Long Students Poems
Long Students Poems. Below are the most popular long Students by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Students poems by poem length and keyword.
We went to a friend’s retirement party…celebrating the end
of her long and storied teaching career…
It was a day of mixed emotions…joy and laughter…
a few tears.
Stepping into a retirement party is like stepping into a time machine…
surrounded by memories of not only her first and last year of teaching…
but of all those memories in between.
Former students all grown up now…parents…teachers…
her husband, children and grandchildren were there too…
celebrating her adventure in teaching…and bidding that adventure adieu.
When she was teaching every day I imagine…she didn’t think about this much…
but her retirement party was a time to realize all the people she has touched.
All the friends that she has made since the first day she was hired…
all the joy and knowledge she has given…all the people she inspired.
We left her surrounded by her family…on her face…her famous grin….
with one long adventure just completed…and another…ready to begin.
I like to bring board games into the classrooms every once in a while.
It causes my students to laugh and play, some of them first time smile.
I’ve never found a better way to check these things, their basic reading level, and more.
“I’m going to tell; you’re a cheater! You lie! That’s not the rules!” It shows me losers, sore.
This amazing method tells me a lot, and rather quickly, going room to room.
The teachers roll their eyes, wondering what I am doing; hoping I will leave soon.
“I can’t be on a team with her, I don’t like him, we do not get along.”
Some of them have targeted the whole class, when they sing this silly song.
U.S. DEBT CLOCK IS OUT OF CONTROL.
IT BOGGLES THE MIND HOW FAST OUR DEBT GROWS.
IT'LL GIVE YOU THE NUMBER OF LIVING,THE NUMBER OF DYING.
SO HARD TO BELIEVE SOMEONE'S NOT LYING.
THERE'S A NUMBER OF WORKERS, A NUMBER WHO DON'T.
I'M SURE THERE'S A NUMBER FOR THOSE THAT WON'T.
THEY HAVE NUMBERS FOR BUDGETS AND MONEY CREATION.
YOU GET THE SENSE OF WHATS GOING ON IN OUR NATION
CAR SALES, HOME SALES EVEN SALES TAXES.
UNEMPLOYED PEOPLE WHO ALL SAW THE AXES.
STUDENTS, INMATES, DISABLED AND FELONS.
NUMBERS MOVING SO FAST IT'S AFFECTING MY MELON.
YOU CAN SEE FOR YOUR SELF, BUT I HAVE TO GO.
IF I CONTINUE TO WATCH MY MIND'S GOING TO BLOW.
SEARCH U.S. DEBT CLOCK SEE FOR YOURSELF.
YOU TELL ME IF WE'RE A NATION OF WEALTH.
Most fives are excited by everything
They skip and sing and dance
They twirl and whirl down the hallway
These are fives who feel loved and revered
Fives who have had rough, tough lives often walk a different pathway
Some of these fives have lost their joy; they do not play.
They are angry at life, they despise the twirlers.
Hurt and sad, dancers and singers irritate them.
When a five is a bully, hitting and hurting other students,
We teachers suspect that we know how they live
Fives who are delighted by singing and dancing
Have no idea why they are being brutalized
We cannot fix a five’s home situation.
Ninety-nine percent of the hotlines are dismissed.
We can only love and revere them while they are here.
Teaching them skills they may need to survive their life.
One from the 1850s,
I bought it from a Scotsman thrifty,
on the windswept Isle of Skye,
its browning cover caught my eye,
old paper that’s weathered to tan,
each leaf thick and dry in my hands,
an imperious title-page,
and the high English of that age,
once a proud showpiece for a home,
when books were pricey, barely known.
Early western, 1914,
full of villains and bandits mean,
black and while plate on the first sheet,
basic Roman fonts, cold and neat,
scratchy fabric on the cover,
like crack to an old book-lover,
small publisher, long ago lost,
tales forgotten, so cheap the cost,
a curio, few know it’s here,
the fun that enthralled yesteryear.
Paperback, 1946,
bright cover, like posters for flicks,
first seen in the pulp magazines,
tales of dastardly doings and fiends,
pocket-sized so it slips away,
it seems small in the modern day,
the teachers once scoffed in disdain,
“It only sought to entertain…”
Falling apart, bring out the tape,
since this kind of reading is great.
Bound classics, 1952,
enshrine time-tested points-of-view,
matched series, no pictures, all words,
print so tiny it seems absurd!
Bible-paper to fit it all in,
ancient scribes, philosophers grim,
spines crack when you open the tome,
once made young college students groan,
few were read, and yet they still sell,
’cause they look real nice on a shelf.
An omnibus from ’83,
the best of Jack London for me,
received it as a Christmas gift,
public domain brings good profits,
smooth cover, in two colors cast,
dust jacket with wolves, running fast,
buffet of a dead author’s work,
tales told from all over the earth,
read half, but I mean to get back,
if I ever find time for that.
Now our ‘books’ are screens with blue light,
one more device, it never feels right,
and I have used them, I attest,
yet I still think ‘How is this progress?’
In a small café, customers stream through the door. I jot down orders that pile up as I wonder what’s happening in the back kitchen. The patrons are looking more and more displeased. I scurry table to table filling glasses running endlessly dry and simultaneously noticing the increasing number of empty napkin holders. Where’s the manager? Why is there nobody here but me? The order slips are almost gone. And now plates of food begin appearing in the back so quickly that I cannot recall to which table each one goes. I’m running and running, the proverbial dumb chicken but with its head still attached and throbbing! I hear the clamor of “Where’s our meal?” and more people keep entering through the door.
Now I find myself in a plain white-walled classroom of my school. The clock on the wall ticks on and on as students trickle through the door. Students sit staring as I search a pile of papers for the attendance sheet. The papers fall and I just know my lesson plan is lost among the scattered sheets. I bend to pick them up and my brain is a fog. What am I to teach? I sift through the disarray as ticking seconds become minutes, and a silence pierces me as I view the stony faces before me. I try to mouth words, but they simply won’t come. I can almost feel the fidgeting of the students as my upper lip begins to twitch. I know they are thinking me an imbecile. As I stand dumb stricken, time is fleeing, and more students are entering the room. . . . .
I awaken to the loud incessant ticking of the clock beside my bed. I’ll rise to greet my day, get into my car and meld with a stream of other people driving to their everyday jobs. There will be days that I encounter the cheerless or dissatisfied faces of strangers or even of family and friends. There will be times that I hasten frantically, feeling all is futile as bills pile up or work overwhelms me, and there are sure to be times when I will feel at an utter loss as I live vicariously the nightmarish woes which sometimes my husband must confront. How grateful I am for ordinary days whose hours of normalcy are heaven compared to the mind boggling misery endured throughout this world. And how thankful I am for ordinary days that greatly outnumber a few awful dreams!
48.
My 6th Leaf
Torn thee from torn leaf
A long one – not brief
Unlike the first five
This one's not alive
Don't know its name too
Décor by first year
On table to cheer
By someone from them
For only one name
BSEd One, lo!
First day of Mid-Term
Their very first sem
Eighteenth of August
While I am their host
For Ma'am Jul's exam
As said – on table
On vase – with bundle
With flowers – other
Surround them – cluster
It's one of six leaves
Felt I bit boring
For students taking
Exam not over
I noticed flower
Pre-lunch time stupor.
-08/18/2011
(Dumarao)
*My Toladas Collection
This is a call to arms, not with guns, but with pens
In the battleground of classrooms, where history pretends
Textbooks are prisons, locking away truths untold
Lessons are handcuffs, keeping minds on hold
We're force-fed a diet of colonial lies
Digesting distortions, our heritage dies
But today we rise, we're breaking these chains
Dismantling doctrines, rewiring our brains
Cultural colonization, a virus in our veins
Infecting our thinking, causing knowledge pains
But we're the antidote, we're the cure
Our stories are medicine, potent and pure
In this garden of learning, we're planting new seeds
Cultivating perspectives, uprooting the weeds
A decolonized curriculum? That's our harvest goal
Rich with diversity, feeding the soul
Let the silence be shattered, let voices erupt
Like volcanoes of truth, no longer corrupt
We're weaving a tapestry, threads intertwined
Colours of cultures, no longer confined
Education's a river, not a stagnant pool
Flowing with stories, no longer a tool
Of oppression and erasure, of whitewashed deceit
We're flooding the banks, sweeping bias off its feet
Cultural colonization? We're building a dam
Against its currents, we take our stand
In every classroom, let's light a fire
Of curiosity, let knowledge burn higher
We're scribes of our stories, authors anew
Rewriting the narrative, long overdue
So come all you students, teachers, hear our decree
Education's not shackles, it's the key to be free
Slam this message home, let it resound
In halls of learning, let truth be found
For when we unshackle minds, we'll truly see
A world where each culture stands proud and free
Due to community quarantine enforcement
along social distancing detachment
our faculty meeting of task-assignment
went virtual via technology’s involvement
midst great excitement, anticipating joyous fulfillment.
Since such was first-time engagement
we strove not to be shocked by technical puzzlement
as we burst with laughter of merriment
in noticing each other’s physical development
obviously showing weight-gain and wellness-enrichment.
Starting with expressions of caring endearment
like “you look so blessed this moment…
in your stress-free environment…”
we all basked in warm fellowship of sight-hearing empowerment
not minding intervening communication-bafflement.
Then after the opening prayer marked by sober predicament
we noticed that we were not in sync with our agenda document
while modern “apps” became source of interesting argument
challenging the not-so complicated techie-sentiment
most of us cherished with simple faith's contentment.
Alas, we found ourselves seeking to be rescued from ignorance-torment
receiving this-and-that instruction of millennial comment
until told that time expired, so we must apply for another segment…
making us admit our need to learn social media’s fundamental rudiment
to be guarded from becoming crazy over teleconferencing impediment.
We thank God* that we were all in agreement
to meet again face-to-face, but not through internet-employment
for educational pursuit discussion, like students’ enrollment
especially that we are encouraged to use “on-line” settlement…
oh, how we beg for the Lord’s wisdom and enlightenment.
*2Thessalonians 2:13 …We are bound to give thanks alway to God…
August 21, 2020
3rd place, "Craziest Time At The..." Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Caren Krutsinger; judged on 9/27/2020.
the elephant circus is coming to Kalamazoo!
Kids were so excited, they played hooky too.
Running toward the tent that housed Ellie, the star.
Frog was practicing his tricks, he could play a guitar.
Pig was jumping out of a large red top hat.
Wow! Said some of the felons, what do you think of that?
School teachers were flying in to grab kids by their ears.
Potential students ran off, making jokes and jeers.
What can you do? The elephant said to the teachers.
Why don’t you stay and enjoy the show and our features?
Principal closed the school and there was a loud hooray!
Everyone laughed as mice chased a circus cat that day.