7: The Teacher

Here comes knowledge–a hideous monster

Clad in a cloth of so pink a disaster.

She stands tall for being short,

And breathes in a piglike snort.

She squeals in fury to get attention,

From the students laughing in an outtahir dimension.

She calms, she groans,

—A chill to the bones.

And today she teaches

Or rather, our brains she leeches,

With sutras of morality,

To submit our souls to ‘FATALITY’!

With plans of morbid routine,

Because our curiosity is a sin.


A horrid doggerel for this prompt:

Tell us about a teacher who had a real impact on your life, either for the better or the worse. How is your life different today because of him or her?

Obviously the theme ought to be TEACHER. Hey, being a teacher is a virtuous occupation, and I so wanted to write something about living this profession outside the four walls of the school. But one afternoon, I encountered this fun activity Jon Whitworth proposed:

Write a poem in McGonagallese doggerel – 10 or 12 lines and make them bad. Why am I asking you to do this? Because I want you to free yourself from the parrot-critic perched on your shoulder who has probably killed more poetry than ever booze or LSD did.

Yes. The activity came from Writing Poetry, his book, published by A & C Black Publishers Limited, first in 2001, then 2006. You should look up on it; the first chapters that I’ve read so far are fun, they aren’t replete with the elitist ambiance poetry books are known for. His words are kind to professionals and amateurs alike, in fact, to all creative dispositions (except for the elitist and pretentious). And his activities feel like games. You feel a lot less inhibited, less conscious, and thus you get to love the works you do. The other poem about job-hunting was also a response to the first activity of his book.

I had my share of horrid teachers, but the pink teacher from the Ministry of Magic stuck on me the most, and so I had to create this variation of her. So fun.

By the way, doggerel poems are horrid poems that have rhyme but no meter. It lambasts the schools who prefer the discipline of meter, I believe. Hence, most of these poems do intend to be comic and horrid. Why not try them yourself? Link them in the comment section below, or throw me a pingback if you will. Thanks!

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