ABOU BEN ADHEM

Stained Glass by Edward Coley Burne-Jones

Following my previous blog, here is a further poem by The Victorian poet, Leigh Hunt, and extremely popular in the early 20th Century for for being learnt by heart in schools.

Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!)

Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,

And saw, within the moonlight in his room,

Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom,

An angel writing in a book of gold:—

Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,

And to the presence in the room he said,

“What writest thou?”—The vision raised its head,

And with a look made of all sweet accord,

Answered, “The names of those who love the Lord.”

“And is mine one?” said Abou. “Nay, not so,”

Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low,

But cheerly still; and said, “I pray thee, then,

Write me as one that loves his fellow men.”

The angel wrote, and vanished. The next night

It came again with a great wakening light,

And showed the names whom love of God had blest,

And lo! Ben Adhem’s name led all the rest.

. . .

‘NICE’ is not NICE

NICE is not NICE

“‘NICE’ is not a nice word”
My teacher said to me,
“If you can choose another
The better it will be.”

To say that something’s ‘NICE’,
As to say that it’s ‘OKAY’,
Hardly sounds exciting
And savours of foul play.

Both words are ineffectual,
They flatter with faint praise.
Far better to be forceful
And use a fitter phrase.

#     #     #

‘PLEASING’ is a good one
It has that ring of truth;
What’s more it sounds appealing
Trips lightly off the tooth.

‘GOOD’ is even better
Positive and clean;
It fits unto the letter
And shows us what you mean.

‘JOYFUL’ sounds appealing
And improves all that you say;
Surely has more feeling
Than having a ‘nice’ day.

‘LUSTROUS’ sounds exotic
But still might fit the bill;
It lends a feel of brightness
Drops lightly from the quill.

‘BEAUTIFUL’s a mouthful
But serves your purpose well;
It speaks of cosy warmth
And has a tale to tell.

‘CHARMING’ is a good word
And speaks of utter joy;
It could launch a thousand ships
As once did Helen Of Troy.

‘GREAT’ would suit your purpose
There’s nothing wrong with that;
Shades of fame and grandeur
More than just chit-chat.

‘PLEASANT’, that is better
It sounds as though you mean it;
An honest word to proffer
And you’re not out to demean it.

Try ‘LOVELY’ if you like it
That strikes a fitting note;
Enhances your description,
Improves all that you wrote.

‘POSITIVE’ is good
Whole-hearted  and inclusive;
It shows you really mean it
Yet isn’t too intrusive.

‘DELIGHTFUL’ sounds exciting
Expressing joy and bliss;
But ‘Ducky’ is a No-no,
I should give that a miss.

#     #     #

Many possibilities
Line up to be used
Instead of NICE or OK,
But do not get confused.

The choice is yours dear poet
Don’t just throw the dice,
Use your ingenuity …
But remember to be NICE !!!

#     #     #

I Am Who I Am

C.L.Murphy

Words Can Express

Jerome Phelps

With a Little Distortion;

N.Anderson

No Need To Guess –

S.Matheve

My Face Is My Fortune.

The above drawings were created in the 1960s by four 10 and 11 year old pupils in my class at a Putney (London) Primary School.

The WISE, The NOT-WISE, and The REST

For a life spent in teaching and schools
Dealing with both genius and fools, 
Then without malediction
I can say with conviction,
I never had quite the right tools.

For it took me a long time to find
And the difference was hard to define:
The wise oft were demented, 
The dull – vague but contented, 
And both could be quite asinine.

Whilst the average student was fine, 
‘Twas these others who took up my time. 
The norms kept me sane, 
While the rest were a pain, 
But have given me cause for this rhyme. 

 

Tell-Tale-Tit

  [ Wednesday Replay # 4 ] 

 Originally Posted on August 27, 2016

THE STRESSES AND PERILS OF A TEACHER’S LIFE!  

I DOUBT A ‘PEDAGOGUE’ COULD EVER HAVE TAUGHT TEN-YEAR OLDS.

TELL-TALE-TIT

They did it, sir, I saw them,
They pestered and annoyed her,
They spread your desk with powder,
They turned the sound up louder,
Oh, please sir, say you’ll whack ’em.

 She did it, miss! I saw her!
She spread the floor with water.
She splashed the paint on Susan Porter;
She cut the model dog in quarter.

I’m awfully glad you’ve caught ‘er.
 You did it, sir, you caught ‘em.
You found them where they hid it,
You even found them with it,

So you must believe they did it.
Red-handed!  Now you’ve taught ‘em!
He did it, sir! I saw him!
He fed the goldfish sawdust;

He made the hamster raucous.
Yes, he giggled when you caught US.
Believe me, sir, it WAS him.
Why don’t you, sir? Why don’t you?

Why not hit him with your ruler?
Why can’t you be a little cruel-er?
Why are you acting cooler?
You frightened that he’ll sue you?

 

 

Maths Limerick

[  # 79 of My Favourite Short Poems  ]

On a slightly different tack to my usual Monday poetic offering, here is a limerick which you may have come across before, but which I think is worth giving some thought to.  As far as I know, it has to be attributed to ‘Anonymous’, but I would welcome anyone who might be able to throw more light on who it was who devised this extremely clever verse.  It is as follows:

A dozen, a gross, and a score

Plus three times the square root of four

Divided by seven

Plus five times eleven

Is nine squared and not a bit more.

 

Put in terms of a regular mathematical equation, this would appear as follows:

 

My Library, My Life

The best way to find out
About who someone is?
Examine their library –
No need for a quiz.

My library is big,
Just take a look.
What you’ll find in it
Is book after book.

My bookshelves are full
Of books of all kinds
I’ve scoured the bookshops
Made remarkable finds.

Books I have read;
Books I might read one day;
Books never read,
Just there for display.

Books bought on a whim,
Not ‘cos of need,
Some temporary fashion
My psyche to feed.

Milligan and Wodehouse,
Others quite scholastic;
Some books of value
Wrapped up in plastic.

Books from my schooldays
And courses of study
‘Duchess Of Malfi’,
Such tales that are bloody!

Books presented to me,
Complete with inscriptions;
D.I.Y books,
Complete with descriptions.

Books I have borrowed
With library covers;
Books now on loan
From other book lovers.

Dickens and Trollope,
Austen and Hardy,
Similar authors
With whose reading I’m tardy.

Histories, biographies,  
And Poets galore,
Who once I indulged in,
Like Rabindranath Tagore.

Pop-up books from childhood
And Sunday school prizes
Maps and old diaries
And other surprises.

Games, chess and bridge,
Whole sections you’ll find
On Yorkshire and China
First editions – unsigned!

A few spaces for books
which I’ve lent out to others,
Awaiting return
With or without covers.

Look close and you’ll find
What once filled my mind;
Many are mystery now,
Since my memory declined.

But, never-the-less,
I still love them all,
Or perhaps I just keep them
To decorate the wall.

Arithmetic – Poem by Carl Sandburg

Following on from yesterday’s poem on numbers, here is that well-known poem by Carl Sandburg on  ‘ARITHMETIC’ . . .

Arithmetic is where numbers fly like pigeons in and out of your
    head.
Arithmetic tells you how many you lose or win if you know how
    many you had before you lost or won.
Arithmetic is seven eleven all good children go to heaven — or five
    six bundle of sticks.
Arithmetic is numbers you squeeze from your head to your hand
    to your pencil to your paper till you get the answer.
Arithmetic is where the answer is right and everything is nice and
    you can look out of the window and see the blue sky — or the
    answer is wrong and you have to start all over and try again
    and see how it comes out this time.
If you take a number and double it and double it again and then
    double it a few more times, the number gets bigger and bigger
    and goes higher and higher and only arithmetic can tell you
    what the number is when you decide to quit doubling.
Arithmetic is where you have to multiply — and you carry the
    multiplication table in your head and hope you won’t lose it.
If you have two animal crackers, one good and one bad, and you
    eat one and a striped zebra with streaks all over him eats the
    other, how many animal crackers will you have if somebody
    offers you five six seven and you say No no no and you say
    Nay nay nay and you say Nix nix nix?
If you ask your mother for one fried egg for breakfast and she
    gives you two fried eggs and you eat both of them, who is
    better in arithmetic, you or your mother? 

More of Carl Sandburg’s poems can be found
on the Poem Hunter website at: Carl Sandburg

Detail of Collage by Clive Butler – c.1984

NUMEROPHOBIA

‘Teaching Maths’ … Collage by Clive Butler – c.1984

When numbers leap up at me
I often feel scared;
They can be aggressive
Render thinking impaired.
I try not to fluster
To think these things through,
But I can still end up muddled
Not having a clue.

In the shop I try hard
To keep check on my spend,
But I’m easily distracted
And I have to pretend
That I know what I’m doing,
Mind and brain won’t agree;
Are two for the price of one
Same as buy one get one free?

When I’m with my bank statement
Checking up what I’ve spent,
Deducting those refunds
Allowing for rent,
Assuming some interest,
Checking those bills,
It gives me a headache –
Cue for some pills.

Life should be much easier.
If only I’d been
An attentive student
I could have foreseen,
That time spent with maths
In school in my teens,
Might have paid off –
Unless it’s my genes!

Three score years and ten
I will not see again;
At least I know that
My bible’s my brain.
My life is a number
Too large to keep count
It’s approaching seven dozen –
I demand a recount.

In Memoriam – D.A.K. #1

David Alexander King

Those of you who remember my first two blog posts – on 25th and 28th July this year, will recall that I dedicated my ‘Rolands Ragbag’ blog to David Alexander King (DAK).

DAK was, for many years, a teacher in both London and Kent, before becoming  headteacher of a Special Needs School in Surrey.

He both encouraged and inspired me to dip my talents, such as they are, into the blogging world.  He himself was a prolific writer, a poet and artist, who published a new poem nearly every day for several years before he sadly died three years ago this month.  David found particular inspiration in the work of the Irish Nobel Prize Winning poet, Seamus Heaney, who died just 2 months before David, in August 2013.

DAK’s work is still accessible on his website at:  picsandpoems

I am taking the opportunity to mention his work again in his memory.

 

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The photograph below is of Dave and was taken by me in 2010 on the shores of the Bristol Channel, at Brean Beach, Burnham-on-Sea, in Somerset . . .

LIVING DANGEROUSLY . . .

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