centuries
Shall I remain!
Human child knows age-old answer
‘Its your greatness
To remain there,
So we worship!’
Only red eyes of sun
Wakes another day up.
A day -
No dew falling on her lap.
A poem by GOUTAM HAZRA
Classes started up again today. Soon, we’ll be gloriously stressed, and clocked-up on whatever. Our hearts will swell to the pre-med symphony - a frantic opus, composed in the key of no sleep.
In seminars for rising pre-med seniors, (What's needed to get that med-school slot!), it’s obvious that 60% of the students who started out with us, on this track, are gone - left for other majors. “I wasn’t happy, it was too much,” they said.
I feel a pang when I hear that undergrads we’ve shared a trench with have switched their major to basket weaving (‘political science’), TikTok (computer science) or Phys-Ed.
I envy those defectors, I pity those defectors, I envy.. Wait, aren’t deserters supposed to be, well, you know.
Meanwhile, the rest of us, the stubborn few, cling to the dream. It’s a waking dream, for caffeinated zombies, obsessive-compulsive workaholics and maladjusted wonks who neglect personal needs, relationships and in some cases personal hygiene (not me, of course) in favor of a goal.
Maybe there’s something wrong with us?