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Francie Lynch Apr 2015
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.
Whittney May 2018
Fighting on the front lines
With red pens
For creativity,
For independent thought,
For common sense
Not Common Core

This is a battle in a bureaucratic war we’re losing
Keep pushing and shoving against an impenetrable wall
But we’re only foot soldiers, not actually giving orders

Kids look down on us and they ask,
“Will this be on the test?”
And say,
“Get out of my face.”

Here’s what I wonder: Why is “mistake” a forbidden word?

Taught by parent(s) to resist.
These are Kids who fail to create
But recite, recall, and retaliate

School is no longer a safe haven
Testing, testing, 1-2-3 hundred murdered students, teachers
Safety off and then off
And
Still off

Hanging by a thread and losing the grip a little more every day

Following the curriculum map to X marks the standardized test.

We dig and
                  Dig and
                                 Dig
For the buried treasure trove of teaching magic. The legitimacy and respect our careers deserve. The money, the time, the love, the support.

But it’s buried under so much testing and red tape, and so    

We fail.
ˏˋDalPalˊˎ Oct 2014
Here's a thanks to my grade school teachers

thanking my first grade teacher
for getting me into writing

thanking my second grade teacher
for letting me write a longer book than anyone else
and teaching me it was alright to be different

thanking my third grade teacher
for being stern with me
and letting me know that not everyone is going speak to you with sugar coated words

thanking my fourth grade teacher
for showing me to share a little bit of yourself with everyone

thanking my fifth grade teachers
for helping me with the first year of middle school when no one else would

thanking my sixth grade teachers
for probably the greatest year of my life and teaching me life lessons I wouldn't have gotten until now

thanking my seventh grade teachers
for teaching me that being funny and creative is nothing to be afraid about and giving feels just as good as receiving

thanking my eighth grade teachers
for making me feel alright about the scary transition coming up and bonding with my classmates even more

thank you for helping me grow up
Just going down memory lane
I.

“You can only fight the way you practice”
― Miyamoto Musashi, A Book of Five Rings: The Classic Guide to Strategy


His lessons started late
As always, and as always
What is thrown is a question
You grip tightly
around your fingers
as one would,
as one always should.

With a branch he beckons:
“Come” he asks,

“if a stick is struck from this angle,
what would your answer be?”


Always, the old man taught
With each strike, each parry,
Each disarm and lock,
Each time my knuckles
Would hurt. This way
he makes it sure
that my body
remembers.

This is always
the first step.
My mind might forget.
But the body
Remembers.


II.

“It is difficult to realize the true Way just through sword-fencing. Know the smallest things and the biggest things, the shallowest things and the deepest things.”
― Miyamoto Musashi, The Book of Five Rings: Miyamoto Musashi


With him, everything starts
The vague quality of nonwords
Taught from pain, simplified
Through science:

the fulcrum and the lever.

Each joint, each turn,
a pattern to comprehend,
all things work in context:

A framework of the undeniable
Fact:


the world is separate
In only these two words:


Taub at Tihaya

The colloquial words for
Face down and face up;
This is a pattern
of the body.

III.

“If you wish to control others you must first control yourself”
― Miyamoto Musashi, A Book of Five Rings: The Classic Guide to Strategy


Tihaya

The lesson starts
When he presses
His thumb forward
to a hand asking for alms
like turning a doorknob
too far to the right.

Taub

when I pull back
four fingers
on a giving hand
too far to what is left.

these are the means
for control.
When I know
How much is necessary
To push or to pull,
To teach or to break.

- 18 October 2017
For my Arnis Teachers: **** Mang Boy of Orabes Henerales; **** Fred Fernandez of Arnis Defense Silat, and Patrick Gamayo, a student of both teachers and combined the two arts.

* Special thanks for Jeffrey Steven Pua for additional poetics
km Nov 2018
gone too soon—
you have lived all your life
making others happy.

now that I think about it
what a selfless person you are
always putting others needs before yours

you believed in me
more than i ever believed in myself
you were the one
who pushed me to reach my full potential

i wouldn't be the person i am today
and still be the shy girl I used to be  
if I didn’t have you in my life

i thank you for everything
you’re in a good place now
and you will surely be missed.
rip //092418
Noor Sep 2013
I see you, not a distant silhouette,  but a man
I'm gasping for air, choking on rage, sparing you, staying my hand

I'm looking into your eyes as you watch my brothers die
For this lesson in War I want to send you a present:
A 7.62 millimeter round at over 2,500 feet a second

I shouldn't, so I won't
But I would if I could
To thank you for teaching me to hate like this
ns carmona Mar 2017
(your knowledge is thrown back
with the force of a punch.)

trial and error --
            error--     error--
you're blown aback by cruelty
in those low-browed rows of eyes.

oh, joy of joys of stepford poise!
internally destroyed, all sincerity devoid:
but hey, tear-free, you taught
those ******* how to rhyme.
who's really the bricks in the wall?
Make it short and simple
I could hear it in my mind
Of written essays and poetry
My soul started to bind
A man who spoke Irish
Who taught me during his time
Of how beautiful a language
That took me by surprise
Although he is of age
He has never failed to teach
He now lives forever
In the mind of his pupils
He gave something for us to keep
Write to express who you truly are*
And never give in to defeat
Forever in memory I thank you teacher Brother Albinus
Here is were it all begins
Now a life time to unfold
A future lies deep within
And stories will be told.

Your road it will be rocky
You will face those stormy seas
There'll be times you will be happy
And times down on your knees.

You will find that life's a journey
You'll get lost along the way
But your not alone there's many
Who get back on track again.

So put on that suit of armour
It's a dangerous world out there
Beware of all the trappings
Their are pitfalls everywhere.  

Don't look back you have a future
And hope is what you need
Your life will be your teacher
And lessons will be learned indeed.

You will find that new horrizon
It is there behind the door
That door will surely widen
And the world it will be yours.
I think you all will agree that life is teacher and we all have
Made mistakes.some of us more than others.
Mohamed Nasir Jul 2018
The teacher's eyes gathered colours about
The cultured garden scene she knew so well;
She likes the section flowers nicely sprout
Her hidden world where varying colours jell.
Achievers pride she takes with all her heart;
Like outstanding pupils she proudly groomed.
But scrappy lazy ones, never seems to start,
She wished them luck and left alone to bloom.
The sun regardless shines on all juniors.
The bright ones, the brats she pitied a lot.
Through years and wise by age she remembers,
Oft visiting her those she had forgot,
Those she loved and cared have whittled away.
But strugglers now trees they weathered to stay.
kellie scranton May 2017
Even when the ink started to run
You helped me find the meaning in the verse
Your cologne smelled like September
And I knew even if we both got lost out there
The sun would still rise and set
I took a lesson from the darkness
I never scorch my tongue on hot coffee anymore
I read the words I used to ignore
Umi Apr 2018
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 ***** 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
Outside Words Oct 2018
I made a deal with Satan
Because you showed me
That he was my only shot

I threw away who I was
And became your enemy
As I smile like your friend

I learned the game
And that I have a gift

I use it to play you
And steal from you

And I’ll continue to do so
With you as my teacher
Until I cough and glare at you
Through my last dying breath

I’m a villain.

I secretly extort and leach
Off of everything and everyone
That you have ever loved
Because that and you
Don’t mean anything to me

I want to deceive
And take advantage
Of you and your friends
So that I can take your money
Because I will not settle
For less than the ivory tower
That you sleep in.
© Outside Words
writerReader May 2015
I once had a teacher
who said she would lie to us every
now and then.
Dead lover Feb 2016
I must admit as well as appreciate,
I have the best father, my good fate.

All along, I had been wrong,
I have been cranky, ****** and ignorant
Yet you were there to make me strong,
And make my incoherent thoughts coherent.

Sorry for my mistake that I did make,
I'll correct it all, For your kindness's sake...
I promise to improve exponentially,
I feel high potentially...
To connect with etiquette,
That I thought you lacked initially..

But you are my dad,
You were meant to win finally
But I promise I would change,
And win this game, eventually
they say there is more to learn than not.
that children are the future.
shaping young minds is
most admirable.
working through ways
for a few hours
makes up for lifetimes without.
the gift of knowledge
makes all the difference.

it is not our place to
tell them how to be.
we can only show them
for a young student who worked through his emotional attachment to a "pet bug" during our recess time.
LexiSully Jan 2018
Perched quietly in the shadows of the night,
Observing completely, using all her might,
Untouched the landscape sat; she breathed a sigh,
She leapt and began to fly

She soared through the trees, dark and murky,
Weaving in and out, the ride a little jerky,
Until she reached the clearing, blooming and sprouting,
Where she landed and began scouting

She spotted a baby, small and alone,
Hungry and confused, wanting to be shown,
Flying over to the area in which it sat,
She pulled some wisdom from her hat

Unmoving and silent, she sat as an example,
Showing her apprentice just a little sample,
Teaching patience and perseverance was first on the list,
She didn’t quit until it got the gist

Next thing she knew, her student was growing,
In no time, it was the one doing all the showing,
She took a step back, gazing proudly at her work,
While the child continued doing all the groundwork

Rays peaked out across the horizon in all hues,
Most of which consisted of reds and blues,
She looked at the child, beckoning it to fly on home,
Although she longed to stay and roam

As the sun rose, slow and bright,
She decided to turn and take off in flight,
Twisting and turning through trees and brush,
She flew on quickly, as if in a rush

She spotted it then, modest and small,
The place she longed to go most of all,
Adventures are fun and she liked to roam,
But there’s definitely no place quite like home.
Lewis Hyden Nov 2018
“Sir,” I ask, and raise my hand,
“Does it need to rhyme?” I chew on
My pencil with the other one.

“Oh no,” he says, “And thank
Goodness for that, else dialogue
Would be a nightmare.”
A poem about a student.
neko Sep 2018
No one's perfect, a truth that's always told
But goal and motivation is his stepping stone
Short term and lifelong sets made him so mold
Now he's infront of the crowd, sharing his story alone

Giving inspiration to maidens and lad
Showing the angle of sociology that life is fair
Life is unfair to him, life is unfair to her so don't be too sad
You're not the only one who has a problem to bare

He also pointed out inequality and discrimination
How it blocks the bridge for other races
How it removes peace and harmony to His creation
And gives them lesson on how to live with other faces

Demonstrating how to nurture the plants
Striking to everyone the beauty of every tree
Realizing that nature is best and independent
It could survive without us humans who's killing it continuously

Encouraging them to go out of the world
Stepping out of the front door of their comfort zone
Letting them know the lenses and view of words
Giving them the experiences that the society can provide like what's in Dale's cone
Galaxy gardener sailing a ship,
through endless horizons it makes a trip.
She/he looks into the inky canvas blend,
then scatters some seeds in the spacial rend.
What does await this brave lovely soul,
when we see the universe's gears roll.

Ionizing radiation penetrates through,
while watering can always holds true.
Space turf gingerly shovelled over seeds,
her/his forehead adorned with water beads.
Nitrogenous nutrients now nuzzled into,
the serene slumbering seedlings to be.

Galaxy gardener greets growing greens,
lively lushscious leaves forward leans.
Wormhole worn star systems she/he fixes up,
as does she/he proudly prune her/his wondrous crop.
Many a plant has grown under her/his care,
yet she/he never feasts on the fruits they bear.
Teacher's Day 2018, dedicated to all the teachers who've guided me thus far.
Mystic Ink Plus Feb 2018
Nursery time
A for Apple,
B for Ball,
C for Cat
We all have learned  this rhyme
Best to be inside the System.
  
Our grand father did it
Father, after following
Taught us, the same
Best to be inside the System
  
Now,
We all realize,
There are thousands of words,
Beside Apple, Ball and Cat
Started from,
The same old
Nursery A, B, C
    
When fruits seller’s child
Remembers A, B
Apple comes with responsibility
Per kg. Rs. 250
Banana comes with responsibility
Per Count Rs. 10
      
I might be wrong,
I asked him, for the latest updates
  
With professional voice,
He replied,
“Price changes with supply and demand.”
    
What they don’t teach in the school
What matters in the real world.
Real life education, a need.
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!
Hossein Mohammadzade
Lauren M Sep 2018
Faintly, faintly, I’m beginning to hear you.
“Teacher” is what I call you, and what you are to me.
“Teach me.” No matter where I may be
my identity will apparently always be
“The Student” and I, like an actor given a role,
play it.

Quietly, a pair of eyes gaze sponge-like
at your catalogue of lessons,
trying to erase the body —
— which is too loud, too needy,
too everything —
and try not to let you be drowned out
by my dreams, my ideas, my expectations.
What are you saying now?

Something about… my own powerlessness?
Not the throngs of swans and the songs of the dawn?
Instead, prolonged wrongs and the dawning sense
that I don’t belong here?

No! No, that can’t be the lesson.
I am too natural, too sky-edged.
I’m too much the daughter of moss,
too akin to the hanging lichen that drapes ghost-like off the trees
and too free, heart up against the sea.
In short, too me.

But this means nothing to you.
I have to go quiet again, stop filling in the blanks
with words and more words. Recalling my role,
I listen for a lesson.

(And this is the first lesson I learn:
“Be Quiet And Listen”)
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