Add your poetry here:
see also
home ed poetry on radio four and The Schoolboy
Schooling Nature
by Japan Pathac
Limericks
There was a delightful home educator called Barbara
who as far as I know didn't come from Market Harborough
When asked why she did it
She said 'its such a great life init?
That delightful home educator, not from Market Harborough
Neil Taylor Moore.
~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~
There was a young person in school
Who didn´t like such silly rules,
So he wrote to the Head -
"I´ll Home Ed instead"
"I´m leaving" - He´s nobody´s fool!
Clare Murton.
~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~
The dry appellation 'home-schooler'
(Like the teacher, the cane and the ruler),
Suggests quite a lot
About what we are not;
So use 'home-education' - it's cooler.
by Donal O'Callaghan-Bohrdt 2002
~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~
Student's Prayer
by Umberto Maturana
Larkin´ with Larkin
They f*** you up, the LEA*
They `may´ not mean to, but they do.
They tell you all the lies they learned
And add some extra, just for you.
But they were f***ed up in their turn
By fools in old style boards and gowns,
Who half the time were caning them
And half force-feeding verbs and nouns.
Schooling hands on misery to child
It deepens like the NC tome,
Get out as early as you can
And educate your own at home.
A collaborative work by
Clare and Neil
*"LEA" - Local Education Authority, now simply Local Authority, "LA".
~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~
Redemption.
We sacrificed our child at four ...
they put her in 'reception' class;
to keep her in, they shut the door
and barred it so she could not pass.
They took our child's fey quirks and dreams
and tried to make them go away;
amid the tears and cries and screams
they kept the parents well at bay.
"It's for the best!" they chorused loud;
"She has to learn she's not the boss!"
It left her miserable and cowed
and us in mourning for her loss.
It took us time to see the light ...
it didn't have to be so dire;
the daily struggle and the fight
extinguishing her natural fire.
And now we've claimed our daughter back
we see her quirks of old returning,
unmolested by the lack
of individual ways of learning.
We feel we've been as bad as 'they',
exposing her to things so cruel;
though now we smile to hear her say,
"I'll never send my kids to school!"
Jo Büchler
~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~
Experiences
My son’s first steps were not to me
He took them one day in nursery
I heard the first word that he said
But he saved the first sentence for them instead
They watched him giggle, play and learn
Whilst all I did was leave & earn
I did just what the majority did
I nurtured my job and managed my ‘kid’
My daughter went the same way too
Our days together were so few
Then off to school the eldest went
He cried, he begged but he was sent
We did the same and we are fine
How could I ever have swallowed that line?
I hated school with it’s rules and ties
The bullies, the boredom & textbook lies
But I read and researched and came to see
We could reject the system legally
I can be a parent and a teacher
My ‘kids’ are children – fascinating creatures!
I knew home-education was the right thing to do
When my son raised his hand to ask for the loo
So half-term finished and they never went back
Forget socialisation its self-doubt that they lack
My son doesn’t cry or feel odd or frightened
My daughter chats non-stop and her face has brightened
We pick brambles, ride trains and glue bits of pasta
We cook and we laugh and see who can run faster
We draw & paint pictures of the things that we learn
To show to poor old Dad who still has to earn
But he’s happy to come home to excitement and kisses
And tales of the everyday fun that he misses
My only regret if I were to have one
Is that I gave the system five years with my son
But it’s only rarely that it bothers me
We’re all too busy knocking conkers off the tree!
Bella Pender
~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~
Wide World of Intellectual Illiteracy
Poem by Josephine Dixon Banks
Slavery Institutionalized Slavery
You didn’t take me away from a place
You extricated me from a sacred space
Me
You developed and trained my mind
To blend in with your kind
To put you in the fore front
And leave myself behind
My mind was open to assimilation
And closed to self-realization
Education was the agent of control
Substituting society for my soul
An act of self-suicide for the good of the whole
Was it not the great minds of our times that sanctioned
Self hatred
Made the truth oblique
Made education a conditioning process
To obliterate being unique
Seek a role model, seek a hero
Don’t seek being yourself, you are a zero
If education is the answer
It has a function similar to cancer
Americanization another appellation for education
Mind control, behavioral modification
Violence is a form of militaristic communication
I’m a clone, a mere cheap imitation
If I kill it’s because I’m trained
If I hate it’s because I’m trained
If I steal it’s because I’m trained
I don’t know who I am but because I am trained
I Am A Professional.
~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~
Il Mio Tesoro
(CLOUDS.)
Clouds transcending playgrounds were
Worlds wide of fenced in
Unintended want,
subconciously sub-rosa;
Music stepping over
Silent boundaries of restraint
Searching for a soft blue word
like 'tesoro' you once heard.
You whispered it along cold corridors
and cried
For reasonable distance of desires,
Which, but for boundlessness of clouds,
Failed to slip within mind's reach.
B. Stark.
~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~
School memories of an aspie
My Future
by Joshua Muggleton
My future, my present, my past, are all controlled
The horror, the memories of my past, stop me from resting
What happened is seared on my mind
Never to forget the pain of school
The memories haunts me, in my dreams
The memories torments me in my thoughts
The memories kills me in my hopes
The memories chokes me in my life
Part of my sanity, lies in the school yard
Screaming in agony in what it has to endure.
What is left of my sanity, weeps for the rest
In drowning sorrow, and merciless hate
The memories follow me, a shadow of my being
When I run, it runs with me, when I hide, it hides with me
When I travel, it travels with me, when I speak, it speaks with me
The Hyde to my Jeckyll, the devil to my angel, the darkness to my light
The strength of the memories, the pain, is unimaginable
Harnessed, it fuels my fire for change,
For speaking out for those who can’t
Living my life to make a difference
The strength of my memories, the pain, is unimaginable
Let loose, it controls me, and I relive the horror
I feel nothing but indescribable hate for so many people and places
It removes any joy in my life, because the places still stand, and the people still laugh
In my mind, a never ending war is faught
The Angel, against the devil
The armies fight, day and night, and no winner will ever be determined
But I feel every blow, every wound, every death, as if it were my own.
Some nights, I cry myself to sleep, at the memories of what happened
Some days, I can do naught but feel a burning hate for what happened
Some nights, I go to sleep with a smile, for the change it made me make
Some days, I can do naught but feel elated, for the lives I have changed
These memories, are as valuable as diamonds
Yet as valuable as a rotting fish
These memories are as desired as fame, fortune, glory
Yet as desired as manure
I am taught to forgive, to move on
Yet how can I move on from this?
I may have left the school
But the school has not left me
~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~
Welcome to school
A boy, eyes closed, lies on the floor
The cold hard, floor, littered with gum, mud, and food
His head hath no pillow, his body hath no blanket
Dressed like one of the nameless many, he lies, alone.
A single teardrop, escapes from his eye,
But there is no friend to dry it.
The eyes open, to see nought but the suffocating darkness
He is still there, still in the place he fears most, not daring to leave.
The tall windows, form an impenetrable barrier to freedom
The windows, jealously guarded by heavy curtains, that have no light to block
Curtains that blow into indefinable shapes, as the wind penetrates the hall
In which he lies, and the skin in which he suffers.
The school in which he lies, stretches far and wide
But he dare not move, for all that awaits him, is more pain.
He could run, he could run though the never ending hall ways,
Run into every room, run past every gaunt white washed wall
He could kick down every door, and open every cupboard
But what he seeks, he cannot find. For this pit of despair, has not exit.
Distant footfalls sound the morning, however no birds sing, and no cock crows
The light, seems to not to invade the place in which he suffers, only darknes
People flood in, like the tidal wave of dread in his heart,
His heart that has started to decay, it cannot live without the warmth of compassion.
He closes his eyes and becomes to everyone, just part of the floor on which they walk
And his blood, black with cold, oozes from the wounds in his soul.
The lords onto which he suffers, look down at him from on high
But their eyes carry no mercy, no pity, for he is to them, nothing more than a hinderance
He begs to be let free, to see the light of day, to feel the sun of his face, to feel once more, what freedom is like.
And all he gets, is the mocking laughter from above, as they divide his spirit in two.
The razorblades that are the rocks on which he is dragged cut into his dying flesh,
as he is hurled to the others, like a lamb to the wolves.
And like a lamb to the wolves, he suffers the all encompassing fear, and the never ending pain.
This is the only life he has known. Yet, he still knows it to be wrong.
Since he was but a babe, he was in the darkest corridors.
For all but the smallest time of his life, he has never truly heard to birds sing,
he has never truly been joyful, he has never truly, felt the sunshine,
he has never truly known freedom, he has never truly been alive.
This is what we put children as young as five though.
And they spend the next twelve years of there life, suffering.
What I have tried to describe, can never truly show you the inhumanity of what they live through,
and sometimes they don’t get a chance to feel happiness again.
Why must we let this happen? Why must we sit and do nothing? Why cant people in power become people of compassion.
Why cant we make school make sense?
Please do something
Joshua Muggleton
~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~
School days: a bad memory
School is where i have to go
School is like hell
School is where my bad points show
School is a prison cell
School is where im a punch bag
School is where i'm sent
School is where i'm called a hag
School is where i repent
I met a new kid at school today
thought i'd show them around
They gave me a look that said go away
Next second im on the ground
School is where we learn
So here is your education.
Enjoy!
Jessica JAH
http://www.poemsabout.com/poet/jessica-jah/
~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~
General Certificate of Segregated Education
Dear Teacher,
Why don't you mark me on
My progress
Not Norm's?
Who is he anyway
And why should we all
Be like him?
I'm not Norm,
My way is as good as your way
Or Norm's way
It's just a different way
Nothing to be scared of
Plenty to be proud of
While I'm waiting
For my education
I label you with
"Teaching Difficulties"
Lindsay Carter, 2002
~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~
I'm Not a Poet
I please myself, I really do
Because I'm no longer trying to be you
My hopes and dreams are all my own
And far removed from the considered norm
Life is short, I know that now
Too short to worry the why or how
I just get on and live each day
And try not to care what others say
Its hard at times to go against the flow
But I've woken up and now I know
That school and work are the traps they make
So you can earn the tax they take
So that's the choice I give my boys
To learn and play with lots of toys
To write what they want and sing when they need to
To laugh and shout and have opinions that lead to
The most interesting discussions I have ever had
With children - not adults - surely that's bad!
So when they are older and have to make choices
They will know how to and not follow like sheep
The rest of society who are all half asleep
It took me till forty to break out of the mould
But my boys won't wait until they're that old!
I please myself now - I really do
Because I'm no longer trying to be you.
Tracey Weaver
6/12/06
~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~
Today I was suspended in one timeless moment of tenderness whilst cradling my three year old.
That still moment known to parents,
Came between rough and tumble tickling and getting on with the rest of the day,
When he looked, content, into my eyes.
This is what leads me to home education.
This is my contract with my child.
2001.
There was a crooked man
There was a crooked Bad man and he had a Bad idea,
He wrote a Bad review commissioned by a Bad Peer.
He had Bad vested interests and some very Bad friends
And they all worked together to some very Bad ends!
Clare
July 2009
Uncivil Liberties (or Badman’s Review)
It’s a black and white film, of faceless bureaucrats
in cubicles without windows.
Kafka-esque MIBs* with light-bulb heads.
It’s the deputy head, and his swat team, lining up loo-users
to sniff their breath for tobacco smoke.
Not a full top lip to share between them.
It’s a Victorian armchair designed for posture,
cutting its wooden framed impression
into your thighs whilst you relax.
A cat that won’t meet your gaze flicks its tale
and crosses your path, defiantly.
It’s Supernanny’s naughty-step moment
of loneliness and abandonment,
with the bitter-sweet promise of love if you “STAY!”
It’s the corner of the classroom where I stood, disgraced,
biting a small chunk from my baby finger.
Curiosity turned all silent tears.
It’s like emotional double glazing through which you see
the beloved, dipped juncture between nose and eye,
where pool the tears you caused your lover to shed.
An ominous, dark cloud rolls into your landscape.
Spiritual homelessness in a green and pleasant land.
[*Men In Black]
By Sally Lloyd 11.06.2009
Rebekah's response to the Badman Review:
When will you leave us?
When will we be free?
How long will we march?
How long will it be?
Badman why won’t you understand?
You think we need your guidelines
You won’t believe we’re right
Please leave us alone
We don’t want a fight
Badman please just listen!
You need us to prove we really are ok
To prevent us from danger
Help our education
Stop us being the stranger
Badman why can’t you see?
You don’t want us to exist
‘Cause we’re not the normal thing
Well we’re sticking with home education
Happiness, Fun, Laughing
Badman hear our protests!
Home education is right for us
And we’re coping just fine
We’re learning everywhere we go
In our own space and time
Badman these are our lives!
But if you won’t leave us!
If we can’t be free!
We’ll march until your walls fall down!
However long it’ll be!
Rebekah age thirteen August 2009
~~~~~
"The Wolves are Running"
by Lorien Clark age 15
I thought those days were over
I thought those days were gone
I thought those days were numbered
When we'd sing a protest song
I simply can't believe
That in a modern world like this
A war is quietly raging
And a Fascist World exists
The words "Lest we forget"
Have left a ringing in my ears
You'd have thought that Britain's children
Would remember all the tears
What did Great Grandad die for?
Why did Great Granny cry?
They laid down their lives for freedom
And we've all forgotten why
Now the children here wear brown-shirts
And they're spying on their friends
On their parents, their community
This poison never ends
We haven't quite got goose-steps
But we aren't that far behind
The lessons from the past
Have been forgotten by the blind
HITLER IS THE BADMAN
And he hasn't lost his B**LS
They're eroding all our liberties
Within those Whitehall walls.
Nazis were never conquered
And now we've become the Jews
They're forcing us to wear a badge
We have no right to choose.
Behind the might of the Red Rose
A swastika is seen.
Be careful here, all Children
They are part of a machine.
And this machine will crush you,
They will force you to comply.
They'll try to own your hearts and minds
And if you resist - Goodbye!
I know those days aren't over
I know those days aren't gone
And my days, they may be numbered
But I'll sing a protest song.
And it will go on and on
And on.
2009
“The Wolves are Running”
(the title is taken from a conversation between Kay Harker and Mr. Hawkings in "The Box of Delights")
~~~~~
Comments (8)
Anonymous said
at 12:34 pm on Sep 17, 2007
Beatiful poem Jo :-)
Anonymous said
at 12:17 pm on Sep 19, 2007
Whilst I am grateful for the explanation of LEA should you not also clarify the meaning of f*** ?
http://www.duncanmoran.me.uk/blog/index.php/2007/04/13/what-the-fuck/
Anonymous said
at 12:24 pm on Sep 19, 2007
Does Shakespeare count? Not strictly HE but obviously heading that way.
http://www.folger.edu/template.cfm?cid=1327
starkfamily1@... said
at 9:02 pm on Oct 12, 2007
thanks Duncan, I hadn't seen that before. First I thought he had a little lamb following him, but now it looks like a dog.
Lucie said
at 10:24 pm on Jul 13, 2009
B. Stark, you know my heart. THe contract is a deep fact.
These are all great, i feel inspired
starkfamily1@... said
at 12:02 am on Jul 14, 2009
Thank you Lucie; it is an unbreakable contract isn't it. This page also inspires me with it's poems that touch the heart. So, are you inspired also to write? :-)
amanda.clark23@ntlworld.com said
at 10:46 am on Aug 23, 2009
All these poems are amazing! my daughter Lorien wrote one about her feelings towards Mr.r Badman which I would love to share with you all, but I'm completely new to this site and cannot see how to post it!
It is called The Wolves Are Running. She wrote it in June 2009, when she was 15 (she's now 16!) If anyone can let me know how to get it on here, I would be grateful.
Amanda
Julia Stonehouse said
at 7:18 pm on Nov 15, 2009
Absolutely brilliant poems, well done to all x
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