No corolla tutors itself to bloom;
It merely keeps an antecedent vow.
Thus every life appears to choose its form,
Whilst tacitly obeying first ordinance.
The oldest covenants utter least of all—
Yet every pulse remembers their command.
Clarity is pivotal i affirm,
when sowing seeds of knowledge,
grey clouds of blurred waffle,
confuse and confound,
urgent student quest,
so frustrated by slovenly,
speech and incoherence,
verbose rambling is anthema,
the scourge of earnest erudition,
teachers, parents, tutors,
hark my heartfelt pleading,
simple words, sentences, stanzas,
demystify intricate tangled webs,
please extol simplicity’s rich heritage
There once was a bloke called Aristotle
Who drank his ouzo straight from the bottle
His tutors were far from impressed
When he failed his Ethics 101 test
But when he partied it was always full throttle.
Imagination is the gentle key
That fits no lock the world can see —
It turns the mind — not toward a thing,
But toward the way we choose to bring
The morning into meaning’s hand,
And teach the dark to understand.
It does not tell us what is true,
Nor paint the sky a certain blue —
It lifts the veil from mortal sight
And shows us how to shape the light.
A thought is not a thing to wear,
Nor rule to keep, nor creed to bear —
It is a wing the soul may grow
To test the winds it does not know.
Imagination tutors Grace —
In how to walk through time and space,
And find in doubt a deeper door
Than certainty had held before.
So let the mind be taught to roam,
Not built of walls — but made of home.
For thinking is the sacred art
That draws the map — and moves the heart.
The Privilege of being a Mother —
Is lent — not owned — by Time —
A Stewardship of tender Hours
And Courage — born of Mind —
Keep them — from Driving — till you must —
The World — is swift — and loud —
Let Fields instruct their earliest Steps —
By Bush — and Leaf — and Cloud —
Empathy — a quiet Bread —
Compassion — poured like Wine —
They learn — by how you pause — and feel —
The bruise — before the Sign —
The River tutors — patiently —
How many Trees — agree —
To bow — and go — the faithful Way —
From Root — to restless Sea —
They are — as Clouds — that borrow Form —
Here — briefly — then — no more —
You lift your eyes — they pass — You by
Their Sky — has changed — some More —
So hold — with Hands — that know release —
And Hearts — that dare — to stay —
For Love — is strongest — when it learns
Your part — that Lets them — Go —
Most I know sad but true
define themselves by the work they do
out of the workplace they're as simple
as a bump on a stump dimple on a pimple
drop in a bucket wart on a frog
cog in a wheel or log in a bog
who's to blame... yes parents are the means
for their inherited hopeless poor genes
none of my tutors were teachers as such
and with no innate abilities didn't know much
all of which which amounted to nought
and only regurgitated what they'd been taught
never met one who didn't know it all
when in fact they knew nothing at all
and if I were to look in a book I'd learn the same
but follow the leader ('herd' is the word)
was the name of their game
as for me...
who I am determines what I do
not vice versa end of story
but... how about you?
There are no excuses in the Kingdom of God
It is God’s Kingdom and
He will provide for the situation
You have a coach
So don’t approach a situation
Without the Holy Spirit!
He advises, corrects, instructs, trains, tutors, guides
directs and prepares you for your assignment
The Kingdom of God has everything you need while
You are on earth, so ask in His Name and
Align your prayers with His Purpose
You have a coach
So don’t approach a situation
Without the Holy Spirit!
Mark Frank
Copyright 2025
Do some unpleasant memories fade away?
Or does the mind have a protective guard,
That, at times, locks the door to the past,
And shields the soul from agony's crush.
Do some memories serve as wise tutors,
That instructs the mind from time to time,
Lest the brain's library becomes forsaken,
Void of guidance for life's daily challenges?
Memories can plague the mortal mind.
They are often protesting against stiff resistance,
Demanding its rightful role and sacred duty,
To catalog the experiences of human events.
Memories acknowledge good and bad events.
They do not euthanize the painful truth,
Nor do they embellish or rewrite the facts.
They exist, impartial and unyielding.
Memories can be either friend or foe.
Perhaps that's the constant inward fear,
Why we are wary of the sentinel's mind,
Unsure what memory will breach that door
Education is a must,
So your mind can be robust,
Through blood, sweat, and tears,
It's the 6 inches between the ears,
For the people that give,
So you can truly live,
The teachers and mentors,
The tutors and scholars,
So you have no strife,
The Fathers of Life.
Every father’s child,
A seed in the wild,
Nature and nurture are its tutors,
The unseen are its captors.
Every father’s child,
Crafted by the gentle and mild,
They come to a vast field,
Oblivious of tomorrow’s yield.
Every father’s child,
Made to go through the wild,
As they hunt for treasures in the night,
Time teaches them to fight.
Every father’s child,
Their tomorrow is scripted and filed,
Carried by tender bosom,
Separated as they blossom.
March 19, 2024.
The movers wheeled the piano in the apartment
my tutors revealed plateaus climbed as an artist
hours flying pages turned black and white keys charted
scoured trying ages I played packed plight I started
recitals, concert halls, from practicing hardest
reprisals, my art calls, the piano sits modest
In my twilight years I teach children to harvest
the wild bright light nears, to each the piano harnessed
Today I have nothing more to say,
Am only wishing you happy labour day,
To all workers from Nairobi to Homa Bay,
Respect to workers who don't receive a pay,
Yet they volunteer to serve free day by day.
Big up to our beloved journalists,
Salute to designers and all artists,
Who work hard to update our playlists,
Respect to all mentors and sociologists,
Without forgetting poets and therapists.
Respect to engineers and inventors,
Salute to medical workers and doctors,
The entertainment actresses and actors,
Respect to teachers, professors and tutors,
Without forgetting masons and contractors.
One day he will pass that road,
where there's a building full of memories old.
A wave of thought will splash his mind,
Will remember some people of his kind.
One day he will cross that gate,
where he was often standing for being late.
He will roam here and there all around,
But will not find his squad on the ground.
One day he will climb those stairs,
Where he often spotted some lovely pairs.
His wet eyes will observe flash for a while,
Will remember those idiots and will give a smile.
One day he will enter that class,
Will smile by seeing those broken window glass.
His ears will sense some weird sound,
Tutors complaining, "Why talking so loud?".
He will observe some benches which were spoiled nicely in past,
But to his wonder, his favorite bench remains LAST.
The tiger was caged without splendor or pomp
His mistake had been "not draining" the swamp.
The captors were, of course, so very adorable.
They reveled with peers but not the deplorable.
Decades of schooling by progressive tutors
Millenial cagers were the loudest rooters.
Everything free and nothing to worry
Yell at the tiger with unbounded fury.
One hopes this story will end in success
And not just another mistaken guess.
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