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ns carmona  Mar 2017
the teacher
ns carmona Mar 2017
(your knowledge is thrown back
with the force of a punch.)

trial and error --
            error--     error--
you're blown aback by cruelty
in those low-browed rows of eyes.

oh, joy of joys of stepford poise!
internally destroyed, all sincerity devoid:
but hey, tear-free, you taught
those ******* how to rhyme.
who's really the bricks in the wall?
Paul Hansford Jul 2016
A thousand children. How could I remember
all of them? I was the teacher; they were there
to learn. Those were our roles; that was the contract.
They would move up and I move on, for all of us
always a new beginning.
                                           But now and then
one will return to haunt me, like the girl
whose secret friend, a tiny version of myself,
drove a red plastic car;
                                        the boy, his skin
flaking and cracked with eczema, trying (and failing)
to resist the urge to scratch. How could he bear to wake
each day to face that life? Yet I was proud
he claimed me for his brother;
                                                     another girl,
seventeen,  crossing the Alps, moved beyond tears
by her first sight of mountains.
                                                     Do they remember?
Maybe they do. A young man in the street
I met by chance surprised me by recalling
how I read Winnie-the-Pooh when he was small
and did the animals in different voices.

So many children, so many years have gone,
but memories, like hope, can linger on.
"He do the police in different voices" was the original title of T.S. Eliot's "The Waste Land". Hard to believe? It's true.
Donall Dempsey Oct 2018
( for Maureen )

She is teaching Timothy
to read

even though she
can't read herself.

Tongue firmly in cheek
she traces the words

with a tiny fingertip
that knows the story

off by heart she
could read it in the dark.

She is "pretending reading."
She has my every nuance and pause

by rote
making great efforts

to teach Timothy
the puppy

but Timothy the puppy
is more interested in

the un-thrown stick.

Timothy the puppy thinks this reading lark is
strictly for the humans.

"Once..." she begins
in a Fairy Tale-ish voice.

Timothy the puppy
barks in acknowledgement.

Timothy the Puppy's mind thinks.

"...upon a time
a long long time


Timothy the puppy looks
adoringly at his little mistress

with such an immensity of love and
licks her finger as it

travels over the words
the story's journey.

"Oh you..!" she scolds
"...are not even paying attention!"

"It's no good...I give up!"
she frowns at the unhappy creature

throwing the book away
in a prissy hissy fit.

Timothy the puppy
full of the joys of

a dog's life
( it's the only life he knows )

chases the fluttering pages
that fly like an exotic bird

brings Hans Christian Anderson back
his mouth full of words.
Lawrence Hall Sep 2018

Few of us seek for any of those keys
Of which graduation orators speak
Nor would most bother with the battery
In that old lamp of which they’ve never heard

They do not push against a golden door
They expect all doors to be opened for them
They read no books, they do not read, they feel
They only feel, they do not write, they stare

So emptily away, then back again
An empty stare into, within the self
The empty chatter of the ceaseless self
Each self in pain from arrogant self-pity

Each centers himself in a universe
His universe of the eternal now
His universe of the eternal me
And thinks not of beyond himself at all

But, still –


There are those few who seek for eternal Truth
Not for some shabby metaphorical keys;
They light the lamp, they lift the lamp, and look
Not at themselves but at the light, the Light

They shyly, slowly open the wardrobe door
They peek inside, they look, they see, they see
A world beyond their own; they step into
And through, and so they are given themselves

They seek for something else, and find themselves
A world of words and music and magic and light
And the Light is not them but upon them
The Light is the center, and gives them light

They give away themselves and so gain crowns
Unasked and so more happily received
They read and write and sing the happiness
Unasked and thus given, among the stars


Your ‘umble scrivener’s site is:
It’s not at all reactionary, tho’ it might be drivel.
Karijinbba Mar 2
My king of hearts
my twin soul of old
he wrote he "dreamt
that he was a racoon
eating a piece of corn
with a vicarious lady
wearing a black mask
over her eyes!"
but he was wrong about me
I killed no racoon for his fur!
No rich man for his wealth!
No aborted child out of malice
It was medical advice!
just for that belief alone,
he lost me
I lived in a dead calmness
for in childhood trauma
the brain blocks
traumatic events
although a clever brain's, protective mechanism,
inability to examin
ones life timely
derrails life's true destiny
to a place not worth
it's living **** and pain.
Until I woke up,
becoming aware saved me.
I slowly have healed
I love who I was born to be
born a star seed
says my Mayan callendar!
Always flowering!
Proud of who my parents were
glad enemies are all
distant and faint memories!
This my healing art
I share, I love to be free
to choose companionship
or total independance!
My past doesn't hold me back loving others ever.
I am cautious of who I trust
to love!
I am glad my loved ones
came along.
Glad my unprovoqued
enemy's darkness fades
in my spirit's light,
their malice no longer
hinder me.
As for one beloved still
glued in mind from my past,
who loved me back,
If i just didn't find another matching twinsoul,
to share my character's intellectual broadness,
being very sellective
doesn't mean
one is stuck in any past!
Such norrow minded
form of criticism
for being unmarried,
is an **** and unfair
thinking by the
quick judging few.
I had an interesting past
with cruel greedy sick people
and many can benefit from my trips to **** and back without having to go there themselves! But only few gifted intellectuals venture to learn
from people like me
or surely from you too!
with your own
If I get any pains
from my past
I find healing joy
from the spontaneous
gentle smile of babes cradled
in their Moms embrace
the joyful toddler looking straight into my eyes, smiling with sweetest dancing eyes
looking at me
and quickly
to his Moms eyes
skanning for assurance
and safety as I smile
back at the precious
innocent true smile of a child
Ahhh! If only we all
could embrace our inner
child's spirit soul
to truly connect
with grown ups
heart to heart
without any expectation
or hidden agendas
with just the spirits beauty
of a baby's smile
smiling back ever so
happily and content.

Thanks for reading
Sincearely its an honor
to share my innercore
with the best of earth's
intellectual society of
great poets.
By: Karijinbba
All rights reserved.
Revised 03-13-2019
Your opinion comments loves and likes are apreciated.
tabitha Jul 2018
always take your shoes off before you cross a threshold
         if you do this, the monsters under your bed will be
            no more.
              you've been carrying your dirt around with you
                leave it at the door
                  or else all the tiny microbes that live in the gutters
                    and trash-smudged curbs will fall off
                       like snowflakes down to the floor

wear your face mask
wash your face
don't eat too much sugar

hold yourself center                        
        losing your balance has dramatic repercussions
           your mother and her motorbike depend on it
             getting around depends on it

be grateful for the sun and getting to be outside
       buildings do not satiate the wild within
         when the sun kisses your face, feel loved

don't drink the tap
try to keep your bones intact
keep your eyes open

find the fancy expat-owned markets
      dig through their trash late at night
        they are wasteful
          their trash could be your treasure

speak and laugh as loudly as you want
      set the bar high, so that growing up doesn't make you silent
        the world should know that you are here
          you're so beautiful

wash your dishes
sweep your floors
always lock the door             

don't forget that there is more splendor outside these cityscapes
      don't forget that there is suffering all around this place

translate earnestly and graciously for your elders
       for some ****** reason my native tongue is the lingua franca
         and your parents hired me to help you bridge the gap
           i am here because you are the future
             and not because of anything you did
               so be polite about it
                 and don't forget where you started
i am an english teacher in hanoi, vietnam. i teach children. not only is teaching an enriching and fascinating experience, but teaching (and subsequently learning about) the children of another culture is.... doubly interesting. they're darling and sweet and bright. anyways, i fell into teaching this one class halfway through their term. it's a science class, and i am not a science teacher. so it's been humorous, to say the least. the last lesson in the course is "survival skills", and i'm supposed to teach them how to pitch a tent, and forage for food. but this is hanoi, a massive city. there is no way to forage for food unless you're digging through the trash or stealing from a farm, and no recreational camping grounds. when are these city kids ever gonna use that? a lot of these kids never even leave. i'm not doubting its useful to know, it's just ironic. and it got me thinking. so, since i'm a procrastinator, i wrote this poem instead of working on the actual lesson plan. a list of survival tips i think to be more useful and fitting for their situation. i'm gonna go do the actual lesson plan now.
ˏˋDalPalˊˎ Oct 2014
Here's a thanks to my grade school teachers

thanking my first grade teacher
for getting me into writing

thanking my second grade teacher
for letting me write a longer book than anyone else
and teaching me it was alright to be different

thanking my third grade teacher
for being stern with me
and letting me know that not everyone is going speak to you with sugar coated words

thanking my fourth grade teacher
for showing me to share a little bit of yourself with everyone

thanking my fifth grade teachers
for helping me with the first year of middle school when no one else would

thanking my sixth grade teachers
for probably the greatest year of my life and teaching me life lessons I wouldn't have gotten until now

thanking my seventh grade teachers
for teaching me that being funny and creative is nothing to be afraid about and giving feels just as good as receiving

thanking my eighth grade teachers
for making me feel alright about the scary transition coming up and bonding with my classmates even more

thank you for helping me grow up
Just going down memory lane
Char Nov 2018
Thank you
my dear,
for the love you gave me,
for caring about me
for trying your best
and teaching me to appreciate the little things in life

I'm sorry
I was so stuck in a forest
with a broken compass,
that the shadows of the forest
clawed out from the darkness
into the abyss of my soul

Now that the wind has left behind the dust; our memories,
have I realized
how careless my words have made you felt
and the branches; my heart
snaps and howls into the wind,
with these thoughts of regret.

I still miss you and wished
"if only..."
It's true that you don't realize things until you loose that person/out of a dark situation. I left "if only" as an open ended statement since there could be so many things that could be said with "if only.." (e.g. if only I was more self aware, if only I didn't say those words etc etc.) I know sorry wouldn't help but from the bottom of my heart, I'm sorry for hurting you the way I never wanted to.
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