'𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭, 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐮𝐩𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦'
Neil Perry is completely and utterly infatuated with the juvenile delinquent that attends W...
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𝐄𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞, except for the singular person that stands at the front of the room, reciting their poems. Pieces of paper are in everyone's hands and have short stanzas written in ink on the lines.
Knox is the next person to read, the boy standing up and walking to stand in front of the blank chalkboard. He slowly lifts up his poem and takes a deep, steadying breath.
"To Chris." He began, making whispers break out.
"Who's Chris?"
"Mmm, Chris."
"I see a sweetness in her smile. Blight light shines from her eyes. But life is complete; contentment is mine, Just knowing that... just knowing that she's alive." Knox said, ignoring the people quietly talking. He shakes his head in disappointment. "Sorry, Captain. It's stupid."
"No, no. It's not stupid. It's a good effort. It touched on one of the major themes, love. A major theme not only in poetry, but life." Mr. Keating told Knox as the boy sat down. The teacher glances around the room, searching for the next subject. "Mr. Hopkins, you were laughing. You're up."
Hopkins confidently rises to his feet and prepares read his well written poem. "The cat sat on the mat."
The student grins widely as people laugh at his work. He pauses however when Mr. Keating walks into his view.
"Congratulations, Mr. Hopkins. Yours is the first poem to ever have a negative score on the Pritchard scale. We're not laughing at you, we're laughing near you. I don't mind that your poem had a simple theme. Sometimes the most beautiful poetry can be about simple things, like a cat, or a flower or rain. You see, poetry can come from anything with the stuff of revelation in it. Just don't let your poems be ordinary. Now, who's next?" Mr. Keating asked as Hopkins took his seat. Keating glances around the room, searching for the next person to read their poetry. His eyes land on Todd. The boy avoids eye contact at all costs.
"Mr. Anderson, I see you sitting there in agony. Come on, Todd, step up. Let's put you out of your misery."
"I, I didn't do it. I didn't write a poem." Todd stuttered, not wanting to speak aloud in front of the class. Mr. Keating sighs, well aware of why Todd is hesitant to go.
"Mr. Anderson thinks that everything inside of him is worthless and embarrassing. Isn't that right, Todd? Isn't that your worst fear? Well, I think you're wrong. I think you have something inside of you that is worth a great deal." Mr. Keating grabs a piece of chalk and begins to write on the board while speaking. "'I sound my barbaric yawp over the rooftops of the world.' W. W. Uncle Walt again. Now, for those of you who don't know, a yawp is a loud cry or yell. Now, Todd, I would like you to give us a demonstration of a barbaric "yawp." Come on."
Todd does not move, nor does he speak.
"You can't yawp sitting down. Let's go. Come on. Up." Todd slowly does as commanded and stands next to the teacher. "You gotta get in "yawping" stance."
