Dear Teacher

Dear Smile Fingers,
I sleep in my bed with Blankie and not in the car turned around so I couldn’t see you until Milk Hands took me out and said hi and buh-bye and you leaned in and said I’ve gotten fat and you don’t know where my brother is oh no you don’t and bed is good but the car is gooder.

—–

Dear Mrs. Smith,
Mom made me pull out all my school clothes, she put them in a box. She said [in a Mom voice] “We aren’t going to use these, so we may as well pack them up.” Then she made me put away the stuff from my desk we got from you. You remember when we went to your house and threw candy at you? [laughs] I don’t know where to put my folders so I put them under the bed but don’t tell Mom. I miss when you read to us but not when you made me put my book away.

—–

Dear Teacher,
I only know a little about you; from the e-mails you send, the Zoom meetings I overhear, and the morning videos you share every day. I spoke to you forever ago, at carpool pickup after school, but never appreciated what you did before that time.
Most days, I can’t get my son to get off the floor if he’s determined to melt there. Yet, every day; you taught him, motivated him, got him to work, and loved him. Your stinkeye is legendary.
As I tucked my baby into bed, I remembered how you smiled and talked to him at pickup. As we folded the school clothes and sorted the school folders, I remembered the school conferences and class parties you held. You were surrounded by noise and chaos but thrived and guided so all those children also thrived.
You’re amazing -I thought you should know.
I’m not sure what to tell you, as normal keeps getting put off till later, except for, “Thank you.” Thank you for the magic you performed for every person for every day. I know you’ll get to do it again; will you stick around till the baby’s old enough?
Anyway, thank you. And sorry about the candy-throwing.

 

Written for the teachers.

©2020 Chelsea Owens

WINNER of the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest

So sorry for the delay in this announcement. The judge had a busy day and a headache-d night.

At long last you may know that the winner is:

Woe is everyone

by Deb Whittam

Long have the halls been silent,
The chairs empty, the locker doors thrown open.
Long have the weeds grown,
Unchecked, through the days of winter, cold and dull.
Long has the toilets been clean,
The stains and smears of adolescence finally washed away.
Peace has reigned.
As the bell sounds for the first time,
The rodents, the cleaners, the teachers,
Grimace their despair.
School’s back.
So sad.

—–

Congratulations, Deb! You are the most terrible poet of the week!

Many poets’ works made me grimace today, but Deb’s stood out. She made me believe I was reading a serious poem, then artfully threw the meter off course whilst adding elements like rodents and “smears of adolescence” in there.

But the terrible poetry doesn’t stop there! Read the others, if you are able:

Untitled piece

by Trent McDonald

Teacher, teacher,
Be aware
I just dropped my pencil
Under there
Ha!
I made the teacher
Say “Underwear”!
Principle, Principle
Don’t be blue
I know I took advantage
Of the teacher who’s new
Darn!
He sent my butt home
For my mother to chew
Mother, Mother
Don’t be mad
Only nine months to summer
Then we’ll be glad
Huh!
What’s she mean
It won’t be the worst nine months
She ever had….

—–

SIDDOWN N SHUDDUP!

by Bruce Goodman

Hello Everyone! Welcome back to school!
Murray, SIDDOWN N SHUDDUP!
Paula, I hope your summer time was cool!
Wayne, SIDDOWN N SHUDDUP!
Shirley, you’re acting like a fool.
Frank, SIDDOWN N SHUDDUP!
William, you’re full of bull.
Jeanette, SIDDOWN N SHUDDUP!
Winifred, no you can’t; it’s against the rule.
Neil, SIDDOWN N SHUDDUP!
Oh for goodness sake! I can’t wait for the Christmas break when we celebrate Yule.
EVERYONE! SIDDOWN N SHUDDUP!
Let’s see who does the bester
In this first semester.
YOU’RE HERE TO LEARN SO SIDDOWN N SHUDDUP!

—–

Untitled piece

by Gary

Is it really back to school
In that uniform so uncool
Yep
Do I have to Combe my hair
I’m not allowed to rock in my chair
Yep
Come again, I have to get up at Half past Six
Then get on the school bus with the other lunatics
Yep
Have to eat a healthy school lunch
And in the class I’m not allowed to munch
Yep
I have to learn my nine times tables
And I need to write my name on all the coat labels
Yep
I’m not allowed to pick my nose
While having to write boring prose
Yep
Not allowed to play games of my mobile phone
And if the teacher shouts I’m not allowed to moan
Yep
Must not run and play along the school corridors
And no pulling funny faces at the other choristers
Yep
When I ask a question I must raise my hand
Even when in Latin it’s impossible to understand
Yep
I have to fully button up my school shirt
Always keep the blazer on to hide all the dirt
Yep
Not supposed to throw objects at the head-boy
Be nice to your classmates and certainly don’t annoy
Yep
On no grounds can I fight or swear
Don’t attack the other kids with the set square
Yep
Need to pick my feet up so no scrapping only the floorboards
And certainly I’m not supposed to do rude doodles on the blackboards
Yep
I HATE SCHOOL……

—–

Back to school

by Ruth Scribbles

“Why oh why?”

The children cry

“Yipee Skippy!”

The parents are trippin’

“Kids are goin’ back to school!”

School daze begin again

Hallelujah! Amen!!

Wait!

What?

You need clean clothes

And play clothes TOO!

paper and pencils

And have to work at home too??

OH! NO!!!

BACK to school BLUES!!

—–

Going Back

by Joem18b

my dad was on parole
which was a rigamarole

then he goofed up
but then he fessed up

and back he went to the Big House
quiet as a mouse

i know how he felt, it was a bummer
like with me at the end of each summer

—–

The Fall

by LWBUT

The Summer joys shelv’d

like books to a library.

Autumn faces droop.

—–

Thank you to everyone for playing. Come back tomorrow for next week’s contest!!

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Deb: D. Wallace Peach created this graphic that you can use (if you want) for a badge of honor as the winner:

The Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest

Welcome to the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest #41!!

For some guidance, click a basic description here. Entrants assume all risks associated with poeming, reading, and laughing painfully.

Here are the specifics for this week:

  1. Topic, topic; who’s got a topic? Ooh! I do; I do!
    It’s Back to School!
    Thank you, Timmy. Now, next time let’s remember to raise our hands.
  2. No teacher actually reads those 500-word essays, so keep the Length above 4 words and below 200. For those in the advanced math group, that’s 4<p<200, where p is poem and 4 is 4 and 200 is 200.
  3. Teacher, should we Rhyme? If you wish, this occasion.
  4. Just Make it terrible! The superintendent of all the area schools must feel compelled to visit and deliver a lecture on “Why One Never Poems Without Reason,” followed by a light refreshment of watered-down punch.
  5. Naturally, this assignment must be rated appropriate for general audiences.

You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Friday (September 6) to submit a poem.

Use the form below to remain anonymous for a week.

For a more social experience and immediate fame, include your poem or a link to it in the comments.

Share with your friends (and enemies).

Have fun!

 

 

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Photo credit:
Image by klimkin from Pixabay

The Dot

Stock photo

Whilst considering my favorite children’s books, I realized that most made the list based on favorites of my childhood. Not to become set in my old ways, however, I have found several excellent additions in seeking out books for the children I have since produced.

Such is the case with The Dot, by Peter H. Reynolds.

It tells the very simple story of a young girl named Vashti who is determined that she cannot do art. Her teacher, meanwhile, is just as certain that Vashti can.

I love how we get an idea of the personalities of the characters in a few lines of actions: Vashti’s practical stabbing of a dot onto paper shows her attitude, and her teacher’s encouragement and action of framing that first dot demonstrate understanding.

Teaching is, and has always been, a career plagued by under-appreciation. Teachers are responsible for connecting with a classroom or more of children, dumping information into little brains, and somehow still maintaining order. They also care for their students, cry about poor life situations, and think about hundreds to thousands of past lives they’ve been touched by.

The Dot is not just about a young girl finding courage to express herself. It is also the story of what every teacher aims for: a lesson learned, a life improved, and the benefits passed on to others.

It’s short, simple, sweet, artistic, and touching. If you haven’t, spend a minute reading it. Since it’s more recent, I even found readings of it online.