#teachers
Keep playing
Ignore what I’m saying
I’m the problem because I’m talking
Every 5 seconds, he’s shushing
“I’m tryna pay attention.”
Liar
My heart's on fire
It hurts
I hate petty people
Go jump out of a window
Mocking what other people say
Make excuses
Like you do every other day
But kindness is key
And you say
“Don’t say mean things.”
But you only ever hear it when it's me
Say he’s “just a teenage boy.”
Like that gives hima free pass to annoy
And god forbid I get ****** off
Because then I’m the one in the wrong
Go jump out a window
**** kindness is key
If you wanna keep messing with me
Feb 27
Feb 27, 2026 at 1:59 PM UTC
“The ants go marching one by one hurrah hurrah”
The cogs in the factory whir
as the morning’s batch of machines are created
and marched down the halls,
each following suit with the last
left foot hits the ground
then right
then left
until each enters its domain
The dark sky illuminates naught but the dimness in their eyes
as students stare at faces lit not by thought,
but by code, reflecting behind a screen
Their eyes are glazed
Their hands tremble and struggle behind keyboards
Their voices reciting words
fed to them by the wires in their veins
“Be original”
their hollow mouths echo
leaking borrowed phrases from a higher entity
“resist the cheating temptation”
as they kneel before AI’s altar
begging for lesson plans
begging for the students’ grades
begging for an excuse to accept paychecks derived from no effort
My teachers are chained down within their classrooms
and every assignment that gets created
and every assignment that gets posted
and every assignment that gets graded
accentuates the clinking and clattering of those chains
reminding the world
that they are enslaved
They scold us
They scold us for reaching for the same machine
the same machine that has captured their very purpose in life
and every time they do,
their shackles tighten
their empty, soulless eyes widen
and the faint hum of the factory grows louder
devouring the silence of thought
My teachers are slaves,
(many having even acknowledged it)
(more having willingly chosen it)
and yet I,
the student
am told that I abuse the system
That I am the risk with technology
That I am the one susceptible to loss of creativity
uniqueness
humanity
That I am the one who is to blame.
hypocrisy.
Oct 2, 2025
Oct 2, 2025 at 1:33 AM UTC
Parents are your first teachers;
But if they were permissive,
Teachers have rules they follow through on.
If parents were too strict,
Teachers cut you slack.
If you fall, they may or may not pick you up.
If you were abused, they will report it,
Despite all your objections.
If you've been excluded, you're now in a class.
If you're really smart, they'll show you how much there is to learn.
If you're struggling, they'll show you how to learn.
If you're afraid, stand beside a teacher.
If you're a bully, you will confront your victims.
If you're in doubt, they'll search you out.
If you're cocky, they'll trim your spurs.
If you're lonely, they have room.
If you need solitude, they have a room.
If you're in love, they know the season;
If you know hate, they know the feeling.
When you compete, they're in the seats.
When you're sad, or conflicted,
Teachers listen.
They taught Moses, Jesus and Mohamed,
Yes. Teachers beget teachers.
They instructed Socrates, Aristotle and Plato.
They put us in North America and on the moon.
They worked with Salk and Banting, Gates and Jobs.
Anyone can learn something.
They even taught our parents,
But not everyone learns.
Hey, Teachers, don't leave those kids alone!
Aug 28, 2025
Aug 28, 2025 at 11:29 AM UTC
They say that the world is held together by the love and passion of very few people.
The people that keep the world from falling
That keep the world from breaking
That prevent the cracks from becoming chasms on the ground
That keep the earth going around
The children ask
Are these people doctors
Or lawyers
Who could possibly handle this task
No, children
You are mistaken
I say
For those are not the protectors of today
I whisper to the children
As they lean closer, unbidden
The very few people who keep the world working
Are the people who keep the world learning
They are the teachers
And professors
And mothers
And fathers
Those are who keep the world turning
The populations learning
They make the doctors into doctors
And the lawyers into lawyers
The world would stop turning
All the fires would stop burning
For if the teachers stopped teaching
The people would stop learning
Mar 15, 2025
Mar 15, 2025 at 8:09 PM UTC
They tell you, write it with emotion.
Write it like it’s a history you’ve seen -
Describe it in burning colors,
Making a tragedy of things unseen.
But then they criticize you, tell you
It’s too graphic - that there’s no way
That was your personal war.
They’d rather look away,
Than acknowledge that it was your everyday.
Jan 6, 2025
Jan 6, 2025 at 2:56 PM UTC
Sweat
Drips down my forehead.
I regret
Joining this race
In the first place
(Though there’d be nothing else to
Do
Instead).
My whole body
Is on fire; I’m wondering what drove me
To run
At the start.
My heart’s
Used to the sprint, but this one
Is unbearably long.
Why does everyone else look so strong?
Others are
Far
Ahead of my pathetic last
Place. This is the time for me
To be
Running fast,
Yet images of past
Failures (no victory
In sight) is all I can see.
I’m tired.
My throttles have been fired.
Continuing this race is just cruel–
I’ve already run out of fuel.
Sep 30, 2024
Sep 30, 2024 at 7:15 AM UTC
Educational
books are given to children --
who are our teachers.
Aug 5, 2023
Aug 5, 2023 at 3:50 AM UTC
In the grand tapestry of teaching, oh what an irony,
Heavy workloads and limited time, a teacher's reality.
The demands of planning and administrative tasks,
Leave little room for professional growth, an ironic mask.
Standardized assessments hold their prominent sway,
Personalized instruction often pushed astray.
In the pursuit of measurable student success,
Oh what an irony, tailored learning becomes less.
Creativity yearns to dance with the curriculum's frame,
But guidelines and standards can stifle its flame.
Balancing innovation and prescribed requirements,
Oh what an irony, creativity often expires.
Assessment-focused teaching takes center stage,
Holistic development may find itself in a cage.
The pressure to achieve desired outcomes so keen,
Oh what an irony, limiting the broader learning scene.
Teachers, pillars of education, yet often unrecognized,
Their impact immense, but acknowledgment minimized.
In the realm of recognition and fair compensation,
Oh what an irony, undervaluing their dedication.
Autonomy, a cherished gift for teachers to possess,
But administrative constraints can hinder their success.
Top-down decisions and rigid schedules in place,
Oh what an irony, limiting their teaching grace.
Work-life balance, a delicate tightrope to tread,
Nurturing students' well-being while their own is spread.
In the pursuit of equilibrium, an ironic juggle,
Teaching others to thrive, their own balance a struggle.
Outcomes become paramount, their value held high,
Yet the process of learning can sometimes pass by.
Prioritizing scores over growth and lifelong skills,
Oh what an irony, neglecting the learning thrills.
In the world of teaching, ironies abound,
Navigating the contradictions, often profound.
But amidst these challenges, educators endure,
Oh what an irony, their passion remains pure.
May 15, 2023
May 15, 2023 at 2:48 AM UTC
Take a minute to think about all the things you've said and all the things you've done.
If you put them all together,
it all adds up to one. One moment.
The moment you realize your mistakes
aren't failures. They're teachers.
Aug 8, 2022
Aug 8, 2022 at 10:33 PM UTC
Schools’, free-ish U.S.
budget cuts GALORE, burnout
Teachers: in terror | are trying
May 26, 2022
May 26, 2022 at 1:58 PM UTC
They wouldn't let me leave the office until I would look them in the eyes
I saw horrible things in their eyes
they wanted me to see horrible things in their eyes
Mar 17, 2022
Mar 17, 2022 at 12:24 AM UTC
To the middle school English teachers
that simplified Shakespearean plays to the last syllable, feeling like the same dagger of odd epiphanies.
The distinct powdery paint stained floors, acrylic smudged tables and the coffee aroma by 09:03.
An art class educated by a poetic tongue, flicking through all art movements like he existed eloquently in each.
Our engineering & graphics teacher who simultaneously mothered us as her own from the isolated section of block D. In the background, a blackboard with meticulously drawn site plans of the highest precision. Her shouts were just as sharp.
To my spontaneous IT teachers that taught me how to maneuver through binary dilemmas and store any distress in random access memory.
Or to the person who found my wallet with my ID and bank cards but had no idea where my cash disappeared to.
The aloof B15 bus driver constantly arriving before the last bell, especially on rainy pastel gray days.
The far too kind Mrs Sharon. I've never met you personally. However, your positive impact on my grandparent's life rolled both from their tongues and into my life.
Thank you.
Dec 30, 2021
Dec 30, 2021 at 1:52 AM UTC
I could not remain still:
Fastidious.
It is unbearable to be Somebody than to be Child in the present day world.
Nov 29, 2021
Nov 29, 2021 at 12:01 PM UTC
One of the audience
she is
Observing,
Listening and Noticing,
what she needs?
Prototype!
Beyond
Only
she needs to read more
to act
Nov 28, 2021
Nov 28, 2021 at 11:04 AM UTC
We stay in the meat grinder
as kids are mostly good
we give our time to causes
that no other buggers would
we shoulder the weight
as our colleagues keep us up
we try to raise a thousand toasts
with nothing in our cup
we don’t do it for league tables
or targets plucked to reach
or for managers who do their jobs
as they do not/cannot teach
we do it as it’s in us
it is simply who we are
and we’ll do it til indifference
goes just one
step
too
far
Oct 1, 2021
Oct 1, 2021 at 12:44 PM UTC
No sooner through the door
than spider-legged anxiety
scurries back haphazard
like a frenemy whose cactus skin hug
begins in September and ends in July
Sep 7, 2021
Sep 7, 2021 at 7:11 AM UTC
Correlation does not imply causation.
Solid, strong, fact.
But when the month long grey veil
that smothered our holiday is hauled back
just as we return,
sun and fat heat to grill us in our ties and blazers,
I’m inclined, for once, to thumb my nose at science:
nature abhors term time
Sep 3, 2021
Sep 3, 2021 at 12:33 PM UTC
Aspiration? A tricky call.
I’m more than willing to give you a leg up,
but I can’t define where you’ll climb,
or I’ll be the *** who assumes
your *** might become an astronaut,
an assassin for hire,
or just gain enough cash to survive,
or be proudly working class,
or to clash with the establishment
and bring them crashing down
your *** might want to work
hard and fast
or be happy to rock up comfortably last
the amount of possibilities are vast
and equally valid and yours
I’ll lend a mind, some thoughts, some words to help
but for each self to realise themselves,
I’ll not assume,
we know what that would make us
Sep 2, 2021
Sep 2, 2021 at 2:33 PM UTC
How’s it going? Honestly?
C’mon, honest like 3 a.m. insomnia?
As the nights’ incremental dimming
draws us inwards,
how are you?
This idiot driven pantomime
of eighteen months
hit as hard as a guilt trip
So if you’re a little scarred,
a little scared,
it’s ok
They say that tomorrow is another day
which it is of course,
but the fear is it’ll send you
off course
But, my dears,
we’re all off course together
and who do I trust to help me
get back to happy paths?
Always, all ways
all of you x
Aug 31, 2021
Aug 31, 2021 at 12:42 PM UTC
I sat with another clip board, another list
welcoming those whose once small faces,
mad dashes, hot tears
and cold contempts
rattled these walls for five years
Some had beards, some hips, brio,
some adult eyes
that took two or three glances to recognise
the child still in
Almost all had smiles
Behind them, trooping colour to the tennis courts,
their summer school scions
began their own gangly rise
ad infinitum
Aug 12, 2021
Aug 12, 2021 at 12:32 PM UTC
Battered bookworms
turning a familiar turn
(always left)
For those that leave:
your threads become part of the tapestry,
a picture writ with deep love, excitement, applause,
dire fears and tiredness,
here be dragons and arrows in eyes
but despite the hamfists
of some intrusive hands,
there to see forever
Jul 17, 2021
Jul 17, 2021 at 1:28 AM UTC
Better than ****** Christmas
this six weeks that we continually justify
that stop our hands breaking,
the dying of hearts and minds
though in the middle
somewhere
when we regain our human form
sometimes storms rage a bit
and we stand, clifftop howling
at an unknown moon
on return we’ll have lost friends, loves,
yet be reborn to care, to teach,
to take the slings and arrows again
from this pauper’s fortune
Jul 15, 2021
Jul 15, 2021 at 4:28 PM UTC
Oh, my tired sisters and brothers
I know.
Each and every step and gesture
has hidden lead weights attached
and everything lifted now hurts
You are allowed the involuntary grunt
or voluntary tear as you stand,
all eyes and ears are itchy with
tired
There is still a smile allowed
as long as we keep an end in sight
Jul 10, 2021
Jul 10, 2021 at 12:18 PM UTC
My word
nothing does love/hate
quite as poetically
as a teacher reaching holiday’s end
intrinsic guilt of ‘not having done’
bound up with seeing our colleagues
loved and hated
again
and those ****** beautiful, ugly
broken-bright
impossible-everyday kids
my words
Jun 5, 2021
Jun 5, 2021 at 12:38 PM UTC