Spoken Poetry About Teachers Day Novels & Stories

Miranda continued, "Not to mention Bob Frost's poem, 'Tea is a religion of the art of life,' and a verse by Emma Dickson, 'There is something in the nature of tea that leads us into a world of quiet contemplation of life.' "The poets of old have passed on, but we are still here. We gather here not just to enjoy the taste of tea but to find the reflections of life and the truth of existence within this activity. "Lastly, I leave you with this phrase, 'Life is like a cup of tea. It's all in how you make it.' May all of us learn to live life to the fullest! Thank you."

A few minutes later, the class began, I sat at the fifth role and listened to him teach, my pen and book were opened as I wrote down everything he says. While he taught, Mr. George, the Dean of the school walks in. We greeted and he went further to inform, tomorrow was going to be a lecture-free day for the school since it will be a medium to celebrate teacher's day. And a contest will be held between teachers and students, every student will get to choose a lecturer to spend the whole day with. Spend a whole day?. I exclaimed. It will most definitely be nice to have the whole day, spent with Drake, don't you think.

And when he catches me aloof, penning a poem or some other thing that pops up in my head at the hardcover of my note, he grins; as if we share a small secret. Nightly, Tonye sends voice notes to me. She's huge on spoken-word poetry and although her poems are spiel and boring in a Shakespearean-ish manner, I adore her voice. It is a violin—reedy and young and nectarous. I fall asleep to her most nights. Side Note: If Chideziri hears that... Mr Harrison—the literature teacher—made it a class rule that I must be seated at the first desk row of all his classes. Said my work was impeccable. Beyond good. Superb.

As they filed out of the classroom, each one flashed me a toothy grin and a wave goodbye, leaving behind memories that would last a lifetime. I tidied up the classroom and prepared for the next day. I couldn’t help but feel grateful for the privilege of being a kindergarten teacher. Whenever I looked at my students, I saw the boundless potential of tomorrow – a world filled with endless possibilities and endless wonder. And in their laughter and curiosity, I found the true magic of teaching – the power to inspire, to uplift, and to shape the future, one little heart at a time.

Huggins, our teacher, walked in before I could embarrass myself further. “Good morning, students,” Mr. Huggins began, his voice steady as he adjusted his glasses. “Today, we’ll be conducting a critical analysis of the poem RedWolf. Our very own senior poetry expert, Mr. Jake Adams, will be assisting us today.” As soon as Mr. Huggins finished speaking, the entire class erupted into applause, and I couldn’t help but notice how every girl seemed to light up as if they’d just won backstage passes to see Justin Bieber or something. High school life was so cliché—there was always that one guy every girl drooled over.

Making everyone express their disappointed expressions. “As an English teacher, he requests everyone to make a poem that relates to your feeling about the first day of class. The deadline will be this coming Friday. Any questions?” he, then, added. “Why so early?” a voice suddenly speaks out. “I don’t know. You asked him.” He answered the one who asked the question making everyone laugh. “Anyways, enjoy your time. Thank you.” He ended. Before he could even sit down to his seat I raised my hand. “Can I ask a question?” I said in a small voice. He nodded and stood up again.

“I only need to tell the truth.” Returning to the desk, he began to shape the speech’s closing. “As you leave these halls, remember this: Love is not always thunder. Sometimes it is chalk dust clinging to your sleeves. Sometimes it is the teacher who stays late to help you understand. Sometimes it is the principal who fights battles you never see. Love is education, and education is love. Let it guide you, let it protect you, and let it remind you, always, that you were never alone.” The pen slipped from his fingers. His eyes blurred with tears.

He reminded everyone that he was usually punctual, but when he came into the classroom; it was empty so he waited for all the students to join, which caused the delay. “He looks old,” mumbled Becca, glancing at the grey-haired teacher, his nose was pointed like an arrow. “He is old,” Alexander corrected her. “But he has a nice nose,” Lucas pointed out, to which Becca hummed in response. Mr. Risorito started his lecture. He told everyone to take out a notepad and a pen to take notes on his lecture. He started explaining the basics of poetry, starting with, “Poetry is another form of expressing love, more like expressing your emotion.”

The words were flowing out of me like they had been there for years. “I can't help but turn back at all the lost years and wonder how quickly time flew by, how everything changed in a blink of an eye but I know we'll never regret it" I said. I had to come to an end of the speech, I knew I would have been getting impatient if I was in the crowd. "On that joyous note and this beautiful occasion, I would like to say congratulations to all the graduates, we all made it through school successfully” Cheers and claps went through the room, everyone joining in, "And to the teachers of this great institution I would love to say thank you for the great experience, it would have been nothing without yo

Before everything got so complicated. "I have to go," she whispered. "People are watching." She was right; out of the corner of my eye, I saw Chloe and Alexa at their lockers, phones out, definitely recording or photographing us. "Go," I agreed. She hurried past me, and I caught the smallest whiff of her strawberry scent. It took everything in me not to turn around and watch her go. Instead, I continued to my classroom, very aware of eyes following me. --- The day dragged along with excruciating slowness. I taught three more classes, leading discussions about metaphor and symbolism in poetry, but my mind kept racing ahead to what was yet in store.