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All are demanding,
him to be in race?
Whipping him lagging,
behind in case.

How many marks,
he ever scored.
Else he has always been,
Thrown out of door.

Papa and Mama
and teacher they all,
Guide him how to,
Rise, how to fall.

Amazing his life,
amazing his place.
No Option, No choice,
he always in race.

He likes the music,
and likes the dance.
He also rejoices,
the singing by chance.

But no body cares,
what cares he all,
No rise in chasing,
Not bothers the fall.

The things he likes
that gives him solace.
I wonder Will ever,
He get his space.

This the story of a small boy, which I have witnessed. Now a days there has been sea-change regarding the way parents are handling their kid. The parenting is commerce oriented. I have seen that everybody including parents and teachers , are focused only on the aspect of making a child competent enough to earn requisite money for leading a lavish life style. The saddening part of the child was that no body ever cares about the inclination, interest of child. I have seen the child struggling against his desire and doing so many things, which ultimately making his condition worse.
Kada Oct 10
Education is the key that leads to your freedom.

                                                       ­                                    -Kada
To be free is in your control.
The moment we leave the ****
entering to a blinding well lit room,
We've already started to explore
curiosity takes us crawling on the floor.

Laughing, smiling ready for even more
taking opportunity to open each door,
we slowly raise ourselves from knees to feet
new places and faces ready to meet.

Time for another evolutionary change
age of education is now within range,
welcome to a new game and book
gone are the baby toys as back we look.

Talking of our future learning about the past
years from now into space we may blast,
there are the dreams of such occupations
making new friends building relations.

Have we even started to learn a thing
when well meet again we still sing,
children and education are our only hope
a lesson for all its a tough mountain *****.

Climb climb and never stop reaching higher
take ever chance and reach for your desire,
life itself is one big non stop education
Go teach and share your joy of graduation.
Today is World Teacher Day and I decided to write a poem about from the moment we are born
Seemingly alive, in perpetual longing time, burden with emotions, joy stops, pain is felt. Thinking mind relentless, I’m an entire generation as singular individual. Heat rises, sounds amplified, rooms seem smaller when I step in, life dares me to forlorn not to live. It has no remorse. Morals and ethics, human. Beauty? No love found. No love lost. The burdens of living, twisted. Soundless, slow, precise and shafts of hope that is really false. Complete poetry and thinking philosophy. I am alive. Despite of everything.
Shaine Fraz Oct 2
8 fifteen in the morning,
huddled around a wooden framed door,
awaiting today’s moderator,
another professional development,
Restorative Practices,
the art of inclusion,
the art of accountability;
Skill building,
The mutual hate among us as we stare into a dark room,
Awaiting another 7 hour day of ice breakers,
We clutch our coffees and populate the lone corner — 12 capacity room in the basement,
All 15 of us,
Good morning: let’s begin
© 2018 by S Fraz All rights reserved. No part of this document may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of S Fraz
AvengingPoet Sep 24
I sit back, wandering and wavering
I’m not quite sure where I am in this plot
But I don’t think it is six feet under
I try my best to listen
But I’m just doing okay
And *** only knows when the **** it’ll be great.

Oh the energy I lack
For all the *******
Four years of this schooling
Four years of that schooling
While barely surviving
What a crock of ****.

I don’t hate it all
It was educational some of the time
But now I leave within a few months
With confusion and fuzzy memories
Of things I never did
And things I never wanted to do

What an American Dream I’m living.
Anya Sep 24
I used to wonder if,
one who enjoys writing
and history
and words
Is bad,
at math and science

I'm finding recently,
that it's really not true

science may not be my strongest

But I can take what is,
and use it to my advantage

I realized
I could make educational poetry
from the concepts
to the stories I love

And that way I remember them better

The world really is a small place
Not just,
among people
But also,
Among concepts,
Reoccurring patterns
Justyn Huang Sep 13
But! little did they know...
they didn't know much
Illiteracy prevents them
Kind of a joke. Kind of also real.
Sean M O'Kane Sep 12
“Oh you’re Irish?” he said.
“Did you learn the language much?” he said.
Honestly, what can I tell him? I was raised in the North - a ****** wasteland for such a naïve question.
Vague memories of fumbled classes where our secret history was ditched just to get straight into the basics (Cad é mar atá tú?)
No – seriously - I was not tied to it – it was anonymous to me at that age.
Forgotten like some distant echo of once visiting Coole House as a child.
Sure, we knew it was “important”, “our national language”, “heritage” etc. and we were warned it was quickly slipping into the drain of Western hegemony.
But it was baffling, unsexy and only the blunt-faced humorless IRA thugs amongst us were in any way keen.
Then it was gone, just like the faded memories of “The Children of Lir” from my primary school.

Looking back I wonder, what was the point?
A half-full measure paying lip service to our identity.
Teachers and headmasters terrified of the grand colonial reveal that the lessons might have hinted at (were they trying to stop us being Provos-in-waiting?).
And all of this against the awful shame of a common tongue that had no foe yet was slowly vanquishing from our shores.
It could have all been so different.
Rather than rushing to get something in our empty skulls, they could have given us a sense of joy, pride & belief in our own culture.
Calling on Yeats, Behan, Heaney and others to drown us in the language of our ancestors.
Telling the stories of old that only the academics & hippies were keeping from us then.
You know, it might kept us all on the same beautifully illuminated page.
We might have been comfortable in our skins and open to others,
not looking deep into our worthlessness and lashing out at them.
Language is being and language is connecting, I’ve learnt.
But that’s not something I got from my secondary school.

June-July 2018
Obviously, Teanga is the Irish word for language. "Cad é mar atá tú" is a basic phrase every Irish child would remember from the limited experience of the language that we had then - "how are you?".  I did visit Coole House around 1980 (when I was 10)  but had no idea at the time of its significance as the 'petri dish' of modern Irish culture - the home of Lady Gregory whose influence on many of our great writers was fundamental to their survival & their continuing importance today. "The Children of Lir" is an old fantastical Irish myth that was often read to very  young children during their  "story time".
Michael Ryan Sep 9
An undergraduate no more
I was once a student among many
and now I am a student amongst none.

Because there is an education bubble
and it exist at universities
where thought is something
to behold as it is so beautiful.

Instead of compassion
for the trivial pursuits of enlightenment--
there is cascades of sludge
and ooze of the repetitious awnings.
They line each other's minds
as they wander the parking lot of life.

Education becomes the Sun
and just like the Sun
when it becomes
so brilliantly bright one must look away,
because in contrast to the dimming bulbs bobbing around--
the radiance of knowledge
loses all it's light
when it's time
to join the 'real world'.
Almost graduating from university finally and it's already evident to me that most people are not striving for the best, but striving for what they know.
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