Marketing Strategy

I hate this class...

A large beige room,
Dead with gloom,
A class as bored as sin…

Try as we might to listen in class,
Not one of us can win…

She tries to speak English, but squanders with French.
Her attempts at humour going amiss.
Day after day, I return to my corner,
My mind wandering back to the abyss.

The people around me, keep me sane.
None of this class, is worth the pain.
I try to smile, but all I do is fail
I see the window, and I want to bail.

Window’s now open, I want to cry.
Looking at the board, would it be easier to die?
This isn’t a poem, its doesn’t even make sense,
I’ve written so long, at my own times expense,

My challenge was written, to rhyme all class long.
And now I sit writing, bored and forlorn.
Tests coming soon, none wanting to bear.
All live in hope we’ll see her corpse lying there…
 

Author's Note

A poem dedicated to the hopefully soon memory of S Ferr�ol Hafkamp. Our lecturer

Reviews

[Just Charles]

Interesting. I can remember those times when I sit in class, hopelessly waiting for it to end.

[FoolsGold23]

Ohhhhhh haha this reminded me of my Pre-Cal Teacher!!!
You've got prhases in here that could pertain to any number of drooling lecturers,
a communal groan of disgust if you will.
I do enjoy the occaisional poetry that you spin out, even though they are sometimes dark and gloomy.
Great work, versatile as usual. ~P