�Eragon looked back at him, confused. "I don't understand."
"Of course you don't," said Brom impatiently. "That's why
"Of course you don't," said Brom impatiently. "That's why
I'm teaching you and not the other way around.�
�Let us pick up our books and our pens,� I said. �They are
our most powerful weapons. One child, one teacher,
one book and one pen can change the world.�
�It was my teacher's genius, her quick sympathy, her loving tact which made the first years of my education so beautiful.
? Helen Keller, The Story of My Life
Midweek Motif ~ Teacher
One Who Teaches
World Teachers' Day, held annually on October 5 since 1994, commemorates teachers� organizations worldwide. Its aim is to mobilize support for teachers and to ensure that the needs of future generations will continue to be met by teachers. We're a couple of days late, but still ...
Your challenge: Bring a great teacher memory to life in a new poem. Or, if you don't have one, use learning as your motif.
An Old Man�s Thought of School
Written by Walt Whitman
AN old man's thought of school,
An old man gathering youthful memories and blooms that youth itself cannot.
Now only do I know you,
O fair auroral skies - O morning dew upon the grass!
And these I see, these sparkling eyes,
These stores of mystic meaning, these young lives,
Building, equipping like a fleet of ships, immortal ships,
Soon to sail out over the measureless seas,
On the soul's voyage.
Only a lot of boys and girls?
Only the tiresome spelling, writing, ciphering classes?
Only a public school?
Ah more, infinitely more;
(As George Fox rais'd his warning cry, "Is it this pile of brick and
mortar, these dead floors, windows, rails, you call the church?
Why this is not the church at all-the church is living, ever living souls.")
And you America,
Cast you the real reckoning for your present?
The lights and shadows of your future, good or evil?
To girlhood, boyhood look, the teacher and the school.
AN old man's thought of school,
An old man gathering youthful memories and blooms that youth itself cannot.
Now only do I know you,
O fair auroral skies - O morning dew upon the grass!
And these I see, these sparkling eyes,
These stores of mystic meaning, these young lives,
Building, equipping like a fleet of ships, immortal ships,
Soon to sail out over the measureless seas,
On the soul's voyage.
Only a lot of boys and girls?
Only the tiresome spelling, writing, ciphering classes?
Only a public school?
Ah more, infinitely more;
(As George Fox rais'd his warning cry, "Is it this pile of brick and
mortar, these dead floors, windows, rails, you call the church?
Why this is not the church at all-the church is living, ever living souls.")
And you America,
Cast you the real reckoning for your present?
The lights and shadows of your future, good or evil?
To girlhood, boyhood look, the teacher and the school.
Learning to Read
BY FRANCES ELLEN WATKINS HARPER
Very soon the Yankee teachers Came down and set up school;But, oh! how the Rebs did hate it,� It was agin� their rule.
Our masters always tried to hide Book learning from our eyes;Knowledge did�nt agree with slavery� �Twould make us all too wise.
But some of us would try to steal A little from the book.And put the words together, And learn by hook or crook.
I remember Uncle Caldwell, Who took pot liquor fatAnd greased the pages of his book, And hid it in his hat.. . . . (Read the rest HERE at the Poetry Foundation)
Very soon the Yankee teachers
Came down and set up school;
But, oh! how the Rebs did hate it,�
It was agin� their rule.
Our masters always tried to hide
Book learning from our eyes;
Knowledge did�nt agree with slavery�
�Twould make us all too wise.
But some of us would try to steal
A little from the book.
And put the words together,
And learn by hook or crook.
I remember Uncle Caldwell,
Who took pot liquor fat
And greased the pages of his book,
And hid it in his hat.
. . . .
(Read the rest HERE at the Poetry Foundation)She is proud of her pap?
because he comes
to their little grey school,
converted from army barracks,
to teach espa?ol
to Mrs. Brenda�s fifth grade.
And that means they don�t
have to listen to that awful
Se?ora Beister on TV
with her screech owl version
of �Las ma?anitas� and her annoying
forefinger to the ear . . . .
Escuchen
and then to the lips,
y repitan.
He teaches them to order
Coca-Cola en el restaur?n�
****************
Please share your new poem using Mr. Linky below
and visit others in the spirit of the community.
(Next week Sumana Roy's prompt will be FIRE. )
and visit others in the spirit of the community.
(Next week Sumana Roy's prompt will be FIRE. )
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