"teacher" poems
Once on a yellow piece of paper with green lines
he wrote a poem
and he called it "chops"
because that was the name of his dog
and thats what it was all about
his teacher gave him an A
and a gold star
and his mother hung it on the kitchen door
and read it to his aunts.
that was the year Father Tracy
took all the kids to the zoo
and he let them sing on the bus
and his little sister was born
with tiny nails and no hair
and his mother and father kissed a lot
and the girl around the corner sent him a
Valentine signed with a row of X's
and he had to ask his father what the X's meant
and his father always tucked him in bed at night
and was always there to do it
once on a piece of white paper with blue lines
he wrote a poem
he called it "Autumn"
because that was the name of the season
and that's what it was all about
and his teacher gave him an A
and asked him to write more clearly
and his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
because of the new paint
and the kids told him
that Father Tracy smoked cigars
and left butts on the pews
and sometime they would burn holes
that was the year his sister got glasses
with thick lenses and black frames
and the girl around the corner laughed
when he asked her to go see santaclaus
and the kids told him why
his mother and father kissed a lot
and his father never tucked him in bed at night
and his father got mad
when he cried for him to do it
once on a paper torn from his notebook
he wrote a poem
and he called it "Innocence: A Question"
because that was the question about his girl
and thats what it was all about
and his professor gave him an A
and a strange steady look
and his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
because he never showed her
that was the year Father Tracy died
and he forgot how the end
of the Apostles's Creed went
and he caught his sister
making out on the back porch
and his mother and father never kissed
or even talked
and the girl around the corner
wore too much make up
that made him cough when he kissed her
but he kissed her anyway
because it was the thing to do
and at 3 am he tucked himself into bed
his father snoring soundly
that's why on the back of a brown paper bag
he tried another poem
and he called it "Absolutely Nothing"
because that's what it was really all about
and he gave himself an A
and a slash on each ****** wrist
and he hung it on the bathroom door
because this time he didn't think
he could reach the kitchen----
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 9:35 PM UTC
Basketball stands for war or battle.
That's why I think about the players'
personalities, in my foxhole or squad.
Danny and Ben are fast and smart. Dan
especially can pass making him master
and commander. To defeat them as we did
is pst satisfying. Ben's five year old son
disdains to answer my question
Why are you you?
But I'm not here
to catalogue the men's personalities.
I like them. But each of us has moved on
many times, when ___________ suddenly died
the games went on with hardly a mention
and his name has since been forgotten.
But even this, absolute mortality
of not just our bodies but our names
and souls is not what I came
to talk about. Yesterday, between games,
I asked Joe how Molly his daughter likes
the high school. He mounted an impassioned
defense of reading as the indispensable skill
when I suggested math, the scientific method
and history are essential too.
Also between games
Bob diffidently asked why my kids are bald.
I was moved by the care he took to satisfy
his curiosity, concerned the subject might be
difficult. He's a political science teacher so
I took the opportunity to ask What ails
the republic? Of course I answered myself
wanting mostly to hear myself talk about Iraq
and how empire is self-correcting. For once I was amusing
I thought, treating the subject with a light touch
heretofore lacking.
But none of this is what I came to say.
A new guy, long quick and strong, a
bulldozer under the boards with a good
outside shot if needed got into a dispute
with the other Bob who likes to tell people
what to do sometimes, about an offensive
foul Bob called which we almost never do.
The new guy said If you can't take it don't
play under the boards which is what I say
when I'm ****** and don't give a ****
Bob said You've been pushing and shoving me
all day. I said He doesn't want to be
pushed and shoved which got a wry
smile out of Danny as I put the ball in play.
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 8:59 AM UTC
Giving joy, getting joy, never coy,
Often pretty, always called a toy,
She sells all that there is to deploy.
And there is she who is demure;
A teacher whose job is secure.
Some say that all teachers are pure.
And there is he who is a professor;
He is his father’s successor;
Just like his father’s predecessor.
The first one we call a *****
She prostitutes her body more and more;
But the other ones we adore.
The professor prostitutes his knowledge.
He also sells his precious time.
And the teacher too makes the same pledge;
Especially while she is in her prime.
We all ********** something every day;
Yet only the first one’s a ********** yay!
Aug 1, 2016
Aug 1, 2016 at 4:23 AM UTC
What is the difference,
Asked the educator,
*Between being skillful,
Such as a **********
And being educated,
Such as a teacher?*
Well, replied a prostitue,
*One educates skillfully,
The other skillfully educates.*
Which is which?
The educator responded.
Depends, said the **********
On the pay and benefits.
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 11:39 AM UTC
I Don't Average Out
I remember crying during lunch my senior year —
my math teacher's eyebrows colliding,
one plane folding into a fractal.
He had sat there, nearly four years,
watching me struggle through an unreal number of numbers —
literally and figuratively —
while again and again the test scores whispered:
You
are less
than average.
But behind the eyes of a determined man
my insecurities never won.
He refused to believe the numbers.
He was searching for some unspoken meaning —
and so was I.
I almost found it the day of graduation.
I almost found it between his eyebrows,
creased like a point of pride —
because I was the first of my family
to hold something as light as a diploma
instead of a heavy head,
nodding under the weight of ******
The first to feel like a feather
instead of a six-pack,
a bad back,
the slow grind of manual labor.
I was flying.
Then college tried to land me.
Again I let an institution measure me.
Test scores trying to tell me what I was worth —
intelligence reduced to something
too narrow to understand its own diversity.
Less than average, they said.
But I wasn't below the line —
I was just outside it.
An individual
above their point of comparison.
I could read a room like a text.
I could build connection out of nothing.
I could debate, move, make people feel something.
Gold doesn't average out either.
So I learned —
it wasn't the diploma I should have chased.
Not the thing I'd wave at my little brothers and sisters
to show them how to live better,
burn brighter,
burn longer.
Here I am.
Red-faced and unafraid.
Spoken word was always there —
hiding between the creases of my teacher's brow,
folded into the question I didn't know I was asking.
The answer was never in his book.
It was in his look.
In his refusal to quit on me.
I could have found it sooner
if I'd known what I was searching for.
I
am
not
stupid.
I haven't failed by choosing something
the institution doesn't recognize.
I am not defined by a score,
a line,
a rule,
a rhyme.
I don't average out —
and that is not a weakness.
Power isn't in a piece of paper.
Power is in your words.
In your chosen behavior.
In the silence you finally break.
The answer was never in his textbook —
it was in his persistence.
In the way he looked at me
like the numbers were wrong.
He just didn't have the words to say it.
But I do.
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 2:16 PM UTC
They didn't know what Diversity was...
The kids, that is.
Since the kids didn't know it,
the teacher coined it as "“black” visibility".
She wasn't sure if she could make that call
so she nodded her head, looking for approval.
The interviewer asked in what direction did the teacher see Diversity
As if Diversity was a one-way street.
Let me just refresh your memory...
"“black” visibility"
As if decades of progress in the schools were undone,
The kids voted on Performances and Projects for “black” History Month.
How shocking!... Kids of every shape, size, ability and race studying a time in history...
Sounds racist to me.
They wanted a Gospel Choir that is clearly only for “black” students
Because I'm the student Director for the Fordham University's Rhythm of Praise Gospel Chior for the fourth year running...
Maybe I'm missing something...
MAYBE I'm “black”... Maybe if I close my eyes really tight...
Nope, I'm still “white”.
Olive brown perhaps?
Only in the summer.
Anyway, I digress like Sophia Patrilo from the Goldren Girls
Who was Italian by the way.
Just advertising for Diversity.
Let's debate about "Music Debates" for a moment.
Maybe you call it Debates because Hip Hop is debatable, and by the way only for “black” students.
When I could argue for days upon days
About how Reggaeton didn't come from Salsa
but I know **** well that Salsa came first.
The kids wanted to Stomp the Yard and battle it out.
I do believe rap battles take place around the world
And one of the best rappers I know is an English teacher in Harlem
Whose hair is redder than a leprechaun.
Talent Shows that showcase every student's ability
Whether it be singing, dancing, performing their poetry,
But still apparently that's not Diversity.
Neither is an International Day
Where International ways are celebrated.
And finally, a Diversity Day,
That clearly means diversity is separated.
"They wanted a lot of things"
Yeah. They asked for a whole lot... of everything BUT diversity.
That's right, because they don't know what it means
The Kids, that is...
Then tell me please:
Define Diversity.
Is it seeing a “black” horse with “white” stripes
Or a “white” horse with “black” stripes?
Why is it between “black” and “white”?
Why not between “white”, “black” brown, yellow, orange, brick red...
Let's get it out of our head
That teachers can't learn anything from their students,
Because it sounds to me,
Like they had a pretty good start to the meaning of Diversity.
And if it turns out they didn't,
That's what teachers are there for:
Make a **** lesson about it.
Sep 26, 2011
Sep 26, 2011 at 2:16 PM UTC
Ilion gray
poet extraordinary
is away
learning the codes hidden in raindrops
no reason for surprise;
for the mountains of Brooklyn, the Manhattan caverns of Sunhenge^, corridors of narrow focus for trapping the declining sun rays,
neither high enough, narrow blinding,
to keep a good man from doing good things that life provides as opportunities
to do the right thing
he muses that it took five years for the other poets to understand our
poem-dreams;
avant-garde he says,
but I laugh,
never felt more misunderstood
and reply take care, be
en garde!
no matter for he is learning a new language,
the codes hidden in raindrops in a land of wheat
once called Indian Territory and eager
await his return so we may
walk along the Brooklyn shoreline,
beginning from under the Brooklyn Bridge
where Washington’s men escaped a British trap
and he can decode for me the whispery thunderous noises of
NY
showers that come up so sudden, so roughened, but right now,
the seductive sun blinks in Manhattan windowed towers reflecting back on to our East River as golden blinks of nature
We will walk lost in the absorption of our
different commonalities, holding the hands of
his young son, and my Wendy,
both of them equal in possession of round saucer eyes
that give us poems
He calls me me friend,
I call him brother, teacher, master, better than the best,
well recalling a late night message that bred
a five year conversation ongoing
not everything need be coded
what you read here
it is not coded,
for the raindrops come clear and clean
and the poems land on our tongues
bounce on the foreheads and eyes of the babes, all stored and saved for the future blessings spoken in a single tongue
7/18/18
^https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Manhattanhenge
Jul 18, 2018
Jul 18, 2018 at 10:41 PM UTC
by definition,
lust is
extreme ****** desire for someone
by nature,
lust is
uncontrollable...
I'm attracted to my thirty-seven year old male teacher
and my eighteen year old male coworker
and the quirky girl who sits behind me in history,
what?
by religion,
lust is
a sin, punishable by Hell,
whatever that is.
lust is unavoidable,
but socially unacceptable to act upon.
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 12:25 AM UTC
wants to be my friend, for I am poet-woman nineteen.
she is sweet but sad. super sad.
a good poet who wants to guide me.
but there/theirs is the odor, not faint, of wants wanting,
the pus of corruption behind the curtains,
the Wizard-ess of Oz's
special blackout curtains.
seen how easy, how her illusions,
my medium rare rejections,
morph into her delusions,
and her delusions devolve into
her conspiracy theories.
"SHE will be my mentor, poetess lover, teacher for no charge!"
my parents thinks it's great, she wants (to be) skin in my game.
my parents will find this poem accidentally, exactly,
how I do not want
to be skinned alive.
for I am poet-woman nineteen and still! now, long past
the point of being fooled, the point of no return.
and see no point,
have no intention,
of returning to either valley
***no more con the my mind into letting my body
be-fused.^***
that ain't me babe.
Jul 17, 2018
Jul 17, 2018 at 2:54 PM UTC
See loudness but be silented
hearing things not needed
pencils and pens scribbling
teacher constant speaking
smell of freshness
yet sight of trashness
Feb 7, 2013
Feb 7, 2013 at 3:40 PM UTC
When I grow up, I want to be a dentist
Astronaut or mage apprentice.
I want to be a dancer, an artist, a king.
I'm hoping to stand on a stage and sing.
When I grow up, I want to be a lawyer,
Or have lead role in the play Tom Sawyer.
I'll be a comedian, and make people laugh!
Or the CEO with a thousand staff.
I'll be a waitress, a teacher, a vet.
Snow White's eighth dwarf that no one has met!
I might be a chef, or a scientist.
How about architect or alchemist?
When I grow up, I'll be a song writer
Or maybe your friendly, next-door firefighter.
I'll be a technician or pharmacy worker,
A fashion designer or New York stock broker.
I'm gonna be everything, just you wait and see!
But I think in the end I'm just gonna be me.
May 22, 2012
May 22, 2012 at 10:53 AM UTC
Oh my it is great...
to have this headache...
after trying
to understand
what numbers are real and fake
I don't see
how this will help me
through my course of
life
Will I ever be
trying to see
what the angle of a chair is again?
or will I ever need to use
how to find a hypotenuse?
I've thought and thought
for a very long time
and came up with a list
of jobs that would ever
need algebra
Math teacher
Crazy Math obsessor
Architect
Carpenter
scientist (on occasion)
contractor
Someone who builds triangles
kite maker
someone who makes graphs
salesman/women
Too bad that isn't any of the jobs I ever want...
Algebra...
oh how my head burns
and I'm sorry if you like it
I don't mean to offend
but Algebra just aint my jam
I'd rather be painting
or writing
or singing
I'd rather be strumming(my guitar)
be sleeping
or eating
I'd rather
go play soccer
or basketball
or ski
Really I'd just rather be free
free of the confusion
I feel after class
of the helplessness
that I have
towards math
Oh how am I going to survive???
PS. I still have to live through geometry (I **** at shapes)
pre calculous (I don't even know what that is) and calculous (Ugh ***
I hope you enjoyed my "radical" poem!
Jan 19, 2011
Jan 19, 2011 at 4:54 PM UTC
A drawing of a superhero
Done by a fourth grader
Who’s father died in a fire.
He’s standing ten feet tall
With the wind blowing in his hair,
He’s got so many friends
And feels no despair.
All the happy people
They say they love him
And there’s nothing he can do
But just keep going.
But teacher asks a question
And he doesn’t know,
So all the children laugh
At the broken Superhero
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 12:20 PM UTC
Heard a beeping sound
Followed by A very old Frank Sinatra’s song
My classmates’ heads turned
Who’s phone? who’s phone?
Less chaotic when the teacher glared
Everybody put their heads down
And checked their sophisticated mobile phones
Once again...
When the teacher wasn’t looking..
Mobile phones roamed in a dull classroom
Updating facebook status,
Uploading candid photos of a snoring friend
Copy pasting assignment
Text messaging and gossiping about their stern looking teacher
In the name of advanced technology
Mobile smartphones create the impossibles...
Beyond the blackboard and the four walls of the classroom
O o Frank Sinatra’s song again...
And everybody started looking...
The teacher grabbed her mobile phone
Tried to switch it off....
When students could own smartphones..
Who needs NOKIA from the old time zone....?
~ Sharina~
Jun 13, 2013
Jun 13, 2013 at 4:26 AM UTC
The gentle tone of her teaching,
In wonderous melodies, orchestral knowledge from a sweet teacher,
Education set by the awareness of harmonizing, delicate instruments,
Wisdom and foresight, cast by no other judgement but of a conductor,
Whomst hand leads to the ups and downs of the intensity, recognised
Ensembling in the beauty of a sinfonietta, sounds flows uninterrupted
Let the singing pendulum to your mistress's pleasure fall to the bottom, attached to the chipped illusionists mask of anticipation!
To this dance the mascarade does not crack in the shadow of sound,
A wise scholar would not sacrifice one topic relevant to learn to the passing time, to her students unfortune that is, cast in pure grief,
A wise conductor does the same with musical notes, the story flows,
With the moon high in the sky, time stands in her way, questioning her to dance with the devil amongst a distorted, whicked dark,
But resillient to the end, tough and with no distraction taking her focus the director of this event finishes the creation of art, an orchestra
A craftwoman of tempo and elegance always stands out after all, bringing the musical score to life.
~ Umi
Apr 4, 2018
Apr 4, 2018 at 6:28 PM UTC
Happiness
I wake up fresh and happy as can be
Monday mornings are just simply nothing for me,
A new day has been given to me
Oh for what this day has in store for me I just can't wait and see,
Class starts with the teacher telling a joke
Recess and gotta sip on some of that coke
At the math class the quiz was postponed
At lunch my crush sat with me and I'm feeling like I'm ******
Just got home and mom bought some pizza
And how i enjoyed grobbin' down on that meat
Pepperoni, ham and bacon now that's just neat
Oh how today was a good day
Endin' everything at night
Just chillin on my bed not a ****** in sight
Oh how today was cute like some pup
But it was all ruined when I heard wake up!!!
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 5:07 AM UTC
Tomorrows Exam is Mathematics
loaded my head with unknown tricks
Doodling with numbers
Yes, teacher calls us dumbers
Too much problems, yet very lil, solutions
The long mountains of graphs
The Greek symbols alpha, beta omega
equations and formulas
Find height, depth use trigonometry
My answer a picture of a tree
infinite zeros in red
Sets, Relations, Geometry,
variables and algebra and Lines,
Its like stepping into a field of mines
All time me wondering why
reciprocal of zero undefined?
much of the time
In exam, I stay
undefined!
Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 11:14 AM UTC
*Once on a yellow piece of paper with green lines
he wrote a poem
And he called it 'Chops'
because that was the name of his dog
And that's what it was all about
And his teacher gave him an A
and a gold star
And his mother hung it on the kitchen door
and read it to his aunts
That was the year Father Tracy
took all the kids to the zoo
And he let them sing on the bus
And his little sister was born
with tiny toenails and no hair
And his mother and father kissed alot
And the girl around the corner sent him a
Valentine signed with a row of X's
and he had to ask his father what the X's meant
And his father always tucked him in bed at night
And was always there to do it
Once on a piece of white paper with blue lines
he wrote a poem
And he called it 'Autumn'
because that was the name of the season
And that's what it was all about
And his teacher gave him an A
and asked him to write more clearly
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
because of its new paint
And the kids told him
that Father Tracy smoked cigars
And left butts on the pews
And sometimes they would burn holes
That was the year his sister got glasses
with thick lenses and black frames
And the girl around the corner laughed
when he asked her to go see Santa Claus
And the kids told him why
his mother and father kissed alot
And his father never tucked him in bed at night
And his father got mad
when he cried for him to do it.
Once on a paper torn from his notebook
he wrote a poem
And he called it 'Innocence: A Question'
because that was the question about his girl
And that's what it was all about
And his professor gave him an A
and a strange steady look
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
because he never showed her
That was the year Father Tracy died
And he forgot how the end
of the Apostle's Creed went
And he caught his sister
making out on the back porch
And his mother and father never kissed
or even talked
And the girl around the corner
wore too much makeup
That made him cough when he kissed her
but he kissed her anyway
because that was the thing to do
And at 3am he tucked himself into bed
his father snoring soundly.
That's why on the back of a brown paper bag
he tried another poem
And he called it 'Absolutely Nothing'
Because that's what it was really all about
And he gave himself an A
and a slash on each ****** wrist
And he hung it on the bathroom door
because this time he didn't think
he could reach the kitchen*
Jan 11, 2013
Jan 11, 2013 at 2:04 PM UTC
Napapagod na akong tumingin sa Facebook ko.
Sa dingding ng mga masasayang larawan ng mga kaibigan, katrabaho
Sa dingding ng mga opinyon na nagdudulot ng masalimuot na pagtatalo
Sa dingding ng mga tagumpay na nakamit mo sa pagsusumikap mo
Sa dingding ng mga narating **** lugar na sobra na ang layo
Sa dingding ng mga video ng pagbigkas mo ng tula sa harap ng maraming tao
Sa dingding ng mga sandaling iginapos mo para ipamukha sa akin na ang buhay ko ay pagkabaho.
Salamat sa mga larawan ng masasayang sandali kasama ng iyong kabiyak
ng inyong matamis na pagmamahalan, na sa sobrang tuwa gusto mo nang umiyak
Nang matuloy kayo sa simbahan, oo na, marami na ang nagagalak
Eto na ang puso ko, wag ka nang mahiya, tuhugin mo na ng itak.
Salamat sa mga opinyon mo tungkol sa paborito **** kandidato
Wala ka na atang ibang ginawa kung hindi halughugin ang Internet para sa bawat artikulo
Para isulat sa dingding mo kadikit ng mga opinyon **** walang humihingi, kahit na sino
Para kang teacher ko na may dalang nutri-bun na isinasaksak pilit sa akin kahit sukang-suka na ako.
Salamat sa mga salita ng pasasalamat na binibigkas mo
kung gaano kadaming biyaya ang ipinagkaloob ng Bathala sa iyo
Sa bawat tagumpay na nakamtan mo sa napili **** trabaho
Naitatanim ko tuloy sa aking isip, kung bakit ang layo mo gayong sabay lang tayo?
Pasensya na, malamang sa inyo ay may natatamaan ako
Wala akong planong durugin ang kahit na anong ugnayan ko sa inyo
Gusto ko lang banlawan, langgasin ang nalalasong utak at puso ko
na pinapatay ng Facebook sa tuwing titignan ko ang mga dingding ninyo.
Kung gaanong ipinararamdam sa akin na sa paninindigan ako ay wala
Na hindi ko kaya maglahad ng opinyon kasi walang papansin, walang maniniwala
Dahil maraming beses na akong naging tapat noong ako ay nasa highschool pa
Wala akong naging kaibigan. Narinig mo? Wala akong kwenta.
Kung gaanong ipinararamdam sa akin na hindi na ako makakarating kahit saan pa.
Kasi pinili kong manatili, kahit mainit, kumpara sa ibang bansa
Dahil nanuot sa aking dila na hindi ko kayang makipag-usap sa kahit na sinong banyaga
Kasi palpak ang Ingles ko. Narinig mo? Wala akong kwenta.
Kung gaanong ipinararamdam sa akin na mamamatay akong mag-isa
Na hindi ako magkakaroon ng pagkakataong lumigaya
Dahil sa pinalagpas kong sandali, ay hindi na mauulit pa
Dahil wala akong kwentang lalaki. Narinig mo? Wala akong kwenta.
Sobrang baba na ng pagtingin ko sa sarili ko.
Ang tanikalang gamit sana para makipagugnayan sa mga kakilala ay tila naging isang angkla na humihila sa mga paa ko
pailalim sa karagatang puno ng mga pusong natalo
Nabigo sa pag-ibig, sa buhay, at sa kahit na ano.
Kaya lalayo na ako sa mga dingding ninyo.
Hindi na ako papayag na manatiling tumatanggap na lang ng kahit na anong ipapaskil mo.
Tatakas ako sa mga rehas na nilikha ng mga masasaya ninyong minuto
Magtatayo ako ng sarili kong dingding. Bubuuin ko ang aking pagkatao mula sa pagkakapira-piraso.
May 24, 2016
May 24, 2016 at 8:55 PM UTC
TO: icarus
i don’t feel anything when i look at you anymore
TO: icarus
but, sometimes, i miss your freckles like crazy
TO: icarus
okay so maybe i lied
TO: icarus
i keep trying not to
i keep failing
TO: icarus
but i guess it’s just that
you are like no one i’ve met
TO: icarus
and it’s dumb to call you my first love
when you didn’t even love me back,
but… man, you were my first love
TO: icarus
i love(d) you so bad.
TO: icarus
and if i see you on the sidewalk,
i cross the street because i’m so afraid of brushing by you
and falling all over again
TO: icarus
i don’t think i’d be strong to crawl back out this time
TO: icarus
how dumb i was to think i’d be enough for icarus
TO: icarus
i loved icarus and he dragged me into the sun with him
TO: icarus
i loved icarus and he let me drown in the ocean,
grasping for the feathers of his wings
TO: icarus
you made me want to understand gods,
but i only knew about monsters
TO: icarus
god, you didn’t deserve the immortality
that i gave you
TO: icarus
you didn't deserve a single thing
TO: icarus
so if i’m ever the kind of poet they write biographies about
and whose work high schoolers are forced to analyze,
some underpaid english teacher
is going to have to talk about you
as the mysterious and slightly vilified figure
prevalent in my work
TO: icarus
you're in between every line
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 10:01 PM UTC
Oh, they a strange brew.
Almost like a union crew.
One minute disagreeing.
Then the next tight as can be.
In house fighting that makes you question their love.
Just to see them turn around and show it.
Siblings, only they can explain it.
Getting to the truth is hard as can be.
Unless you have a young one.
Who will tell on everyone?
Siblings, only they understand that connection.
Parents know their bond.
That if attacked by others.
They gather together to bare arms.
And it's not with any guns.
The world of a child is simply hard to explain.
The way they wants to go outside and play in the rain.
And avoid coats in the snow.
And when questioned about , how things got broken?
Then between them nobody really know.
Siblings, we all been there before.
Unless you're the only child.
Then you just don't know.
This love bond stays between some as they simply begins to grow older.
Their motto , somethings parents don't need to know.
Unless it's something vital.
Then the protection goes out the door.
Yes, there'll be fights.
And lectures from parents.
There's be wearing of clothes that belonged to others.
Who hadn't had the chance to wear them before?
And give you the option of taking them off freely.
Before they assist you to the floor.
Yes, siblings.
They hard to explain.
Counselors advice isn't asked or requested for.
Not by parents that know about these things.
Books wasn't going to be their teacher.
Because books didn't raise them in anyway.
That this new generational thing.
Where judges and courts thinks social workers needs to be involved?
The best instructions is in the book about the teaching of God.
Where we see the same conflicts?
Siblings, there's no one better to have than a sister or brother.
Who had a mother or father to witness it all?
Dec 1, 2013
Dec 1, 2013 at 9:47 AM UTC
In the chair he played,
His muscles burned with his pain.
It was always constant,
The needless burning of his nerves.
Fingers curled he played,
There was enjoyment in the music.
It erased the pain and the sadness ,
The that the many scars of his nerves gave him.
Then he was gone
17 and gone in the last beat of the hearts
we cried happy birthday
But he wasn't the only one
What of the one teacher?
You helped him play through the pain,
While you yourself suffered,
How soon were you torn from us too?
Its all to soon.
You know their will be a final symphony,
they wont let you go without the notes.
draped on your shoulders like wings,
Angels of the band.
You both were pillars of strength,
And we all remember and sing and play.
For the good don't just die young,
They are set free of their suffering.
And we love you,
Let the symphony play.
I will cry for the man i barley knew,
For he helped the one I loved.
Feb 9, 2012
Feb 9, 2012 at 11:20 PM UTC
It’s interesting how the
Shyer crowds manage
To communicate with each other
A silent eye conversation
Of pure flirtation
All the extroverts oblivious
A trail of fingers across warm skin
The teacher snaps at a popular pair playing footsie
And the two continue their game
The sneaky ********
Were never suspected, until!
One turned up with a love bruise
Gasp!
Oct 17, 2011
Oct 17, 2011 at 9:42 PM UTC
"As the temperature drops down, the molecules get closer till they form a solid shape."
And that's how our chemistry teacher defined 'love' on a snowy day.
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 3:43 AM UTC