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I went to the Goodman School of Drama in Chicago.

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The Yellow School Bus

The yellow school bus with the black wheels took sick children to school each day.
The yellow school bus with the black wheels was driven whether or not the sky was gray.
The yellow school bus with the black wheels went pass three streets and up a hill.
The yellow school bus with the black wheels was driven whether sunny or chilled.
The yellow school bus with the black wheels always brought a smile to little kids face.
The yellow school bus with the black wheels was filled with love and filled with grace.
The yellow school bus with the black wheels kept breathing until that final breath.
The yellow school bus with the black wheels was painted red with blood and death.
The yellow school bus with the black wheels and the little sick children were all of friends.
But the now dead children will never take a ride in the yellow school bus again.

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The Old School House

Through an open window, ivy creeps and winds its way;
Just one of the obvious signs of impending urban decay.
Girls once went about their daily lives in this old place,
But now they have gone, all that’s left is an empty space.

In these halls, girls once laughed, and excitedly chattered,
But, now, these halls look decidedly unloved and battered.
There were tennis courts, and a pool, and a large sports field,
But any sign of physical activity, has long since been stilled.

The tall, turreted tower, which housed the school’s ‘sick bay’,
Is now falling into a state of disrepair, and has seen its heyday.
The well stocked Library shelves have been cleared of books.
In the Refectory, no delicious smells linger, as no-one cooks.

The spacious dormitories all bore the names of popular birds,
But, now, from within them, not a single sound can be heard.
No lessons are taught in the now long abandoned classrooms,
And around the once chaotic corridors, girls no longer zoom.

The school boasted, beautiful, extensive, landscaped grounds,
Where, in their spare time, many girls could often be found.
But, the lilac rhododendron bushes are now badly overgrown,
And, the once well manicured croquet lawn is now never mown.

The impressive oak panelled entrance hall was once very grand;
Dozens of old school photos, on its walls, were once crammed.
The carpet, on the carved wooden staircase, is looking well worn;
But many hundreds of feet, over the years, it has silently borne.

The school hall, standing empty, with its bare wooden floors,
Looks rather shabby, as though it has been through the wars.
The old school is now a happy home to a large family of mice,
As well as scurrying, scary spiders, and a colony of wood lice.

There was much sadness when, down came, the final curtain,
And now the old school’s future is looking decidedly uncertain.
The building has been left, facing a very long and lengthy wait;
Just kicking its heels, biding time, until it learns of its final fate.

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Before I got Doctor Who, I went to the Guildhall School of Music and Drama. I went back to take the final grade exam, which is the grade you have to take before you can take the teacher's diploma.

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She Never Quite Went All The Way

Up in Portland lived a girl named Nadine
One of the prettiest women I’d ever seen
She always seemed detached and blasé;

Though she had a beautiful body
And knew how to use it
She never quite went all the way

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Today when you went up the hill

Today when you went up the hill
And all that I could see
Was just a speck of black and white
Very far from me,
It seemed more strange than words can say,
The dot that I could see,
Really was the dearest thing
The world holds for me.

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I Went To the Soul Of My Sadness And Said

I WENT TO THE SOUL OF MY SADNESS AND SAID

I went to the soul of my sadness and said
‘Why are you? ’
And it said
The world does not need you’
And I asked again, ’ Why’
And my soul said,
‘Because you in all you do are not very good’
And I continued writing a poem
Even I must try to believe in.

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Red Dirt School

It is a red dirt school, oh yes it is
It is red dirt through and through
I have many school memories
I'm sure this is the same for you

School years one upon another
Paved the way for the future
And when it is in red dirt America
It is country life open and sure

It was nice to see the other folks
Who went to the old school with me
We had so much to talk about
Though each time there are less to see!

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Lou Dog Went To The Moon

My little dog, ran away the other day
yea yea, yea yea, yea yea,yea yea.
I cant believe my little dog Lou Dog, ran away
yea yea, yea yea, yea yea, yea yea
He packed his bags, got into a hotair ballon
yea yea, yea yea, yea yea, yea yea
And then my little dog, Lou Dog,
Sailed off to the moon
yea yea, yea yea, yea yea, yea yea
[yells somthing twice!]
That was the day that, Lou Dog, Went to the moon.
[clapping and cheering]

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It's True I Went To The Market

My friend, I went to the market and bought the Dark One.
You claim by night, I claim by day.
Actually I was beating a drum all the time I was buying him.
You say I gave too much; I say too little.
Actually, I put him on a scale before I bought him.
What I paid was my social body, my town body, my family body, and all my inherited jewels.
Mirabai says: The Dark One is my husband now.
Be with me when I lie down; you promised me this in an earlier life.

[Translated by Robert Bly]

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I Went to the Mall

I went to the mall a lot as a kid.
While I never had much money to spend,
It was just something my friends and I did.
We'd window shop—play consumer pretend.
When I got a little older, when I found
My first job, I'd squander my funds weekly.
All my money so quickly would rebound
Back into the local economy.
Now, all the stores I'd visit have been closed,
Sealed behind the walls of ad-space cement.
The stores I'd skip now seem much more exposed,
But they only sell mass-produced content.
The imagery of endorsed business
Coerces me into purchasing less.

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In the Fray (school)

hours, hours yes they fly by
so far away, so high in the sky
i just cannot reach
any of my dreams and there is a breach
in consciousness and rhyme
and this gap may last for all time
in the middle of the test
taking a crazy exam with little food and little rest
they think i am crazy now
maybe not done asking the question how
and why?
why o why do i write am i high? or something
or on drugs? nay and no i say
quite frankly, no not today,
never
it seems like such a useless endeavor
to forget one's problems in a such a way
therefore i run far away
from such things as i take my test
the bell rings yay done
time to have fun?
time to rest?
no and no again back to the asylum...
school

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The Perfect school

THE PERFECT SCHOOL

A place where a student worships his teacher as a god,
The heads of the children before their teacher nod.
The place is the school where teachers give education,
It’s a school where there is afforestation.
A school that has all the beauties,
Is a perfect school whose students have all the qualities.
A school whose students will become president and magic vista,
A school whose students will become Rabindranath Tagore and Mother Teresa.
The Perfect School is a school whose trees will always be uploaded with fruits of joy, success and happiness,
A school whose students will never have a future of darkness.
That school will conquer the world,
In that school, music will be sung by birds.

CONTRIBUTED BY:
Gautam Kumar Sharma

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Home is the first school and mother is the first teacher

Home is the first school and mother is the first teacher
Parents are the builder of children’s characters and minds,
The mother won’t be a fighter but should be a well preacher,
If she is an illiterate she must carry her children to tuition,
Howsoever the mother should educate their children first,
And she should send her children to school daily and regularly,
Teachers are not blamed not to fulfil children’s educational thirst,
Both the parents and teachers should make them the best citizens,
As we can’t work with one hand likewise we can’t walk with one leg,
Hence, parents and teachers are the same faces of the same coin,
If parents and teachers do them careless they suffer in life to beg,
Do well and have well it is said to see your own profit in life or ruin,
That is why parents and teachers are the best artists of the child,
If an art is spoilt the statue of the child looks like an ugly and a wild.

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The Old School House At Ruby

In old school house yard at Ruby a dark brown shorthorn cow
And leghorn pullets cackling beneath the cypress bough
This school must hold good memories and memories live somehow
Here in their lunch hour children played but where are those children now? .

The old school room now a tea room has undergone some change
And if past pupil came back here he'd find the place quite strange
Where is the desk he sat at? the blackboard is not there
And time has brought change to Ruby as it has done elsewhere.

The old school house at Ruby a memory of past years
Here Ruby children sang and laughed and shed their fledgeling tears
And do those children of Ruby who now live far away
In dreams return to old school house and Ruby childhood day? .

The old school house at Ruby a memory of the past
And time has brought about some change and time bring change too fast
This school must hold good memories and memories live somehow
Here in their lunch hour children played but where are those children now? .

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I went into the wide world

I went into the wide world
and everywhere
where I could

stood on snow white beaches
reconnoitred the blue ocean,
hillocks and hills,

saw plains
and in the desert
white skeletons
of animals that disappeared,

encountered and learned to know people
said farewell to others
and experienced every thing
that I wanted
and still tried to keep
to that which is good,

held different banknotes
in my hand
and paid a price for a living
and took pieces out of my humanity,

when I realized
that yesterday, today and tomorrow
really are the same

with a sun that appears
and disappears at its time,
stars shining on the heavenly dome
and fleeing for the blue,

that there always are people
that cares for each other
and likes you
and that some dislikes you
who leaves pain and discomfort,

that we are sometimes happy,
exuberant, mournful
or sad

and try too hard
to buy every minute
of life before it passes

and that the course of life
is tied to its own time
and farewells
sometimes lies just around the corner,

that people are human
and stand
at the feet of God
for whom a thousand years
passes like a single day.

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The Old School Clock

'Twas a quaint old clock with a quaint old face,
and great iron weights and chain.
It stopped when it liked, and before it struck
it creaked as if 'twere in pain.
It had seen many years, and it seemed to say,
'I'm one of the real old stock',
To the youthful fry, who with reverence looked
on the face of the old school clock.
What a terrible frown did the old clock wear
to the truant who timidly cast
An anxious eye on those merciless hands,
that for him had been moving too fast!
But its frown soon changed, for it loved to smile
on the thoughtless, noisy flock,
And it creaked and whirred, and struck with glee,
Did that genial, good humoured old clock.
Well, years had passed, and my mind was filled
with the world, its cares and ways,
When again I stood in that little school
where I passed my boyhood days.
My old friend was gone! And there hung a thing
that my sorrow seemed to mock,
As I gazed with a tear and a softened heart
at a new-fashioned Yankee clock.

'Tis the way of the world. Old friends pass away
and fresh faces arise in their stead.
But still 'mid the din and bustle of life
we cherish fond thoughts of the dead.
Yes, dearly those memories cling round my heart,
and bravely withstand Time's rude shock;
But not one is more dear or more hallowed to me
than the face of that old school clock.

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I Went To The Mirror

In a voice soaked with euphoria:
I went to the mirror this morning
I looked in the mirror instead
The first thing to come into focus
Was a face wrapped all around my head
Theres something sticking out of the middle
I guess its my nose (I suppose)
I just dont recognize those eyes
All these years Ive been watching from the other side
The voice is now one of brutal stupefication. the underlying question is - if
You went crazy, would you know it?
Uh oh, here I go thinking them crazy thoughts again.
Who is that there? you mean I been walking around
In that all these years? whats it all about?
Wheres it all at? I dont want to get heavy but
What am I doing here? uh
My lip has a dark spot upon it
(the voice of a mature adult whos comprehensive
Capacity has suddenly been reduced to that of a
Cherrystone clam)
My teeth look like plastic in chips
And there on my chin I discover
One lonely red and arrogant zit
I went about my business this morning
You got to get out of bed and make that bread
But try as I may to get away
I wont forget what I seen in the mirror today
Boogie on out to a brand new day.
Get off your back and dance!
I seen my eyes. I seen my nose. my lips. my teeth.
My, my gums. I seen my gums! I looked all the way
Down my throat! I looked at my ears. I looked real
Hard at my ears. I looked at my hair. I think Im going
Bald. I had hair all over the sink or something...

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The Auric School

Oh dear, it is as I feared, I scanned Aura Energy, feeling no synergy
with the well-meaning author as he orated on the magnificence of the
aura's appearance, colours connected to numerology, there he lost
me totally, writing of tentacles and auric vampirism

He explained how to fix the aura in order to cleanse an emotional system, but I shook my head, if emotional states cause the aura to
fracture, dis-colour and become nebulous or change from iridescent
to dark grey, I would prefer to work on the mental aspect instead
of approaching trees

And using the moon and stars' influence to release their magic on
the broken aura, crystal-waving like pendulums seems to be too
bohemian, if I could have invested these procedures with hope and
belief, they would probably work for me too - but starting by
trying to visualise the aura is too much

Using physical sensors meant to perceive the material world to
focus on an immaterial entity like the aura simply makes no
sense to me, I'm glad Joe Slate and his acolytes are successful
in repairing auras no-one but they can see - and thus heal
people from suffering

But I'm doomed to invest my belief in systems I have visualised
as a child and proved successful after concentration on the
imagery - anything would do and if I had been brought up in
the auric school, I probably would have had success in using
this to change reality, now too late to change my fate… 

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The Best School of All

It's good to see the school we knew,
the land of youth and dream.
To greet again the rule we knew,
before we took the stream.
Though long we've missed the sight of her,
Out hearts may not forget:
We've lost the old delight of her,
We keep her honour yet.

Chorus:
We'll honour yet the school we knew
The best school of all
We'll honour yet the rule we knew
Till the last bell call
For working days or holidays
And glad or melancholy days
They were great days and jolly days
At the best school of all

The stars and sounding vanities
That half the crowd bewitch.
What are they but inanities
To him that treads the pitch?
And where's the welth I'm wondering,
Could buy the cheers that roll
When the last charge goes thundering
Towards the twilight goal?

Then men that tanned the hide of us,
Our daily foes and friends,
They shall not lose their pride of us,
However the journey ends.
Their voice to us who sing of it,
No more its message bears,
But the round world shall ring of it,
And all we are be theirs.

To speak of fame a venture is,
There's little here can bide,
But we may face the centuries,
And dare the deepending tide;
for though the dust that's part of us,
To dust again be gone,
Yet here shall beat the heart of us,
The school we handed on!

We'll honour yet the school we knew
The best school of all
We'll honour yet the rule we knew
Till the last bell call
For working days or holidays
And glad or melancholy days
They were great days and jolly days
At the best school of all

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The First School Day

We are saddling Don and Laddie,
Mid laughter, and fun and noise
And maybe, a sigh in passing
For vanished holiday joys.

And Mother is cutting lunches,
There are only four as a rule,
But to-day another is added,
For Baby is going to school.

‘You’ll take her on Laddie between you,
And hold her tight at the creek.”
And Mother parts with her darling
With a kiss on her dimpled cheek.

“You needn’t be fwightened.” Says baby,
I’ll be as wight as tan be,
I’LL give Sister our names, and I’ll tell her
That ‘Mary Beronica’s’- me.”

Oh, the breath of the summer morning,
The gleam of dew on the grass,
The incense of white gum blossoms
That strew our path as we pass.

While Mickey and Pat go racing
Over flats where the grass is green-
But Eileen and I ride slowly
Guarding our treasure between.

She loves every mile of the journey,
And shouts with delight at the creek,
Where under the blossomed tea-trees
The ripples play hide and seek.

And full of delight is the township
With its red-roofed houses gay,
Though Baby would love to linger
At the toy-shover over the way.

But the nine o’clock bell is sounding
From the door of the Convent school
Where our darling finds, to her pleasure,
Another kingdom to rule.

With a brand new desk in the corner,
A pencil and slate of her own,
In the sunshine of Sister’s welcome
She sits – a queen on her throne.

But drowsily hums the insects
Round the bougainvillea flower,
And drowsy and warm in the morning,
So long ere the luncheon hour,

Kind Sister has drawn the blind down
Making a shady nook,
Where ‘Mary Beronica’ slumbers
With her golden head on her book.

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