Child Class Poems | Examples
These Child Class poems are examples of Class poems about Child. These are the best examples of Class Child poems written by international poets.
Nervous and shaking, a smile on my face,
I took my first steps in a teacher's place.
Art class:
where mistakes
become discoveries,
where mess
means
learning,
where every child
is
Picasso
and
Einstein
rolled into one
paint-stained
possibility.
~that she saw her mother as a child lying strewn on the kitchen floor black and blue~
~that the taste does not matter only that it should be sufficient~
that what you don't know won’t hurt you
~that she’d let those who don’t know her home feel the fight stuffed in her school blouse~
~that she has fraternal half-siblings with unknown identities~
that what you don’t know won’t hurt you
~that her mother had a secret child she gave to the church~
~that I am of Welsh descent~
that what you don’t know won’t hurt you
~that she wishes to see her only son more often than the present~
~that she dreams of her youth as she had to grow up too young~
that what you don’t know won’t hurt you
~that I should only save and not indulge in frivolities~
~that she has never left her hometown’s four walls~
that what you don’t know won’t hurt you
~that in her eyes, no one will ever be good enough for her son~
~that he, like her, never got to be what he was meant to be~
What lays ahead
I have, for some time not eaten boiled cabbage
it is not of the slightest importance if not boiled
with shoulder ham.
On the roadway, a shop sells eggs and teaches you
how to make scrambled eggs a change from eating
the endless pizza.
Besides the egg shop, a driving school endlessly
telling would-be drivers: you drive the car, the car
is not driving you.
This mantra is forgotten as soon as new drives
hit the motorway, an ancient hatred is given free rein
to the disgrace suffered when learning how to drive.
As springs’ budding blossoms emerge
the raptors glide mercilessly.
—Michael R. Burch
I wrote this haiku-like poem on 3-27-2023 after the Nashville Covenant school shooting massacre. Keywords/Tags: Nashville, Nashville Covenant, Nashville Covenant Presbyterian School, school shooting, massacre, children, kids, students, child abuse, gun control, America, United States, death, murder, serial murder, massacre, bereavement, class, classes
She was only a whore they said
Just a druggie on the game
Most of the papers couldn’t be
Bothered to correctly spell her name.
Just an illegal immigrant tart,
Part of one of those foreign mobs
Over here to claim our benefits
Ot take over all of our jobs.
Not one of your high class call girls
Who service the Commons and Lords
Free of the general approbation
Such elevated status affords.
Not your enthusiastic amateur
Who put it about for free
Or one of those who’ve made it
By appearing on reality TV.
Not your free loving aristocrat
Hopping gaily from bed to bed
No, just a common street walker
Who unfortunately ended up dead.
Having so dehumanised her as
Just another lump of dead meat
Who earned herself a living by
Selling cheap sex on the street
This allegedly Christian nation
Doesn’t really bother anymore,
Just turns to the sports page
For the latest footie score,
Or, the very wealthy
With no real material cares,
To financial pages to check
Returns on stocks and shares.
Some mother, father or child
Who won’t see her anymore
Are suffused with pain and grief
Even though she was only a whore.
Yes, you are so good looking,
What's this plan you've got cooking?
You have lost your homework book?
Who'd believe this little sook?
Purple shows in school people,
Purple it is very simple,
Purple it is like an example,
In different draws like apple.
The ideal casino for playing and winning. My Website
OC Test
23rd June 2021
What is the meaning,
For this OC thing?
Mummy says it’s my future’s Lord,
But it just makes me bored.
And the test,
It’s not the best.
Something I once admired,
Now makes me tired.
This feels insane,
It hurts my brain.
It doesn’t feel good,
For someone still in childhood.
We teachers all on knowledge dine
And we unlock our students' minds.
So they can reach the path divine
We really are a special kind.
We are mentors that push their yearning
We teach them how to read.
Then they can always read for learning.
We really are a special breed.
We are like shepherds guiding sheep
Showing them how to take the right path.
Without our nurture, they would sadly creep
Through all the world unending wrath.
Yes, teachers, turn the pages
Of many wonderful books.
Our training reaches down through the ages
We teach our pupils for knowledge to look.
Thank you, dear teacher,
For all, you have done.
In a world of so many
You are a special one.
Day 2 Weekly Thriller
Narrator
All through the night, this Inquisitive teacher thought up of new a project for this troubled youngster in her class.
The weather from yesterdays storm kept the generator repeatedly trying to generate as the lights kept going out
Inquisitive Teacher
''Good morning class, now let's have a seat!''
''Today we are doing finger painting with all sort's of different color's , you can draw whatever you would like.''
Narrator
The class jump up and cheer . She's looking at youngster but no emotions showed. Did he lack such emotions or ? Yesterday his eyes were transfixed yet coherent . He approached her as he tugs on her skirt. She bends down as she looks him in the eye . A scratch below his eye she notice.
He as well notices her looking in awareness so he turns away and runs screaming causing a commotion towards the class room.His scream kinda made her jump. Now shes really alarmed.
A bird slammed into the already cracked window as the generator gave out
Inquisitive Teacher
" You get back here youngster!''
Narrator
He starts thinking its a game of tag .He starts screaming , "No, stay away"
to be continued tomorrow
As a child I was told practice makes perfect
No matter who you are.
Again. Again it has to be automatic.
In order for you to be fantastic.
Listen to the guitar.
As a child I was told practice makes perfect
Listen to the music.
You need to hold that bar.
Again. Again it has to be automatic.
Show them the magic
Of your voice which doesn't resonate from
Your jugular.
As a child I was told practice makes perfect
Don't show panic
You are suppose to be spectacular.
Again, Again it has to be automatic
Just like a habit.
When you are famous and write your memoir
You will be able to say as a child I was told
Practice makes perfect
Again. Again it has to be automatic.
Dear mom, don’t know how to tell you,
My friends are joining big colleges,
I did my best in my exams,
But couldn’t get through,
Would you still love me?
My sister and I started music school together,
She came out with flying colors;
I attended all my classes sincerely,
But failed to form my own band,
Would you still love me?
Your friend’s son is playing for the nationals,
May be next year for international,
She must be very proud on him,
I was first from the last,
Would you still love me?
I am very careless and messy
In the morning while dusting,
I broke your favorite vase,
Also the perfume you bought for especial times,
Would you still love me?
I tried my hands in kitchen too,
All the toasts got charred,
Sought to make an omelet,
But all four eggs are resting in the sink,
Would you still love me?
Written on 09/12/18
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Eight years old on that January Wednesday
Little hesitant steps into the schoolyard
Everyone has stranger's eyes
Mazes of hallways, lunchroom arena, playground cliques
Expedited heartbeat, ceiling too high to the
New kid, the foreigner, the interloper
Throat too tight, mouth too dry
Anxiety blocks my words, even my name, then
Ringing bells, summoning students in a river, and do
You need help, the kind lady is asking
Soothing hand on my shoulder, guides me to
Class, chattering kids, tables and pencils, one girl says
Hi, do you like bugs - I laugh and
One friend is made - she makes room for the
Outsider, and I say yes, I like
Ladybugs - and suddenly I belong.
12/04/18
for My Youth contest
sponsor: Craig Cornish