In The Art Class

Poem By Lenore Lee

I look around this joyful room,
Amongst the peaceful teens
This is perhaps the only class
Where students are not machines

In the art class they’ll smile
In the art class they’ll yell
In the art class they‘ll be kind
And not raise a hell

Many teachers wonder why this is so
Many teachers wonder where the secret lies
The secret to peaceful teens, which enjoy their work
The secret to the students without depressed cries

The students wonder how they could not get it
How they could not understand
How the teachers don’t realise
That in the art room there are no demands

In the maths class there are complications
In the English room there is language
But in the art room there is only creativity
It is that which students which to salvage

The art teacher is simple and kind
The art teacher doesn’t lecture or scream
The art teacher doesn’t force them to be equal
And make a most horrendous scene

No, in the art class they are not equal
But the differences they admire
They have a writer, a painter and a sculptor
And they have freedom to aspire

Freedom is what the students wish
The students wish to be treated like people
In the art class they are treated as such
In other classes they are believed incapable

The students will always be at peace in the art room
There will be no fights, no pain, and no scorn
The other teachers will wonder what the secret is
But their attempts to find out will always be forlorn

Comments about In The Art Class

So true, Lenore. If we can allow our creativity to flow, it gives such a great satisfaction. When things are pushed down our throats we tend to revolt. I really believe that mathematics does not have to be boring. Teachers should build in lots of creativity in their sessions with the students whatever is their subject. A very nice poem with a great message


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Other poems of LEE

Anthropomorphism

Monkeys looking like a man could be,
Climbing to get the fruit off of the tree.
Isn't that just like a human?
What makes them different to us?

A Sad Smile

I look upon my Nanna's shallow form,
Her sunken eyes show an unending storm.
Tubes stuck in her arms, neck and belly,
She strains her eyes to watch the telly.

Choose Life

I cry and I don't know why,
I vent and stress,
I struggle in a mess,
I scream and feel frustrated,

A Lady's Eye

A teardropp falls from a lady's eye,
Misery seeps into her being,
She gives a deep, breathy, longing sigh,
And dreams about believing.

True Beauty

When a pretty girl walks down the street,
All the people want to meet.
This girl with slim hips and golden hair,
This girl that everybody wants to stare.

The Sociopath (1)

I sat alone today and wondered if I could still feel,
Inside my soul I believe nothing is truly real.
Alone once again and it doesn’t even cause me pain.
I try to remember how to have blind belief gained.