Best Spare The Rod Poems
As a child in days gone by
Mother’s rod was swift but sure
Many a weal as time went by
Scarred my skin an ugly blue.
Nagging was the way of life
My mother used to lay the rule
Not a day did I cry
Child abuse, nor reported it at school.
Father’s hands lay thick and strong
A whopping blow upon my hide
On the day I failed at sums
That slap brought answers quick to mind.
Even when I pouted and sulked
Cups or shoes came flying high
Never ever missed the target
That mother’s aim intended to strike.
No words were kind
When I did wrong
No sparing the rod to spoil the child
Discipline the child was a daily song.
Today the cry is child abuse
For which society has no use
Put the child in a foster home
To grow up to be another deviant one.
Is it wise to spare the rod?
Or better yet to talk with the child?
Still mother’s way did well for me
To talk and live like a Jesus child.
Back in the early '50s, my Dad believed in,
"Spare the rod, spoil a child," his lesson seeping in.
As a young growing kid, I longed for playtime's call,
Believing in the joy of games, both indoors and outdoors, I stood tall.
Mornings meant waking up to breakfast's warm delight,
Then off to the playing field, where dreams took flight.
Soccer games with friends, a ball dancing at our feet,
Laughter and competition merging, making life sweet.
Returning home, it was school's turn to take the stage,
Waiting for the bell to ring, releasing me from its cage.
Quickly escaping, my cricket team awaited outside,
Bound by the love of the game, with passion as our guide.
But my Dad had other plans, a tutor he'd employ,
Armed with a shining black ruler, ready to deploy.
Counting became a challenge, I faltered with each try,
And for every digit missed, the ruler would meet my thigh.
Alphabets came next, a daunting task to undertake,
I stumbled and missed many, inviting the ruler's wake.
With each whack, the shrieks pierced through the evening air,
Neighbors and Mom pleading, a cry for fairness to bear.
But my Dad remained unmoved, adamant in his belief,
That homework must be done, before granting any relief.
Yet one day, a lesson blossomed within my soul,
I rid myself of the tutor, and took my studies under control.
From that day forward, I delved into learning on my own,
No more ruler's sting, my independence fully grown.
I realized education could be a joy, not just a chore,
And with newfound freedom, I soared, wanting to explore.
Don’t spare the rod
Without remorse
Strike hard
For every child good there’s one bad
Take no chances
Strike hard
Education must come from above
A swinging stroke
Strike hard
Old decorum a twilight
Duty fading
Strike hard
World now bemused by little Jimmy
Take pleasure
Strike hard
Spare the rod; spoil the child
So the old proverb read --
and into children, injected dread
but kept them from going hog-wild
Yet many adults just will not hit
until they're really mad --
which always turns out very bad
leaving them emotionally unfit
They lose their cool; they spank too hard
The child begins to cry --
He can't figure out, for the life of it, Why
~ Spanking wasn't long ago banned
She whimpers
She screams
Bad temper
It seems
Mom wallows
Dad screams
Pain follows
Bad dreams