Saturday, March 29, 2008

A Poem that made me Cry

The Little Boy



Once a little boy went to school.

He was quite a little boy

And it was quite a big school.

But when the little boy

Found that he could go to his room

By walking right in from the door outside

He was happy;

And the school did not seem

Quite so big anymore.

One morning

When the little boy had been in school awhile,

The teacher said:"Today we are going to make a picture."

"Good!" thought the little boy.

He liked to make all kinds;

Lions and tigers,

Chickens and cows,

Trains and boats;

And he took out his box of crayons

And began to draw.

But the teacher said,

"Wait!"

"It is not time to begin!"

And she waited until everyone looked ready.

"Now," said the teacher,

"We are going to make flowers."

"Good!" thought the little boy,

He started to make beautiful ones

With his pink and orange and blue crayons.

But the teacher said "Wait!"

"And I will show you how."

She drew a flower on the blackboard.

It was red, with a green stem.

"There," said the teacher,

"Now you may begin."

The little boy looked at his teacher's flower

Then he looked at his own flower.

He liked his flower better than the teacher's

But he did not say this.

He just turned his paper over,

And made a flower like the teacher's.

It was red, with a green stem.

On another day

When the little boy had opened

The door from the outside all by himself,

The teacher said:

"Today we are going to make something with clay."

"Good!" thought the little boy;

He liked clay.

He could make all kinds of things with clay:

Snakes and snowmen,

Elephants and mice,

Cars and trucks

And he began to pull and pinch his ball of clay.

But the teacher said, "Wait!"

"It is not time to begin!"

And she waited until everyone looked ready.

"Now," said the teacher,"We are going to make a dish."

"Good!" thought the little boy,

He liked to make dishes.

And he began to make some

They were all shapes and sizes.

But the teacher said "Wait!"

"And I will show you how."

And she showed everyone how to make

One deep dish.

"There," said the teacher,"Now you may begin."

The little boy looked at the teacher's dish;

Then he looked at his own.

He liked his better than the teacher's

But he did not say this.

He just rolled his clay into a big ball again

And made a dish like the teacher's.

It was a deep dish.

And pretty soon

The little boy learned to wait,

And to watch

And to make things just like the teacher.

And pretty soon

He didn't make things of his own anymore.

Then it happened

That the little boy and his family

Moved to another house,

In another city,

And the little boy

Had to go to another school.

This school was even bigger

Than the other one.

And there was no door from the outside

Into his room.

He had to go up some big steps

And walk down a long hall

To get to his room.

And the very first day

He was there,

The teacher said:"Today we are going to make a picture."

"Good!" thought the little boy.

And he waited for the teacher

To tell what to do.

But the teacher didn't say anything.

She just walked around the room.

When she came to the little boy

She asked,

"Don't you want to make a picture?"

"Yes," said the lttle boy.

"What are we going to make?"

"I don't know until you make it," said the teacher.

"How shall I make it?" asked the little boy.

"Why, anyway you like," said the teacher.

"And any color?" asked the little boy.

"Any color," said the teacher.

"If everyone made the same picture,

And used the same colors,

How would I know who made what,

And which was which?"

"I don't know," said the little boy.

And he began to make flower.

It was red, with a green stem.

~Helen E. Buckley

11 comments:

Anonymous said...

that's really sad. he lost himself.

i don't think what i said made much sense. but that's sad.


Foofoo

bloody awful poetry said...

Awww..that's so sad!
Yer Foofoo totally made sense..like the kid lost himself, and his imagination and his originality and he's just not his own person anymore.
Reminds me of the education system over here in Malaysia. Everyone has to be the same, all our work, and I remember when we use to have art class, all our art had to be the same and according to what the teacher wants. Which is stupid. Because it's art. It's subjective, and it's an extension of somebody's personality. There's no such thing as the "right" way to make art.I used to hate drawing and stuff, simply because I always had to cater to a set of rules that somebody else wanted.
That's me taking the poem literally,but there's so many other ways to interpret this poem.
The boy who lost himself over a flower.
Good one, dude.

International Mastermind said...

Thanks. This was from English class. We had a big conversation over it. Sffh said something awesome. She said that the teacher represented the adults of the world, and the boy all the children. The adult molded the children, and once they were older, and with more freedom, they just did everything they were taught, and molded the next generation.

That made me sad. :( I'll have to post a happy poem.

rage said...

A Very Happy Storie (Note this is not very good because I am not good at happy stories)

There was a little pony. She was pink and happy. Ican't think of anything else.

Cassie said...

That is soooo sad! =(

That durned first teacher should be punished, robbing innocent children of their creativity and imagination like that! >=(

iq_two said...

This poem embodies my middle school.

iq_two said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
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