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'The Teachers Club'A Brief Synopsis on The Teachers Club
Not all teachers are bad. Not that many are all that great though, either. But some deserve special recognition for their outstanding dedication, impressive use of vocabulary, and a certain degree of over-all awesomeness.
This is what The Teachers Club is all about; to recognize the value of the truly amazing men in woman charged with guaranteeing our education.
This is the firs time the term The Teachers Club has been used to describe the phenomenon. We never gave a name to this group, but they have always been there. From the wonderfully loopy science teachers to then insanely over-hyper English instructors, these men and women will forever stand out in our memories of our school years.
Some teachers earn their admission simply by being their eccentric selves. Take Laspey, for example. On top of teaching various classes throughout the English department, such as Journalism and Creative Writin
A Table for Everyone I never belonged to a table before. Before high school only those with many friends could claim a table for themselves.
But now its different. No one is left without a table. In the middle, and easy to see, the upperclassmen fool around in circles. Gossip girls and their boyfriends gather in clusters towards the front with their backs to the windows. In another room, some poets, a smoker, and a handful illustrators all wearing dark sweatshirts convene by an arrangement of small red tables.
Our table hides in the back, in a corner, away from the lunch line and next to the snack bar that closed last year. A big round gray table that usually seats about six. We, the artists and book nerds, read Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings too many times. As actors we some days help L, the master mind from Death Note, and on others re-enact our favorite scenes from parodies of our favorite shows. One
My Filthy, Fucked-up Fridge I am a neat-freak. Not so much in the sense that I bleach every surface in sight, or ever comb my carpets to remove the pet fur thats woven its self into the fibers.
I just like to be organized. I like it when the house around me is organized. I like it when my thoughts are organized, and when my day is planned out for me ahead of time. I just like it when my life has order.
So when school had to start two weeks late because of the teachers strike, I felt like I was on the brink of dying from depression. You see, I had already run out of things to do by then. I had planned out my summer so that I would finish off my homework only two days before the new year would begin, and had been waiting in exited anticipation for my school days to return.
But they never did, not for two whole weeks. I had to stay, penned in my house, for yet another two, infuriating, hell-hole weeks.
Finally, the district announced that
MaskShe wears a mask like it’s nothing.
Sometimes I forget it was made by demons.
I forget there’s a person living behind it.
Bridge ClosedIn the city of spires
thrust upward through the body of cloud
a piercing spike of adrenalin,
as the wind fondly ruffles her hair,
doesn't stop her from jumping up.
Reaching to be seen or saved,
by a city that blinks and misses her -
a temporary peak on the skyline.
Doesn't stop her from slamming
into the steel slashes
of the trainline below.
Even the most beautiful places
to those blinded by the inside-out-agony
of breathing against their will.
The city of spires remember her
as the cause for a bridge closed
on a Sunday.
Poem for My 2nd Semester English Teacher(Short v.)You stapled these words to the page.
Like a modern day tyrant,
You denied them the little humanity
You trapped their souls into
And threw them to the curb,
I understand that certain things
Should be left Inhuman
But we even give hurricanes names.
You taught us to separate the person from the art,
But if the art is about that person, you can’t pull them apart
Raspy Hill"I don't quite feel like myself."
I haven't for a while now.
My mind seems displaced,
Like it's wandered too far away.
"I've been having strange dreams lately."
Images of strange creatures dance in my sleep.
I don't know them but I know they are malicious.
What do they want?
"But now you're here and I'll make you feel right at home."
My saviour, my protector.
You'll guard me from this evil.
"Welcome to Raspy Hill."
This is my hell.
And you'll join me.
I'll make sure of it.
"Enjoy your stay."
FlamesThere are flames where
his head should be -
a poem left in the fireplace,
a dressing gown, a pipe,
forty pieces of silver.
This man promised you a winter
so warm and bountiful
spring would be ashamed.
He called you by name -
not the one that father knew
shoved under his bible.
But the one left behind
in the branches,
in the bucket of brambles,
and the columbines
buried at your feet.
Stones on the battlefield,
surrender in the grass.
What did his face
even look like behind the curtain,
counting those coins
and loosening the damp earth
from your shoes?
a love poemlike a dictionary ripe
with salted, sun spotted
words that emanate power
and splendor, i am unable
to describe you.
FriendshipFriendship is a tapestry
Woven through the years
With threads of joy and laughter
Happiness and tears
It's a work of art so priceless
It's shared by a precious few
Yet so easily created
By a loving friend like you
each one of us carries cemeteries beneath our skinyou are not the only one
to walk like there are
who looks both ways
before crossing the road
"knew a girl who";
you are alive
and you will experience
hurt, and you will
be so thankful
for every painful breath you take
because it's better than when
everything goes quiet
and all you feel is exhaustion.
there is more than just
one cold snap
before you enter
the winter of your life.
there are spells
of sadness and rage,
hate and denial
of all that you know
and all that you deserve;
and you are not the only one
to fight for everyday you are here,
alive and breathing
and striving to thrive
on such an unforgiving planet,
in such a world
that births emotional deserts
in its people;
you are not the only one
Letter to a Would-be SpaniardLet me not count the days
That you have not been at my side
Let me forget the days I've cried
I miss you,
I miss you friend,
Gathering ourselves at pained day's end
With one another huddling
In your warm room
New Mexico is cold in winter
But with smiling suns
And hugging homes,
Beloved ones.... no longer.
With no one else do I share this union,
Fellowship, home-brewed friends' communion.
With others I feel stranger,
The others I might burden,
With others, my display is measured
From them comes no reprieval's pleasure.
But when it's just
Just you and me
Speech and Fear and Sympathy
Speech and Fear and Sympathy flow freely
For there's no debt between us,
Both good and bad by both discussed -
To have you as a friend I do feel blessed,
But without you
I am sleepless.
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Endorell-Taelos is very well known within the community for her selfless giving and gracious community spirit. Since joining DeviantART over seven years ago, Alicia has continued to make a positive impact on many deviants. Her helpful and thoughtful approach was one of her finest attributes when serving as a Community Volunteer, and this has continued throughout the many contests which Alicia provides on a regular basis. As we approach our Birthday celebrations, we can't... Read More