Our school sails on serene rivers of excellence.
A model of hard work and unfeigned resilience.
Here we train leaders of our century's future,
irrespective of tribe, religion and culture.

Here we soar ceaselessly beyond our sky's limit
by imbibing skills required for our dream's zenith.
In utmost straining and striving we hardly yield.
Yet our persistent spirits know not dismay.
Because our fruitful toiling will brilliance convey,
on this placid and fertile academic field.

In our lofty mission we are second to none,
as we realize our vision of being number one.
Adorable the unparalleled in service,
will make a genius once considered a novice.

*** 101
by Michael R. Burch

That day the late spring heat
steamed through the windows of a Crayola-yellow schoolbus
crawling its way up the backwards slopes
of Nowheresville, North Carolina ...

Where we sat exhausted
from the day’s skulldrudgery
and the unexpected waves of muggy,
summer-like humidity ...

Giggly first graders sat two abreast
behind senior high students
sprouting their first sparse beards,
their implausible bosoms, their stranger affections ...

The most unlikely coupling―

Lambert, 18, the only college prospect
on the varsity basketball team,
the proverbial talldarkhandsome
swashbuckling cocksman, grinning ...

Beside him, Wanda, 13,
bespectacled, in her primproper attire
and pigtails, staring up at him,
fawneyed, disbelieving ...

And as the bus filled with the improbable musk of her,
as she twitched impaled on his finger
like a dead frog jarred to life by electrodes,
I knew ...

that love is a forlorn enterprise,
that I would never understand it.

Keywords/Tags: first, love, ***, lust, passion, desire, school, bus, foreplay, *******, odor, musk

Burn, Ovid
by Michael R. Burch

“Burn Ovid”―Austin Clarke

Sunday School,
Faith Free Will Baptist, 1973:
I sat imaging watery folds
of pale silk encircling her waist.
Explicit *** was the day’s “hot” topic
(how breathlessly I imagined hers)
as she taught us the perils of lust
fraught with inhibition.

I found her unaccountably beautiful,
rolling implausible nouns off the edge of her tongue:
adultery, fornication, *******, ******.
Acts made suddenly plausible by the faint blush
of her unrouged cheeks,
by her pale lips
accented only by a slight quiver,
a trepidation.

What did those lustrous folds foretell
of our uncommon desire?
Why did she cross and uncross her legs
lovely and long in their taupe sheaths?
Why did her ******* rise pointedly,
as if indicating a direction?

“Come unto me,
(unto me),”
together, we sang,

cheek to breast,
lips on lips,
devout, afire,

my hands
up her skirt,
her pants at her knees:

all night long,
all night long,
in the heavenly choir.

Keywords/Tags: Ovid, god, religion, church, Sunday school, ***, lust, desire, passion, choir, hymn, hymns, devout, devotion, faith, purity, chastity

The field's on fire

wrath
and natural selection

loose in the commons

dying to ****
killing to die

this is no dress rehearsal
no prank

the breath of life
melts

into playground psychosis

triggering
the finger of a false god

summoned in the blackness

to try and choke humanity's
guiding flame

(but on it burns)

He drawls on
Picks the same three
All male, unlike me
The girls sit in silence
Watching as he
Does the problem
And another he does the next
But never me

I sit there
raising my hand because
When I call out
it's wrong
But when they call out
it's cool

Then I'm told
To participate more
I raise my hand most of the time
I'm called on least of the time

Sexism starts young
When boys expect all the attention
and girls know they will be unheard

Her sparkling smile hides her crooked mind
Although she was mad, she was not malice
Gaslighting and wicked games were of her kind
Last supper was fun, still have the chalice
Pandora, pandora, don’t open that box
Twisted thoughts tore and fused into my skin
A nightmare reality, or just a faux?
A virus that stays with me, just like kin
Words echoes I love to k!ll, I do not stop
Remorse is not usually in my blood
This is not a tale, she needs to be locked
A body in her hands turn grey, like mud
We are all wired to get a little mad
But, she is the most crazy girl I’ve met

My teacher asks for the theme,
But I don’t know how to answer
I know and I know that
A theme is or is not one word,
A common thing, a binding spell
A theme is or is not an instruction,
Told by the character’s actions,
Shown in carefully crafted consequences.
A theme is or is not a quality,
Something which defines a character,
Which determines the course of the story
It is or is not more than one sentence.
It is or is not subjective to the reader.
It is or is not, so I don’t know the answer.

But I could tell you about the Little Chinese Seamstress
About blind obsession,
About jealousy, about wonder
Would that be enough? Would that be enough?
I could tell you about how reading is so personal,
Its effect on one
Can not be understood by another
Would that be enough? Would that be enough?
Or how skill is developed by tragic experience
How learning comes from failing to learn
Would that be enough? Would that be enough?
Or if I told you that the quality of a book
is only as good as its final passage,
If I told you that
a story shouldn’t be told until its last word,
Bound by something so profound,
The book must be reread, reanalyzed
Delving into the intricate mind of the author,
With full control over life and reality,
With the power to make one word thousands,
A detail into a novel,
Anything into anything without writing it down,
Because if you can understand what the author was thinking,
Then the author was not thinking at all
Would that be enough?
Could knowing be enough?

If you asked an author
To name to you one of their themes,
Do you think they’d know the answer?
Do you think they’d care what you mean?

Is it more valuable to the student
To understand or to define?
Is it more telling of the mind
To describe an impact,
Or to save time?

Do you know the importance of teachers
That question is a lesson in itself
How do you learn to achieve wealth
Receive a doctorates or even a black belt

There’s a great teacher around
Great with a ball or maybe a wrench
There’s a great teacher around
Preparing great meals or building a fence

Like super heroes from distant planets
That come and save the day
Our heroes from the world of academia
Come and lead the way

Just for what you stand for alone
You should be forever bestowed in favor
Facing the most daunting task of taming & guiding the beast called human nature

Ode to those undervalued teachers
Who make education allure & dapple
You are revered by me and many others
With much love and many apples

Paper pen thought
Thought pen paper
Paper thought pen
Pen paper thought
Pen thought paper
Thought paper pen