Long School teacher Poems
Long School teacher Poems. Below are the most popular long School teacher by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long School teacher poems by poem length and keyword.
Super Mommy has rolled out of bed
late. Arrives to the elementary school
in her fuzzy yellow ducky p.j.'s.
She brings her children in late
She gets highly indignant, mean,
And super angry if questioned about
Why they are late on a daily basis.
After a while they stop coming.
They have missed three weeks of school
Because they were supposedly sick.
No doctor’s excuse.
Oh, did she not tell us?
They moved also.
When proof
of address is required, it is usually the
Same address.
They come in, blinking their eyes after
A full night of whatever happens in their world.
We feed them breakfast, and lunch,
And send them home with fruit in their
Backpacks in case they get hungry.
Wondering whether they will
Be back late tomorrow
Or at all….
Let’s be a teacher I said to myself.
I know how to add and put books on a shelf.
It will be fun I said to my mind.
Are you daft in the head? Takes one of a kind!
The children are crazy.
And frankly you are too lazy.
They will do things so bad.
And you get so ridiculously mad!
It’s all about test scores
You will see lots of bores
It will be hard to do.
You will throw your shoe
Your temper you will lose
And you will make the news
You will be exhausted and tired
It is not the way you are wired!
Teaching is not the job you see
You do not have the temperament to be
In a room all day long with a bunch of kids
So I put my ha-ha dream on the skids.
Early on, we learned to attach ourselves to dreams and hopes. We learned what it was that strikes our fancy or rocks our boat?
I do not much care for stories filled with mysteries, but I'm a real fan of Math, English, and lots of History.
I liked Science also, like Biology, but never took Chemistry. There was an art class and a vocational course on electricity.
I have an appreciation for Art and a respect for all things electric.
I have also greatly benefited from some who were a bit more eccentric.
But were I forced to pick my favorite high school teacher, it would be my history teacher who grabbed my attention and was most inspiring.
There never was a high school course that I have not found useful as I navigate through this life filled with every subject matter longing for a humane resolution. By the time I enrolled in college, I knew the path I was to take, and through all the ups and downs, doubts and fears, by grace, I have stayed the course.
Back then, I had no clue that God was orchestrating a forward path for me. Now, looking back, when I see the pattern God has designed, I'm grateful.
031021PS
In what galaxy does a heart
not learn lessons the hard way?
It’s in the nature of all creatures.
The school of life welcomes its students.
Some will breeze on by and
not learn much of anything.
The ones that embark implicitly
on that lush wild river of discovery
will be amazed when they unleash their potential.
Everyone is given the same amount of hours,
precious time to squander or exploit;
checks and balances accrued in bank book.
Here on earth promises are delivered,
bruises fade and broken bones are mended,
fear eclipsed and IOU's paid and erased.
Everyone carries about their baggage:
the outcome of their experience,
the detailed records in their head.
We each have our predestined portfolio,
an agenda or checklist of things to learn,
be they tender or wickedly cold and harsh.
It would be ridiculous to expect that life is fair:
it’s a lottery we are allotted numbers,
some are lucky while others feel their curse.
AP: 2nd place 2025, Honorable Mention 2026, Honorable Mention 2025
When I was a child, children were chattel, threatened by our parents and our preacher.
We did not even dare whisper a tiny bit of a sliver of a question at our teacher.
Today’s brazen un-mothers drop their children off for breakfast, lunch and supper.
They have school toilets destroyed before you can spell the word ‘upper.’
The well-behaved, socialized, well-mannered children experience a daily scene
Of how fast our wild ones can commandeer the classroom, showing their mean
They respect no one. Least of all themselves. They refuse to go to a buddy room.
They yell cuss words, and they make noises that are worse than a rocket’s zoom.
What do they receive for disrupting the classroom day after day, in non-moderation?
Rewards in the form of extra recess, basketball, an elaborate celebration.
How this magnificent reward system for bad behavior has backfired is anyone’s guess.
Some of our other children, are starting to throw chairs, wanting to be in this mess.
Is it the prizes, the chocolate sundae bar, the cash? Is it the three hour play on the swings?
Is it the McDonald’s lunch they receive, while the rest are eating lukewarm onion rings?
Is it the laughs they get watching their well-behaved classmates sitting down hard and bored?
Is it that they see the tally sheet, and they realize they are the only ones who scored?
One of our five-year-olds has our school in lock-down mode daily, never there or here.
His teacher is counting the days until break, so she can start interviewing for a different career.
What started out as simple defiance is in full-blown mode now. Our fire escape is broken,
Most white boards and windows have been destroyed, and this is but a brief token.
Is it mean to ask about the rights of the other twenty-six children in the class?
Is it okay to wonder, how in the world in math and reading they will ever pass?
Ask your grandchildren if I am right, and then run to school and for the good ones, please fight.
Written 12-06-2018 Contest: Let ‘Er Rip Sponsor: John Lawless
Asking me if I would feel comfortable teaching PreK as a substitute
Is like asking a gorilla if he wants a chocolate covered banana.
The answer is yes!
Today was my day.
The principal was hesitant
Reflecting how well she does not yet know me.
I said “From now on, know this,
whatever you need me to do,
the answer is always yes.”
I knew there was a reason I did not start my counseling
classes the first week of school and this is possibly the reason.
I have not laughed this hard in ten years.
Nineteen three and four-year-old’s are hilariously fun!
I read them the Little Gingerbread Man book and asked them
“How many of you think nice Mr. Fox will take the gingerbread man
safely across the lake?”
All nineteen hands went up.
I said “Miss Pat, look at how many think Mr. Fox will take the gingerbread
man safely across the lake?” She laughed.
When the cookie got eaten the students laughed and laughed.
They apparently had not heard this story.
During nap time I felt God in this room, and I knew
I will probably never again be this close to God.
Clint's an iffy fellow, tis prestige vs the ordinaire, my dear plain Jane--hmm, partially accommodating.
Methinks you're a drop-off, my dear, picture a car dropping you off curbside while he goes looking for a fictitious parking space, but a gentleman he is uses the factual context of the 11th hour--OPS you to HAIL me.
I gather Mr. Eastwood was gifted said ticket, ... that I am guessing you so happened to be in pysical possession.
How did you know that? That would pleasure him of not being a CAD!
I forgot that you're like some madda carrie.
Mother who? You mean that Mother Teresa (rising popularity 1979).
No, that German one.
A German Mother Teresa? Was she young Adolph's school teacher.
Oh forget it! [LATER: she reveals "Mata Hari']"
Did he you call you and tell you, or are you playing Holmes?
Doc--tor 'tis Clint's gift?
Yes, but-- ... --wait ... it must be somebody of importance ... yes, but who?
Hehehe! It would be very rich for me, if I saw a glimpse of your face at this relevant juncture-------was I your suggested choice?
... Yes, Oh my? You're scary!
lavender memories ~ quivering dewdrops on lotus-leaves,
yet ever-lasting.
I cherish them, not let them slip away.
I cherish
a delightful picture of a nervous rookie school-teacher,
excited and thrilled, beaming and apprehensive,
on a bright crisp fall morning,
surrounded by her enthusiastic giggling students ....
I cherish
an invaluable handwritten letter by
my ailing father, from the hospital-bed,
who never failed to inspire courage,,
telling me to continue creative writing against all odds..
I cherish
a gold brooch, intricately designed,
gorgeous with iridescent pearls and radiant corals,
elegantly worn by my mother, a blushing young bride
on her wedding day...
I cherish
a poem, lyrical and moving ...
describing her favourite flower - demure jasmine ..
fragrant, exuding mystifying aroma ...
penned by my childhood friend
I cherish a dried rose,
ravishing ruby-red when fresh,
saved, by a young fluttering heart,
inside a diary of teenage years,
(only she can still smell the faint scent),
emanating crimson adoration
of a bashful boy - who never knew - she did.
April 4, 2021
Inspired by "Writing Prompt - Cherish" Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
FIRST PLACE
A Poet Plus Mathematician
Basically Mathematician
yet poetry and rhythm of poem
embedded in mind.
Analytic approach
in every poem gets priority.
of course on rhythmic resonance.
Started career as School Teacher,
shortly continued as College Lecturer.
Later entered in field of writing
turning professional Writer and Author.
Worked in broad spectrum,
as Talker in All India Radio,
acted as Editor of a Bengali Science Magazine.
Span of activities went wider,
Composed Drama to be staged
and to broadcast and telecast.
Conducted Educational project.
Simultaneous hobbies in Drawings, Paintings.
Competence in Knitting, Designing
to display and sell in Exhibitions..
In the last phase of my life,
as activities automatically are in decreasing mode,
I am an intruder in the world of English Poetry,
Me, rather battling to venture the contests on poetry
with my limited vocabulary in English.
No way, this is just my last creation cum recreation.
I enjoy.
We will often enjoy a meal, an event, or a gift.
We will express our gratitude and quickly move
on to the next thing. We will not always allow
what was shared with us to soak into our being.
In fact, by our actions, we don't seem to have
a clue about what went into getting us the gift.
Like the gift of Christ to the world. As we well
know, there was a world of things that went into
getting Jesus to us. "God so loved..."John 3:16.
At least a decade ago, I attended the funeral
of a lady in our church. I knew her, but not so well.
She was well-known by the membership for many years.
She served well and was a noted teacher for many years.
She taught her Sunday school class until the leadership
was forced to ask her to resign. She probably would have
died teaching her class. She was committed and dedicated.
There are other things that I could cite about her during
the brief time that I knew her, but none more poignant
than the way she preplanned and orchestrated her own
funeral. The service was long, but so little is remembered
of what went on that day. Interestingly enough, I remember
that I did not wish it to end. She did not apologize for the
elongated service which was expressed best in her own words
and pre-planned orchestration. Even while dead, she was in
charge. Indeed, the mistress of the service, whose overwhelming
presence filled the sanctuary, was the conductor of her own life's
orchestra.
There is a line that I most remember about her funeral. It is
a noteworthy line that, often in our quest to be modest and humble,
which is the noblest to be, we will miss something important.
Like most of you, it's unlikely that I will request such attention
at my funeral. I remember the line especially at Christmas because
it reminds me of how God 'thought upon us'. This remarkable Sunday
school teacher that I once knew, said it best for us all,
"Make a fuss over me".
RM122422PS