Mr. Lavelle, he who is rumored
To be the strict eccentric;
He who is rumored to get a sadistic
Pleasure in abusing students' papers.
I share the paralyzing fear
With my fellow peers.
He is our teacher and he has
Begun his lesson.
Built like an Irish boxer, he
Does not stand often, keeping his immense
Height hidden behind his desk.
His voice reminds me more of a
Gentle giant like the soft, sleeping Appalachian Mountains
Rather than the booming claps of thunder
Often depicted with fearsome beings.
As he lectures, I can see the
Slow mixture of terrified respect and wonder
Creep across the others' faces and
I am pleased to see the rumors
Have been just what rumors usually are:
Words without thought behind them.
(Written for Latin class after reading Catullus' poem about Suffenus... if that means anything to you)
Why another poem? Because I lack anything interesting or intelligent to speak of. I can never figure out if I hate or like the man. He is very arrogant and loves to talk over other people. He is not interested in our ideas... he is interested in telling his ideas about books and the world to us. Like any other teacher, if you just nod and smile and vomit up the bullshit he feeds you, you will get a decent grade.
But I can't be too harsh on the man. He has some pretty lofty ideas that are almost [maybe] inspiring. And he has a vast amount of knowledge about woodwind instruments, which I found quite amusing.
