Pen and paper.
Stains of ink.
The trouble I put to finish the incomplete.
Just for it to be discarded and unappreciated.
Words and thoughts, to make you proud.
Dear teacher, please give me a chance now.
Don't be so cruel and look at my efforts.
Blood, sweat and tears.
Though it may not be the best, at least I did it.
Why overlook my pain with cheer?
Why focus on those who did it right and ignore those who put effort?
Or scold those who did not?
Teacher hear me once, I just need thought and appreciation.

I'm sorry...

-Sound Advice



Listen oh reader to my advice I have for you,

You'll find it deeply unsettling but I swear it's true.

Now, I am very sorry, I hate to be that guy,

But real friends dont exist, it's all a big fat lie.

Human nature is so fickle, that's just who they are.

People come and then they go just like a shooting star.

So, do not let yourself get attached to anyone,

Treat everyone as an acquaintance under the sun.

And if you take my advice, your life will be stressfree,

No drama, no sorrow, no abuse, I guarantee.

Ms Anderson, Ms Anderson,
Wherefore art thou my teacher?
Grant my pen a poet's gift
Let me scribble my pencil thin,
Writing, kindling your blossom smile.
You, beautiful as you flip my file
Which has me commit to your homework, while
Sitting at home with a radiant smile.

Ms Anderson, Ms Anderson,
Wherefore art thou my teacher?
'tis true, nobody's perfect -- nobody but you.
Naughty I was and punish you did that's true.
"Write, 'I will listen in class.'" you said demure,
"on each line of those two pages; and stop being immature."
I'd Sit and contemplate, drool and scribble,
"Lovely miss Anderson. My miss Anderson"

Ms Anderson, Ms Anderson,
Wherefore art thou my elder?
Were you younger, by a decade or two,
I grant I'd hop and merrily skip,
With you on the park and  buy you a sweet.
I'd look in your eyes, and call you Anderson.
My dear Anderson.

Lord, give me the heart of a seeker
Give me the love of a teacher
The patience of a caring parent
The wisdom of the aged ones
The energy and joy of the young

Lord, give me the heart of a seeker
Give me the vision of the dreamer
The hope from a heart filled with faith
The peace of a life lived in grace
The satisfaction of knowing you

Lord, give me the heart of a seeker
Give me the zeal of the preacher
The depth and breadth like the ocean
And the delight in my daily devotion
The firmness of a foundation on the rock

Lord, give me the heart of a seeker
Give me the hands of a healer
The power of persistent prayer
The knowledge that you are there
The courage to accept the answer

Lord, give me the heart of a seeker
Give me the faith of the truest believer
The purity of principled passion
The clarity of the chosen calling
The strength and fortitude to ascend

Lord, give me the heart of a seeker
Look with favor upon your creature
For, I still need a savior, a redeemer
The love of your law makes me freer
And as I go, draw me in ever deeper

My tongue's not my own neither the deepest longings
And neither these for pursuit nor grasping but to know
Of promises unknowable in the flesh but will be
For which given only glimpses of their shadows
And to know that before Time and for all times
Not futility as seeming for the Teacher is present
And so too the end's the beginning and vice versa
But to hear the Voice for in the dark the ears see

what is the teacher
perception what is the
student creation

Y'know if ever I was on a TV show
And the guy was gonna introduce me as 'a Poet'
I'd tell him No! **** No!! They'd all switch off... immediately
Or flee to another TV channel...quick!!!
You'd wanna introduce me instead as the person who was definitely 'not a Poet'
Call me a writer or somethin' else
Tell them, this guy he's OK, yea he's alright
Definitely 'not a Poet'.

'Cos I can remember being taught poetry at school as a kid
How it scarred a lot of us
You'd be given a poem to learn off by heart in one single night
And of course you'd never be able to do that
You'd need at least two nights
So you'd be up all night trying to learn the ****** thing
And you'd be thinking to yourself "surely this Poetry it's an Evil thing
Some strange grown up guy's peculiar words
That don't make any sense to me".

And so you'd go off to school the next day dreading it
And then you'd be called upon to recite the thing
You'd stand up and immediately be distracted by everyone's eyes fixed on you
And also by the teacher's withering look
You'd stumble through some of the words, then you'd lose your place, get stuck
You'd flounder about, look lost and panicky... Then you'd lower your eyes...you'd give up.
Then the teacher would humiliate you in front of the whole class.

Yea, Poetry was a ***** word to me as a kid
And to a lot of other kids besides (I bet)
It ought to have been hauled up before a Crimes against humanity Court.

my whole life
everyone tried to annihilate me
my spirit
my goodness
by choosing to laugh at me
to bully me
the girls
my friends in sublte ways
that I couldn't see at the time
the teachers who called me names
who laughed at me,
at what they perceived  to be " stupid questions "
but you couldn't **** my spirit,
for I am still here standing
coming in to my power finally
freer,
my whole life they tried to annihilate
me
my own parents
my own brothers
my cousins
my aunts and uncles
my rabbis
my friends
my exe's
who just used me for my body
without consent
who tried to annihilate my soul from my body
everyone tried
even many of my therapists
who tried to put me away
who tried to drug me
and close off my voice ,
and tried to tell me that I was just crazy
and mentally ill
and messed up
but maybe my voice
and who I am
is so powerful
and that's why they all
tired to make me go away.
But I am still here
and I remember it all.
I am healing
calling  my power back
that has been gone from me
from the time that I was born
and I will not allow myself to be used
or abused
again!

I am here
and you can't annihilate me
anymore.
You can only try to annihilate
the goodness of the world
but it will always prevail
no matter how dark the world
and its people get.