When math class starts, stress will rise,
"I’m no good at math" glows up in our head,
You see rising panic form in our eyes,
Inner chat takes over instead.
But you take the "not now, not never", self-talk—
The labels we use when we're lost—
And show us how to pause, take a walk,
Where "failure's" a bridge to be crossed.
You guide us through the work on the board,
These mistakes are how we can learn.
A growth-filled room of learning to think,
Worry dies as good thoughts return
It was never about the X or the Y,
But how we speak to our thoughts at our desk;
You teach our minds a healthy reply,
Make our problems seem like a quest.
Nurturing minds with hope anew,
Every lesson a guiding light,
Words of wisdom, hearts to pursue.
Yesterday’s challenges fade away,
Eager dreams in the classroom bloom,
Aspiring students lead the way,
Resolute, we step into 2026’s room.
The classroom hums with invisible electricity
screens glow like campfires where we gather to learn,
each tablet a window opening to forests, galaxies, ancient cities we touch with our fingertips.
We sit in circles, on cushions, at standing desks,
bodies moving like water finding its own shape,
while ideas bounce between us like light through prisms,
splitting into rainbows no one could predict.
Today we are architects building virtual bridges,
tomorrow historians interviewing grandmothers in Tokyo,
next week scientists watching cells divide on screens that see what eyes cannot.
The teacher walks among us, not above
a gardener tending different seeds,
knowing some need sun, some shade,
some time to root in silence.
And we wonder: is this learning or learning to learn,
this dance between question and search,
between knowing and discovering we've only just begun?
The walls lean in, murmuring secrets of weary days,
while chairs sigh beneath tired bodies.
Words from hollow lips strike like stones—
they refuse to soften, echoing in empty corners.
My lessons pulse with purpose, glowing faintly in the dust,
each one breathes life into silent desks.
They wait, expectant—hungry for curious eyes.
Even the blackboard leans forward,
eager to share every truth I’ve etched across its surface.
Though some voices build barriers—cold, unyielding,
my teaching-self stands firm,
a steady heartbeat among shifting shadows.
I may not linger here forever,
but as long as education breathes,
my footsteps leave a soft rhythm—
a promise echoing beyond my departure.
Until my final exhale,
I become the silent sentinel:
each wall, each chair, each lesson
alive with all that is just and right.
Within the circle’s quiet pulse lies a deeper truth:
when we shape our ways by kindness, trust takes root.
The classroom holds a sacred space,
where hearts find hope, and fears erase.
Not just a room with desk and board,
But a haven where the soul is restored.
A whisper heard, a glance that sees—
Each moment sown like sacred seeds.
Mistakes aren’t marks of shame or loss,
But stepping stones we gently cross.
With open hearts, we build, we mend,
And learn that truth is not the end.
In laughter shared, in silence deep,
We hold the dreams they dare to keep.
And every child, in their own way,
Is seen, is loved, is free to stay.
So may we teach not just with mind,
but with the grace that seeks to find
the spark in each unsure reply—
and raise it gently to the sky.
This is the place where peace is grown:
where every voice is heard and known.
No harsh words echo through these walls—
only gentle care as each one calls.
The teacher’s role is more than guide,
but keeper of peace and light inside.
A sanctuary, day by day—
where hearts are shaped in quiet ways.
Silence, silence—pin-drop silence,
Commands the teacher's voice.
Yet in the hush, the children scheme,
Their whispers soft, their hearts rejoice.
Even in silence, eyes convey
The thrill of games at end of day.
Their glances speak of plans anew,
Of bonds they’ll strengthen as they play.
With nodding heads and thumbs held high,
Cute smiles flash, some gaps reveal.
Twinkling eyes and brows that dance,
Their silent signals, joy unsealed.
In quietude, their thoughts align,
Ideas shared without a sound.
Children found joy in silent moments,
Understanding blooms profound.
For silence listens, silence speaks—
A language deep, beyond the words we seek.
M-ovies
A-s
E-ntertainment
A-re
N-ormally
N-eeded,
E-ducating
V-iewers
I-n
L-ife
L-essons,
A-s
R-emarkable
A-ctors
S-how
A-rtistry
©bfa052725
Monocrostic (Birthday of Mae Anne Villarasa)
the greatest classroom
I ever sat in
was my mother's kitchen
she said
give what you want
if you get it back stay
if you don't leave
she said
you might not ever get a degree in law
but you damn well better
get a degree in people
she said
you cannot
have an independent mouth
and a dependent ass
she said
don't criticize
the recipe
only criticize the dish
she said
marriage is like
a construction company
you are supposed to build things
she said
the devil
does more harm with a lie
than a knife or gun
she said
you may not believe in God
but if you look in my eyes
you will see the results
the greatest classroom
I ever sat in
was my mother's kitchen
and I
graduated
Summa cum laude
In December's chilling, silent air,
Echoed a grief too great to bear,
Empty chairs, where laughter sat,
A nation's heart, forever flat.
The books lay open, untouched, unread,
Dreams were shattered, tears were shed,
Small hands that held pencils bright,
Now lost forever to the night.
No words could heal the broken cries,
No comfort soothed those weeping eyes,
Yet in their courage, we must see,
The spirit of unity, strong and free.
We hold their memories close, we swear,
To build a world more just, more fair,
O children lost on that cruel day,
In our hearts, you'll always stay.
Jump, thump, six graders jump
from stone to pebbly stone.
Chirp chirp the robin flies
Across the sky alone.
Crunch chunch the graveled feet,
Sh. . . shoo, a breathy whisper,
Hard, cold bench for a seat,
Rough wood, perhaps a splinter.
Puh, puh, puh, a boy spitting,
Mosquito slap
A girl is hitting.
Scarlet leaves on willowly stem
Dance in the crisp fall air.
I hear a chuckle.
Is it he
Playing over there?
The last bright orange, Autumn mums
Await their yearly demise.
A glance at my watch.
Oh, no, it’s time,
I’m thinking as I rise.
Fall day, sublime
God’s perfection.
What a task to study!
Until next time,
We’ll have to leave
Renewed, refreshed, unhurried.
~ Judy Bausch
Heart of my heart,
here’s where
we talk.
Heart of my heart,
here’s where
we walk.
Heart of my heart,
here’s what
He taught:
“If you love Me,
you will keep
My Commandments.”
Now, I suspect the economics teacher
But he suspects me and
The case goes on into the term
As we gently move
From one story to another
But I've got all the other plays, so they look good
Break time and lunch time
Offer time for time to call witnesses
Or suspects one by one
They file in looking confused and disconcerted
Like ordering a sandwich in a trench coat
Tripping out and seeing floating cheese
I'm trying to engage in a conversation
I'm trying to teach with a blocked ear
Zedonks and why IKEA has no windows
That play's rubbish anyway.
we share a girly* laugh at what they teach,
Julie and I, at history lessons,
events so old, they are so out of reach,
conquests, battles and what follows treasons!
those days were dark, and so very evil,
kings were pompous, their tempers so fiery,
learning of them is learning of devil,
what would we gain from a horror story?
Is it worth trading joyous childhood days,
or love of our friends and pleasures of play,
with learning about those past dead old ways?
No! think Julie and I! what do you say?
We would rather be at old Jimmy’s farm,
feeding the chicks and good old mother swine!
bit of bright sunshine should do us no harm,
make nature our classroom, that would be fine!
Miss Evans is kind and loves us all, true!
but we would rather be allowed to play,
Should we learn evil past? got any clue?
No! think Julie and I! what do you say?
1st Placement
Written 18/09/2023
rhyme, 11 syllables each line, 20 lines
Eve Roper sponsored Voice Poetry Contest
Had to explain the term Girly- as some associate it with negative phrases
* Meaning of girly in English
(of a person) enjoying things typically connected with women or girls
History, treasure troves, tales about gold
If I were a pirate a 100 years ago
The pilot of a ship
I would make my enemies walk the plank!
In the water they would take a dip!
Once in a while, my crew and I,
Will have a party
In which we will dance
I will also own a talking parrot
Who tells stories,
From his time in France!
Nobby the Narwhal,
Lived in the sea,
He had the longest there ever could be.
Nobby's school was really quite small,
He had to take all of his lessons sat alone in the hall.
After school he would swim slowly home,
And spend each evening all alone in his room.
Every day he felt sadder than sad,
But his friends were the best and they told him things were not so bad.
The Head Teacher Mrs Dolphin who wore the nicest perfume,
Moved the school all around to make a perfect school room.
Nobby had his desk pushed to one side,
The classroom was made so that it was extra wide.
Nobby had to go into the classroom first,
But sitting alone in the hall had been much worse.
He sat with his tusk all along one side of the room,
He was so happy the days went by so fast like a racing car with a very loud vroom.
Nobby was good at numbers, spelling and reading, he loved looking at books,
He read ever one he could find and would reead it right to the end no matter how long it took.
Now Nobby is older he tells the younger children to do her best each day,
And that if they are sad just keep on trying there is always a way.
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