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The acceptance of anything as true does not make it true Your teaching is based on beliefs and hearsay It requires proof to confirm your religious philosohpy .
My whole life I've been surrounded by darkness, a cloud of misery walking through each day wondering if anyone would notice me I struggled through each day going through the motions
Bad Guy With a Gun We have been studying Hamlet, but now I am sitting in a classroom with twenty five seniors in the dark.
Little Girl That little girl who no longer sits at the table, quailing away from the green monstrosities She forages for the ripest of them all Cooked or raw, she isn’t picky
I love the teachers that teach, The teachers that write in scrawling letters that Dance around the whiteboard with colors clashing.
What do you want to do, they ask me? I want to teach U.S History. I reply Professor? They ask No middle school
This is a “Thank You” to the woman who leads, Who carries us all through our times of need.
Spotlight. Center stage. Spotlight turns to headlights Caught in the headlights A student is a deer frozen In front of a question in the form of a car Coming towards them like a bullet
I keep my poems Close to my heart You told me that I could share them With the world if I really wanted to.
Poetry is uncovering the perfect words to describe the undescribable. It is the smile shared between two past lovers turned strangers. Poetry is the intimate hug after months of seperation.
Oh, how lovely you are. Oh, how nice you are. Oh, how beautiful you are. You have taught me how to love again. See the true and profound love you have For me.
Poetry taught me how to be proud of myself When I used words that expressed things heartfelt A message that I believed in. Poetry taught me how to express Things that I couldn’t naturally profess
Thank you. Just those two words will never be enough But there are not enough words in the world to express how indebted I am to you all. Thank you for being my champion
Seek and listen for that silent sound of surety, in the stillness of peace succumbs your confidence. Time will surge the hardships from its hands, but patience brings triumphs, if you stand against the strikes.
Sofie Levy 27 April 2017 Assignments that seem like few papers to some Are mountainous to me. I attempt to focus,
The Hit We were in the same city when you died.I didn't know until hours after arriving homewhen I saw the pictures,saw you,I didn't understand. Wade, I thought it was your birthday.
The students are here. They push and they pull They shove and they scream They cry and howl about silly things They watch and they listen They hear and they learn They try to do better
Listen to me my son, you are called to teach; Basically I’m asking you to crawl in deep; But first, we’re gonna have to overhaul your speech;
Snowflakes spinning 'round as I reflect upon my year New adventures from going far, And losing those whom I hold dear Pain blooms forward But that is not the only coloring of the rose
Boredom slowly creeps upon me, Like a fog on top a hill. My eyes start glazing over, My brain is standing still. I’m trying to take notice,
Education Boredom slowly creeps upon me, Like a fog on top a hill. My eyes start glazing over,
Hey! We are the crew! We can teach a thing or two! Taught it in this line!
I act to breathe in the gift of life. I act because a stage is the safest home and the strangest dream, and it welcomes every individual with open arms.
The human eyes allow us to see and the spiritual one allows us to perceive. As a result, I wake up with desire to grow up to be, is the greatest instiller in all of history.
This class is really dumb. Time doesn’t seem to ever pass. But I’m starting to feel numb, to the idiocy of our class. Our teacher’s lessons seem muddled,
I wish to teach music spread the joy that makes music music the children will play
Teach me what you learned in school What is it your god teaches you Why to you is this cool And what equals two plus two
I am the scars my parents put on me as a child. From the abuse mentally and physically. Little did they know they scarred me sociologically too.
Sticky, pale fingers Black hair a mess Limbs of no descernable length Tangled around a fence Mirthful laughter Reddened cheeks Sneaking the fruits Behind the shed
The power of thought With all the paint I have bought Thinking of my fate Art always opens new gates Teaching will be fulfilling Artistic minds are always thrilling
Struggled, cried, the tears I wept My dream of music had a passionate affect I wanted to be a music teacher but it was out of reach The only thing I wanted to do was teach Later on my tears dried
Where am I going? What am I doing? That's how I lived my life. Question after question, Never clear what I wanted. Until reality hit me. Waisting potential. Missing my chance to live my dream.
Middle Tennessee State University holds me strong, In its arms, I can see my future career can't go wrong. Down in the south, I find my passion, love, and knowledge,
I was on a train headed back to my college after visiting home for the weekend. I took advantage of the ten-and-a-half hour ride to write an essay for World Literature. English is my intended major
Why are we called only smart When we excel in Math or Language Arts Great athletes who struggle in these fields Are called dumb, despite their amazing yields
Cobblestone brusied skin with a touch of ivory And you knew how to get to me See you reminded me of my mother Yes oh how my mother would enter my consciousness With her ability to patent and sell silence
I walked into the classroom. I wrote my name on the board: "Mr. Broom" A little girl stared at my shirt. I saw she had a black eye. I wondered how she got hurt.
I teach. Although not certified. The lessons I have taught cannot be verified on a master planner. Speaking one's mind Or staying behind with a friend in need Is one of the most satisfying deeds.
A love of teaching is hard to find For some try in vain to fill the mind And others are bitter, aloof, and unkind And still others tire of the daily grind
AppreciateI want to feel appreciated;Not feeling alone and differentiatedI once had a dream of owning my own bakery.I am hospitable and neighborly;This is who I am.
To nurture your minds and adore your thoughts would be my everyday To listen, teach and guide you in every single way To learn from your young souls more than you learn from mine
There are 77,600,000 girls around the world who do not attend school. Not 77,600,000 children or adults or people all put together.
To walk into a room, the walls adorned with art, poets words are begging to fall into papers below. This is what I want to do.
O, to teach The humble and the meek
1. The Path to Becoming a Teacher is...
I walk into the classroom in the morning. It's empty. The vision of seeing young students in front of me rattles my bones, shakes my fingers, speeds my heart. I'm nervous. Nervous about
Teachers are entrusted with the future of the nationClass should be a celebration not a dictatorshipTeachers should and not hand out packets destroying
This is how I live now: Wilted lettuce and second-hand shoes. Photos of luxury through flea market frames; Last year's fine china, ringed with watered-down booze. Don't talk to me of "adulthood."
Spoken Well in Tones to tell Over the coast Down to a sweet roast Storyteller there she is
Smiling faces everywhere How could I go wrong? Laughing children, faces fair A place where I belong This job is so rewarding Passing knowledge onto youth Wouldn't trade it for a thing
I will not be a millionaire by the time it is all said and done But I hope to have touched at least one single life Whether that be a child, or a parent of a struggling child Being a teacher, it is not made for everyone
Some say to teach is to die but I say that's a lie. whose to say children aren't precious? With their creativity in their hands and their imagination in their minds.
Who grows up like their parents expect Now-a-days? Divorce when I was three Marriage when I was four Divorce when I was eight. Maybe I didn’t grow up in the slums Bad as it could be
Over and over we're told, "Pick something you'll enjoy" "You're gonna be stuck with it" "What is important to you?" But, where are the people asking how they can help us get there? I want to be that person.
Life Is What You Make of It Life is what you make of it Not how much you fake it Not your dress or a stupid zit
My future was unclearA dream with no nameIt began to draw nearStill now it remainsThough once unseen
In the average dreams, To me it seems, To involve money or chrome, Or perhaps a mansion of a home, For me it involves the teaching of a child, Whose mind is still wondering and mild,
I could paint upon a stage, Upon myself, another name, And fool the watchers with my art, And die in beds of green and fame. Or I could paint upon a mind
I could paint upon a stage, Upon myself, another name, And fool the watchers with my art, And die in beds of green and fame. Or I could paint upon a mind
I am a secondary English teacher. At least, I dream to be. I want nothing more than to shape a generation and inspire people like me to want to teach and create and grow and learn
Engineer, mathematician Computer programmer, statistician A job that makes money I can't put my knowledge to waste I wanted to be a teacher But for my intelligence that's not enough pay
Once, I wanted to be in a rock band, Jammin’ on the piano. In my made-up band, “The Treelimbs” For a while, that dream stood, And I was encouraged to dream, But that’s not what I want to do.
Waking up early Going throgh long classes Talking to many students
Kids learning all day. Making differences in lives. Teaching is the way.
"What do you want to do when you get older?"
Waking up in that deeply familiar, August morning cold, The old will be new, but the new will be old. Everything will be different, yet everything will be the same.
Excellent Monster Boy Assesses Random Radioactive Asphalt. Serious Salmonella Eerily Declassified. To this acrostic, do not pay any mind,
One job. One path. No money. "You will get a job." "There is no money in teaching." "You will be great!" "I would never have the patience to work in Special Education."
Ive always had such a passion for little kids seeing them running around and laughing. The joy of them has always put a smile on my face their smiles make me feel a warm fuzzy feeling.
Always love them Always helping them They are my life And I want to inspire them They need to learn
As a kid I was asked what my dream job would be. I thought lawyer, astronaut, or doctor maybe. But now as an adult, I see things differently I want to be a person who does things consistently.
A thank you to teachers who care.
The way you tell me to take out my pencil To write down the question and find the answer Your tone of voice and the look in your eyes I can tell you don't think I'm an adult. The law may say I am not
why cant i tell my teacher that there are more important things than the square root of 247 or that she should truly open her mind and teach us to do the same?
Education is my life I love it, breathe it, live it In the classroom I feel empowered
Teaching and helping Opening doors for the kids Of our bright future
I've had excellent teachers in my time. Some with good looks Some with easy tests Some with interesting lectures. But you, you're different. I should have looked you up online to see how you were.
They taught me about poetry. I learned that lost love has long been lyricized, And that alliteration should be taken into consideration when analyzing a publication,
Claiming that you know All lives are not the same Going to school with different purposes as well Learning is different, and harder for some But we slowly start to see Education isn't always the key
Teachers always teaching to prepare us to be the best Chalk boards always screeching to prepare us take the test Unfortunately we suffer Real lives become rougher
As an adult I respect you, As a person, not so much. Not because of the way you dress, Or because of the low grade you gave me On the essay that I spent three weekends trying to write.
Dear Teachers, Where did all your passion go? Your will to make a student know? To know the joy, the thrill of life? Of piercing ignorance, with a mind like a knife? Why the monotone?
I thought I wanted to be one of them Join the few and far between Be one of the greats, like my mom Make a difference in some kid’s life Be that change That voice That drive that helped someone
You wonder why we don't participate?If you'd look at us and actually see what's happening right in front of youWe would say:Engage usAsk real questions, make us think, grow our minds
[You're old]school in this modern world.Love your stories but your style has to go.Not so easy to learn from these pre-made pre-testsand you need to give it a rest."American Government's not boring."
My question for you Is the truest of true Its mostly about you and your teaching too. Why can't we have phones when you waste our time and text? Why is it when we ask questions
. While you look at me through those black square glasse's Im glancing at the clock wishing I could skip your classes. You room is so boring so drab and so brown, There's nothing I can do other than frown.
Into antique graffitiYou slam me;Books filled with the company ofEnemies and falsehoodsMold me,And them,And usInto mechanized monsters,Unable to breathe,With disparities for
Clock ticking Time slipping A droning sound A droning sound A droning sound Fallen heads With drooping ears Drooling lips Snoring noses. A class about myths
My head is down for a reason My computer screen is dark I don't know Help me I can't comprehend this I don't know You talk and you talk Do you ever notice my blank stares
School is mean't to teach What is being taught? Math problems, history What about the future? Technology, communication, work ethic Teach things that will push us far in life.
Go to school Become bored Whine Waste time It is a sign. What happend to the education? We learned to memorize. We learned to patronize.
Oh dear teacher, I promise I'm paying attention, but it's really hard when the others are a distraction. Jim's in the corner whispering to his crush, while jane is busy texting and giggling through your lesson.
Oh you troubled teachers. Creating a hierarchy based upon grades rather than a strong will to learn. Oh you troubled teachers. Grade-shaming your students who are only trying to get through school
You taught me how to conjugate verbs in five languages You showed me how to find the zeroes in a quadratic equation Oh, I know what you're thinking I got it all figured out I got those straight A's rolling out
The classrom is a place for students to learn.The chalkboard is a place for teachers to teach.The desk is a place for my hand to practice.But how can I learn in such surroundings?
Never Have I Ever Told My Teacher To Shut It. It would have been nice to place them on mute. Matter of fact, the school system could give them the boot.
You talk and talk, you voice monotone, most of the students sleeping or not even paying attention. Tell me, does that make you a good teacher? Do your students learns anything?
Hey teacher, You are soo mean, You don't even know how to treat students, You call us ungood wanna be reachers, By your sight you make us feel green,
Criticized. What’s the point of even speaking? Focus on breathing. Teacher’s eyes seek out mine. Keep my head down.
She sits there, out in front of us, a fearful look scrawled across her face. Her voice , that at first, seems as though it’ll crack; nervous, uncertain, and afraid.
(poems go her My Dream In high school I never knew what I wanted to be, I ran around doing whatever, thinking I was free.
They are small, yet influential. Young, but surprisingly intelligent. Having spent so much time with them, I have come to love them dearly. Like my own family, I care for them. Their growth is my main priority.
I was so excited to be begin my dream, But as I approached the room, nervousness sank in. My only issue is my shy personality, I have to get past it.
.My students engaged with our classroom material! Rh negative blood shows up with more frequency than authentic interest
(something I never envisaged in a sticky Catholic school classroom of stifled Central Illinois, tracing the hate contorted face of Hazel Bryan with my finger, on page 157 of my “The Americans” textbook and thinking,