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Poetry page

Page history last edited by starkfamily1@... 11 years, 2 months ago

Add your poetry here:

 


see also

home ed poetry on radio four and The Schoolboy

 

 

Schooling Nature

 

by Japan Pathac

 

YouTube plugin error

 

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

 

YouTube plugin error

 

 

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

 
~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~
 

The Contract:

 

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.

 

B. Stark

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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