To the Teachers of Today
I
give upon you
my most humble Thanks
and my eternal gratitude
And as well I give
my nocturnal sorrow
for all the platitude
The
net has worn thin
and has begun to fray
Children falling through
below to the hard clay
On
fighting a battle
when they say
there is no war
This is when
we begin to see
a teacher’s true core
For
my son, I must say
Ten Thousand times
Thank You
Upon shoring
The 10,000 things I
could not do
For
my daughter, I say
again, Thank You
for those that tried
But like any child
there comes a day
where the string is untied
When
we have to let go
Try to let go with love
Maybe, the only true cure
We have to learn to let go
when they seek their own path
As an adult I try to now see her
An Ode to Teachers
To
the Teachers of the Past
Upon the beginning
there were no teachers
But that was before
there were any creatures
They
were the first
to deal with this life
They were the ones
to learn true strife
Searching
the nitch
Seeking the way
Showing the others
This is how to play
Leaping the frog
Leaping the years
Stepping the stones
from a teacher’s tears
Almost
finished school
before a teacher found me
A class full of saplings
under a Redwood Tree
A
man of such depth
like an iceberg
yet he barely made a ripple
I first misjudged
Then I saw he didn’t
  Letting people be people
On
his stage
we could dream
Free to just be
Mr. Claypool
I bow a Thank You
for helping me see
To the Teachers of Tomorrow
The
smallest of things
I must ask
Comes to the approach
for this task
Never
forget
to see as a child
Also remember
the world is not mild
Treat
each one
as if your own
Teach all the lessons
you were shown
Less
in words
More in the action
Show your respect
Become not a faction
Inner
Balance
Teach and Learn
Spectral sides
Perilous turn
Hurting
with kindness
and loving too much
Is like giving your child
a life-long crutch
Never
lie
Give a clue
Especially kudos
whenever due
Remember
Everyone is a teacher
and the world is your class
And I promise you
a better place
will soon come to pass
For
your teachings
your essence
will be carried on
In the ones
that came to you
as a fay or a fawn
In
a flat and bicolor world
we are the ink
you are the paper
People see words
Memory of the roots
begin to taper
Leo
Atreides