Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
So you want... to get a degree
Why?
Let me tell you what society will tell you:
Increases your chances of getting a job,
Provides you an opportunity to be successful,
Be a lot less stressful,
Education is the key.

Now let me tell you something your parents will tell you:
Make me proud,
Increases your chances of getting a job,
Provides you an opportunity to be successful,
Your life will be a lot less stressful,
Education is the key.

Now let's look at the statistics,
Steve Jobs - net worth seven billion R.I.P,
Richard Branson - net worth four point two billion,
Oprah Winfrey - two point seven billion,
Mark Zuckerberg, Henry Ford, Steven Spielberg, Bill Gates
Now here comes the Coup de grâce,
Looking at these individuals, what's your conclusion?
Neither of them in being successful,
Ever graduated from a higher learning institution.

Now some of you may be like,
Money is only the medium by which we measure worldly success,
And some of you even have the nerve to say
"I don't do it for the money."
So what you studying for?
To work for a charity?
Need more clarity?

Let's look at the statistics:
Jesus,
Muhammed,
Socrates,
Malcolm X,
Mother Teresa,
Spielberg,
Shakespeare,
Beethoven,
Jesse Owens,
Muhammad Ali,
Sean Carter,
Michael Jeffrey Jordan,
Michael Joseph Jackson.
Were either of these people unsuccessful... or... uneducated?

All I'm saying is that,
If there was a family tree hard work and education would be related,
But school would probably be a distant cousin,
Because if education is the key,
School is the lock,
Because it rarely ever develops your mind to the point where it can perceive red as green and continue to go when someone else said stop.
Because as long as you follow the rules and pass exams your cool,
But are you aware that examiners have a checklist,
And if your answer is something outside the box then the automatic response is a cross,
And then they claim that school expands your horizons and your visions,
Well tell that to Malcolm X who dropped out of school and is world renowned for what he learn in a prison.

Proverbs 17:16
It does a fool no good to spend money on an education,
Why?
Because he has no common sense.
George Bush. Need I say more?
Education is about inspiring one's mind,
Not just filling their head,
And take this from me because I'm an 'Educated' man myself,
Who only came to this realization after countless nights in the library,
With a can of red bull keeping me awake till morning,
Another can in the morning,
Falling asleep between piles of books that probably equates to the same amount I spent on my rent,
Memorize equations, facts and dates,
Write down to the letter,
Half of which I would never remember,
And half of which I would forget straight after the exam,
Before the start of the next semester,
Asking anyone if they had notes for the last lecture.
I often found myself running to class,
Just so I could find a spot on which I could rest my head and just sleep without making a scene,
Ironic because that's the only time I ever spent in university chasing my dreams.
And then after nights with a dead-mind,
I'd den find myself in a queue of half-awake students, zombies,
Waiting to hand in an assignment,
Maybe that's why they call it a deadline.
And then after three years of mental suppression,
And frustration,
My "Proud Mother" didn't even turn up to my graduation.

Now, I'm not saying that school is evil and there's nothing to gain,
All I'm saying is: understand your motives and re-assess your aims,
If you want a job working for someone else then help yourself,
But then that would be a contradiction because you wouldn't really be helping yourself,
You'd be helping somebody else,
There's a saying that is: if you don't build your dreams, someone else will hire you to help build theirs.

Redefine how you view education,
Understand it's true meaning,
Education is not just about regurgitating facts from a book,
Or someone else's opinion on a subject to pass an exam,
Look at it.
Picasso was educated at creating art,
Shakespeare was educated in the art of all that was written
Unknown
Let me tell you what society will tell you:
Increases your chances of getting a job,
Provides you an opportunity to be successful,
Be a lot less stressful,
Education is the key.

Now let me tell you something your parents will tell you:
Make me proud,
Increases your chances of getting a job,
Provides you an opportunity to be successful,
Your life will be a lot less stressful,
Education is the key.

Now let's look at the statistics,
Steve Jobs - net worth seven billion R.I.P,
Richard Branson - net worth four point two billion,
Oprah Winfrey - two point seven billion,
Mark Zuckerberg, Henry Ford, Steven Spielberg, Bill Gates
Now here comes the Coup de grâce,
Looking at these individuals, what's your conclusion?
Neither of them in being successful,
Ever graduated from a higher learning institution.

Now some of you may be like,
Money is only the medium by which we measure worldly success,
And some of you even have the nerve to say
"I don't do it for the money."
So what you studying for?
To work for a charity?
Need more clarity?

Let's look at the statistics:
Jesus,
Muhammed,
Socrates,
Malcolm X,
Mother Teresa,
Spielberg,
Shakespeare,
Beethoven,
Jesse Owens,
Muhammad Ali,
Sean Carter,
Michael Jeffrey Jordan,
Michael Joseph Jackson.
Were either of these people unsuccessful... or... uneducated?

All I'm saying is that,
If there was a family tree hard work and education would be related,
But school would probably be a distant cousin,
Because if education is the key,
School is the lock,
Because it rarely ever develops your mind to the point where it can perceive red as green and continue to go when someone else said stop.
Because as long as you follow the rules and pass exams your cool,
But are you aware that examiners have a checklist,
And if your answer is something outside the box then the automatic response is a cross,
And then they claim that school expands your horizons and your visions,
Well tell that to Malcolm X who dropped out of school and is world renowned for what he learn in a prison.

Proverbs 17:16
It does a fool no good to spend money on an education,
Why?
Because he has no common sense.
George Bush. Need I say more?
Education is about inspiring one's mind,
Not just filling their head,
And take this from me because I'm an 'Educated' man myself,
Who only came to this realization after countless nights in the library,
With a can of red bull keeping me awake till morning,
Another can in the morning,
Falling asleep between piles of books that probably equates to the same amount I spent on my rent,
Memorize equations, facts and dates,
Write down to the letter,
Half of which I would never remember,
And half of which I would forget straight after the exam,
Before the start of the next semester,
Asking anyone if they had notes for the last lecture.
I often found myself running to class,
Just so I could find a spot on which I could rest my head and just sleep without making a scene,
Ironic because that's the only time I ever spent in university chasing my dreams.
And then after nights with a dead-mind,
I'd den find myself in a queue of half-awake students, zombies,
Waiting to hand in an assignment,
Maybe that's why they call it a deadline.
And then after three years of mental suppression,
And frustration,
My "Proud Mother" didn't even turn up to my graduation.

Now, I'm not saying that school is evil and there's nothing to gain,
All I'm saying is: understand your morals and re-assess your aims,
If you want a job working for someone else then help yourself,
But then that would be a contradiction because you wouldn't really be helping yourself,
You'd be helping somebody else,
There's a saying that is: if you don't build your dreams, someone else will hire you to help build theirs.

Redefine how you view education,
Understand it's true meaning,
Education is not just about regurgitating facts from a book,
Or someone else's opinion on a subject to pass an exam,
Look at it.
Picasso was educated at creating art,
Shakespeare was educated in the art of all that was written,
Colonel Harland Sanders was educated in the art of creating Ken Tucky Fried Chicken.

I once saw David Beckham take a free kick,
I watched as the side of his Adidas-sponsored boot hit the patent leather of the ball at an angle,
Which caused it to travel towards the skies as though it was destined for the heavens,
And then as it reached the peek of it's momentum,
As though it changed it's mind,
It switched directions.
I watched as the goalkeeper froze,
As though reciting to himself the laws of physics,
And as though his brain was negotiating with his eyes,
That was indeed witnessing the spectacle that was the leather swan that was swooping towards it,
And then reacted,
Though only a fraction of a millisecond too late,
And before the net of the goal,
Embraced the Fifa-Sponsored ball as though it was the prodigal son returning home,
And the country, that I live in, Erupted into cheers,
I looked at the play and thought,
****,
Looking at David Beckham,
There's more than one way in this world to be,

An educated man.

Peace.
Day of mist: day of tarnish

with hands
unserviceable, I wait
for the milk van

the one-eared cat
laps its gray paw

and the coal fire burns

outside, the little hedge leaves are
become quite yellow
a milk-film blurs
the empty bottles on the windowsill

no glory descends

two water drops poise
on the arched green
stem of my neighbor's rose bush

o bent bow of thorns

the cat unsheathes its claws
the world turns

today
today I will not
disenchant my twelve black-gowned examiners
or bunch my fist
in the wind's sneer.
O make me a mask and a wall to shut from your spies
Of the sharp, enamelled eyes and the spectacled claws
**** and rebellion in the nurseries of my face,
Gag of dumbstruck tree to block from bare enemies
The bayonet tongue in this undefended prayerpiece,
The present mouth, and the sweetly blown trumpet of lies,
Shaped in old armour and oak the countenance of a dunce
To shield the glistening brain and blunt the examiners,
And a tear-stained widower grief drooped from the lashes
To veil belladonna and let the dry eyes perceive
Others betray the lamenting lies of their losses
By the curve of the **** mouth or the laugh up the sleeve.
Tawanda Mulalu Dec 2014
I.

This year I've done nothing remarkable,
because that wasn't on my syllabus.

But,

I did learn how to make conversation
with an empty locker,

because you weren't one of the students
who'd had gone off on Exchange.


  II.

This year I've done nothing worth remembering,
because my timetable had no place for memories.

But,

I did learn how to inject meaning
into moments were there were none,

because you weren't one of the poems
in my last English paper.


  III.

This year I've done nothing for my soul,
because I'm just a candidate number.

But,

I did learn how to learn how my examiners
think. Past papers are the future,

and you aren't one of those questions
that I'll get full marks for again.


  IV.

And this year,

time will pass itself,
killing everything

but my memories,
but my final grades.


V.

And this year,

time will have passed itself,
having killed everything.

Even my memories.
Even my final grades.

VI.

As everything

becomes everything again,
the year next;

with another you,
with another syllabus.
New Year: Old ****.
Oskar Erikson Jun 2016
You require at least three similes.
A metaphor or two.
This section needs more sibilance,
and another allegory on alliteration too.

Creative writing
now a standardized test
where a poet seems
to do slightly poorer than the rest.

You receive a checklist, told
bye and buy the book.
Drain away the colours upon your pencil
or face the examiners sickle and hook.

Creative writing
now a slog a convoluted use and reuse
of that which
"improves"
your descriptions and inscriptions.

You need a conclusion.


something befitting a happy end.
Try anything smart
and a bad grade i'll be "sure to send."
Curt A Rivard Sr Jul 2012
What is real and what is not
All my life I’ve always had dreams
So profound that I find myself stuck.
I pray at night that I be given visions,
I pray at night that I be given answers to life’s mysteries,
And I also pray at night for the path I must follow
Be laid out for me like a blueprint.
In my dreams I can smell, I can taste
I do mathematical problems and the answers are always correct,
I tell the truth and I even lie.
I dream so much that I’m beginning to think
That when you dream that is real life
And when you’re awake you’re really in a dream.
I had a vision once that Stonehenge isn’t a time piece,
It really was doorways for the twelve apostles from the Bible
To meet up at the appointed time
And then to go be with the maker of it all
I had another one before that the asteroid belt
Was just like the game children play in the dirt
Drawing a circle and then trying to knock each other Out of orbit
What I saw it was like two planets smashing like flicking marbles
And the tremendous impact caused all the debris
To be caught in a gravitational pull between Mars and Jupiter.
My visions if written in an earlier time
Could have saved the one who was burned
At the stake and in return would take us all out of the dark ages.
My latest dream last night which caused me to write this was a vision of,
I was in the upper parking lot at the Canadian French Club in my town
And people were gathering all around in a heavy congregation
Next a station wagon pulled up and two medical examiners got out
With jump suits on and patches on their backs saying just that
As they approached the lakes edge I then knew what time it was
And then suddenly a woman with fishing pants on to keep her legs dry
Was caring a man who was blue, cold and clammy
And looked like a large rubber doll in her arms out of the lake
To the shores edge, I then approached and had to have a touch
As the body was dripping with cold water
The lady than took his right hand and began to
Swing his arm fast in my direction flicking water upon my face
And then she said to me, now you have been baptized.
My favorite dreams are the ones where I pre meditate a plan
And then execute it to perfection.

(CARSr. 6-28-12)
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2018
yes, what, an, absurdity...
the apparent otherness to being...
so what is the "other" option?
the apparent "self" (with a missing
adjective affix of -ness)
                 to being?
you know...
   Heidegger writes more about
the universal condition of
being,
    than the particularißation
of beings...
somehow... pluralism of existence
escapes him...
  somehow, but
          somehow: not by chance...
i'm actually wearing a pair of stinking
socks,
i'm starting to surmise a paranoid
presence of a skunk...
but i won't...
because i know that i've been
wearing this pair or socks,
for two days, solid...
    pardon the expression...
                     i self-taught myself
the English language aged 8 / 8+...
and it wasn't even a realisation...
there! there we go again...
  realization...
but what would be more correct?
realißation...
        first lesson, in diacritical
application...
     second lesson...
         there is no lesson...
English is not a universal language,
nor does it, exactly, portray itself
as universally minded...
     it has particular rules,
and particular laws...
        no... English is no
1 + 1 = 2...
  it never was, and it never will be...
now...
                  you, telling me,
that it is, just as well...
is not helpful...
              i want more...
         hmm...
how to put it?
i remember a car drive with
a friend of mine...
and i remember,
distinctly...
how he was scolded for not
remembering the alphabet...
  ****, even i don't remember
the alphabet,
there are too many words
that are required to erode my memory
in order to spell them...
why would i need to memorize
the ******* alphabet?
         education is,
after all,
the prime tool for
memory erosion...
the personal memory...
whatever the **** matters...
   that there's existence
contra that's there-existence -
and such a posit,
is an escapade into a non-pluralism -
given the obnoxious there,
without a posit for "a" here...
given that there is the certain
posit of, existence...
      while "here": isn't even
a being, or beings...
                   and as such:
such an un-entertaining exercise
in the native tongue...
  it could be summarized in even
allowing a man to, blush!
      sorry, i don't speak the native
tongue,
i speak a native tongue that
the natives don't speak...
               not if they're supposed
to be deemed a: nation
of shopkeepers.
                       language requires either
rhyme,
or logical simplicity for the natives
i've encountered,
there is no chance in hell
for there to be a play on words,
or a deviating logic behind
every or any sentence
structures...
        it's madness!
madness!
       they'll bring down
intelligence,
cover it with retardation...
and call in the psychiatric examiners...
as they always do...
        i'm used to it...
do i mind?
      em.... how about extending
my tenure of making criticism
postmortem a 100+ years,
and then we can rekindle
the conversational demands
of said, question?
  what i found though?
the German call life: sein -
or being...
the French call life: existence -
or rather:
out of every and within every
worthwhile inclusion of
an exampled instance,
that culminates in a allocated
revision:
   worthless without
an exclusion of non-examinable
instances,
           i.e. pitiable
the career in dream interpretation...
one of life's grand pardons...
or whatever verbiage there
needs to be included in
crafting a deviating:
  faux pas...
           it's still a question
of... what existence pertains to:
an observation of
being,
                  or an observation
of beings...
                well then...

sein    :        wesen

    contra...

          be present, be located -
hence?                 da -
  i.e. there...

                but... what is "here"?
da               contra          
                                         hier... no?

by "being" there, i can be,
"there"... within the allocated "being"
of beings...
              but i can't be, "there",
by allocating myself
to the being of beings:
while also allocating myself
a being of being...
no?

                   since to allocate myself
a being of beings,
i'd have to subsequently and
simultaneously allocate
myself a, being off, being:
to counter the exampled:
beings,
   name the nullified being,
in the manner off being, of beings.

see how atomißed language
can become?
   see the roots, Germanic in English?
i could have spoken perfect German
if i was only allowed...
but the English education
structure focused on learning
French...
i hated French...
i hate French...
       if i was given an option
to learn German... i would have
probably learned it...
after all...
         English is not a Romance
language... it's an offshoot
of the Germanic tongue...

might i add...
the friends i once had...
began hating me...
after they realißed that my "girlfriend"
went by the name of Sophia...
and that...
   their own girlfriends were
becoming a chore...
   choices are choices!

you can't speak this sort of
language piquancy to a woman,
and expect a reply of replicated jests
of a missing sense of humor...
you can't speak this language
of insolence,
   a language of impracticality,
of, "philosophy"...
because... you just can't!

    not the language of a Gnostic
who drew:

         (H)          (H)
            
                   A

the eyes, above the sigh of
                                enlightenment;

and always, along came the sight of
the (W)eaving lineage of perpetuated
life,
   with the canonical retort
of woman, sarcastic...
                                                    ­   E(h)?!
B Zells Feb 2014
Twelve days without eating, and I’m feeling rather ill;
My failure to come to grips, well, it gave me a great chill.
Throwing Fists and throwing glass within my twisted haze;
Everything before now has been swept away.
So check the seams of your diamond rings
And underneath your rugs-
You may find somebodies blood.

It felt so wrong so dangerous to walk into the streets,
But I was tempted by political jive and jab and confrontation with the police.
Then I found myself stuck between pepper spray and a checkout line at the mall;
Think fast, everyone’s gone mad
This must be stopped or stalled
I’m a rag-tag revolutionary
With a pocket sized copy of Shakespeare’s dictionary;
It’s a good one…

Now truth be told I was all-alone in an alley with Peg-Leg-Pete;
With every step he took he nearly broke my foot, and with his hook pointed back to the street;
There was a greeting from a whaling trumpet, which threatened me like a storm.
In the blink of an eye funnels fell from the sky,
And Pete yells, “You’ve been warned!
You’ve got to keep your head, or end up dead
In a twisted up puddle of muck.
Keep on moving, don’t test your luck.”

The revolution is in full blaze, and the tires are spinning hot;
The examiners are walking all around, examining what they’ve not got.
Through the toxic fumes and burnt out storefronts they tried to take my life:
“Yes, I can give you hat you’d like, but first you’ll have steal a knife.”
And I prayed for strange, as I ducked away
From the rally-men, and their fights
-God help us!

The president of the united world is taking off his clothes,
And showing off his birther rights so everybody knows
Who he is, and where he’s from; they’re searching for a flaw
To Guarantee their living land is one of love and law.
From the screeching tides of TV sets,
To the valley of the ******,
Just people looking for a hand.

I say Yo-**! Yo-**! The pirate’s life for me!
I was feeling low and all alone, so I went looking for Peg-Leg-Pete
To find a job, or gold doubloons, but I just came upon a note
In the back page of a lonely book, it was Peg-Leg-Pete who wrote:
“I’ve seen twisted shores, and rattled doors
But never quite so much sin
What kind of world are you living in?”
There was once a family of three miserly men
Miserably miserly they were, spending money was such pain
So when they had to travel for business to another state
For the three they bought only a half ticket.

The train arrived and they occupied their seats
Forgetting they ought to have at least three tickets
They sat comfortably cut jokes and laughed
Very happy that the cost was reduced two-halved.

Merrily chatting they didn’t notice the man in black coat
Checking the tickets and marking off on his note
They thought there won’t be ticket examiners on that line
With a half ticket they could get away without having to pay a fine.

The alarmed men planned fast they weren’t short of wit
Two of them went below and one remained on the seat
The checker came and when found below the seat two huddled men
Asked the one above ‘for three a half ticket, how you that explain?’

That man of clever think without a wink said ‘I can easily do,
You too know it sir, it comes to half when one is placed above two’!
Yenson Apr 2022
your leader at red square
that of the long table lies and reptile eyes
also has the toxic propaganda and bottled death
at least his madness boasts billions and a super yacht
despite all the mighty fall in contempt and condemnation
a grotesque paranoid joke wafting delusions in an ivory bunker
you crawl about in one of two cheap worn denims you own
the self styled grandmaster funk of street garbage
crypto information tsar of two-bit gang punk
issuing threats from continuous-back *******
if you know about tests please show your degree
our doyen of second rate amidst half-wits men
the bovver boy with the Sinclair computer brain
and eats shredded reputations for breakfast
please come Mr ***** von Thimble
come compensate your shortcomings
leave your screen and join the long table
we dare you to make good your threats
did your leader not say the special operation
will be for just a matter of weeks
your loony gangs have been at it since eighty five
Salmabanu Hatim Dec 2018
Papers handed out,
Breathe in, breathe out,
Your time starts now,
What you reap,you sow.
Tick tick,tick tock,
Full shock,
Mind block,
Last night's hasty studying with friends ****,
Today papers mock.
No options,
Full tension,
Need nerd friends for information,
Examiners at attention.
Be cool, don't stress,
Do your best,
Forget the rest.
Times up,
Pens stop,
Eyes pop,
Many blanks in answer sheet,
Dad's going to have a fit.
Teacher looks at my work,
His eyebrows quirk,
A slight smirk,
Gotcha boy!
Briscoe Aug 2019
Volts of boredom course through me.
Jolts of energy strike like flies
So I click, click, click my pen quickly,
Then meet with eyes which despise my sight.
What compels them to work?
Scattered, shattered tatters faint
Seeing innards inwards were
Grey and drenched in drying paint.
What force keeps them to this course?
Holding my pen and pain of knowing
The examiners offer no remorse
With that cow's eyes narrowing.
I should rise and rally some revolution
But I won't, I'll just click, click, click my pen.

— The End —