Bless You, Mr. Pryor - Tony Bradley

Art was the subject every one liked
He made everything seem new, so much fun
we all felt chirpy after his lesson .
and nobody liked to miss one.

His ropey long hair, like a thick grey thatch
an old green tweed jacket and friendly smile
burgundy corduroys hitched round his plump waist
with an old school tie, in gypsy style.

Some of the other teachers didn't like him
the perceived lack of discipline, the clothes, the hair,
in the staff room, some wouldn't talk to him
so he stayed in his classroom, he didn't care.

He said to always give more, than we ever take
to value the world's beauty, and the time we've got
he gave us poetry books, but he read from his head
He was there, every deed, every plot.

He was so friendly and full of affection
he cared for us all, he loved life
but we knew somehow, beyond his warmth
he'd had more than his share of strife.

and the words that he passionately spoke to us
although we had the poems, they weren't lines
somehow it seemed he was just remembering
his earlier, exciting, dangerous times

He finished the poem, and that was our task
with our minds and our palettes, re-capture the scene
tinker's caravans, little sailboats, or castles and moats
we'd all just come back from a lovely dream.

I didn't do well in most subjects at school
I was bored, it was dull, it was dire
but now I'm enjoying a beautiful world
God bless you, Mr. Pryor.

Tony Bradley