The chalkboard was dusty, the erasers filled with chalk. The squeek of the piece of chalk was deafening to the ears of the students sitting in the one room schoolhouse. THe teacher’s heair was piled up on her head and she wore a gray dress that smelled of mothballs.
a chalkboard is where you write. Similar to here in fact. Except here you dont actually use chalk…you use a keyboard. In a sense it is my chalk. But to someone without an artistic crazy mind, it isn’t. Who’s right, well the 2nd person clearly, but the 1st person is more fun.
Chalkboards are amazing. If we ask ourselves why, we’ll never really know the answer. I think that it has to do something with our elementary lives, where we all use to fight each other off to use a chalk duster to clean the chalkboard. It’s a beautiful creation that has made us who we are today.
i hate chalkboards they are really gross with all the powerder and chalk just waiting to hit the softeness of the silk dress and pants that i wear. White boards are much more better, and besides, you can get high off of the markers. Chalkboards are just an intstrument people used back in the day but now there are white boards!
That scratching shaking feeling that makes your cringe.
Thinking about nails dragging themselves down the bored.
Merely to irritate
Merely to frustrate
White lines and numbers
Pi is only a number
not intended to frustrate
I sit here in class and stare at this chalkboard. It’s dark. It’s bland. At the same time, my mind starts to draw figures and shapes on it’s desert-like surface to keep me entertained while I’m trapped in this prison with windows.
He stood in front of the chalkboard, the dusty utensil gripped in his trembling fingers. He was unsure of what he was supposed to do. He was all too aware of the rows of people behind him, eyes boring into his back, snickers beginning to spread across dirty, sticky cheeks. His tanned flesh produced a rich, deep flush of red as he imagined them behind him, mocking him.
Once there was a boy who loved to doze off in class. He was easily distracted. But there was something about that chalkboard that always kept him focused. Maybe it was the beautiful Mrs. Applebees that stood next to it, writing with her special purple chalk, but whatever it was this boy couldn’t take his eyes off it…and was that a good thing? We’ll never know…
whats that? I looked in the corner and sitting there was an old chalkboard. Wow. Who uses those anymore? it’s ancient. Haha, if only that were true. I can see theres a story behind this but I dont know it.
words fly across. fast to be caught up. looks shared, smiles lost. no one is sure what we all did. scribble, scribble. chalkboard is full. our papers are not.
I hate and love chalkboards. I hate them in the classroom, I want smartboards instead. But I love them in the home. I want them all over my house to jot down notes, and shopping lists. They are somehow nostalgic.
I saw chalkboard as I logged on, so why the surprise not any more… I can prepare now its not a surprise and can rattle off a hundred words easy even with my limited keyboard performance !
in the classroom my teacher writes in the chalkboard, in it she writes instructions words and phrases. Sometimes she lets us write in it and i write in it my name and whatever is on my mind. I hate however when my fingers get all dirty with chalk and so i need to go to the bathroom to clean them up. I also love to clean the erasers of the chalkboard although i always cough when i do.
She looked around, wishing there was a chalkboard to write things out on. She knew that he wouldn’t understand it until it was represented visually.
“Alright,” she said, “it’s like this.”
He looked up, confused still.
screechng nails fall down childeren bending down by the sound ear drums popping hhilderen loving it childeren hatg it one wondering y is this happenening to me another hate this teacher the teacher hahahaha i hate u al i do but at the end of the day i will listen o anyone of ur home problems or anything u have to say so think again y im doing ths i dont hate u all i hate ur parents i will understand
The chalkboard filled up with calculations as his bottle drained. He had never been this clearheaded in his life. The equations flowed from him. It all had come down to this, all of his life’s work together into one dusty chalkboard.
I like to eat chalkboards, they have a simple taste but I think they are good for my nutrition and diet for they have these minerals that help your brain function properly,which is why i am such an excellent, “on-top-of-it” kind of person. I also like to eat oranges.
it reminds me of school and i think of the chalk dust flying off and landing on the little metal thing that holds the chalk. erasers and colors and art and school and kids and teachers. it reminds me of cartoons and beating erasers. chalk.
The word was splattered in the chalkboard. The writer must have used lots of anger to write it. It looked as if it was in bold. How the echo of the laughters and giggled remained in my ears. My lower lip trembled, but up my head stayed. I was not gonna succumb under their mocking ways. I was gonna succeed. I was gonna walk away from the chalkboard and their lies.
The chalkboard was visibly empty of any writing. Since it was the end of the school year. Everything had to be cleaned out in every teacher’s classroom, so the janitors can do their work. Including the chalkboard.
reminds me of being a young child and learning how to write and join up words. now we just use computers. whiteboards are always my preference, chalk is messy and smelly and always makes me sneeze! doubt these are even used in classrooms anymore! black and white.
We used to have chalkboards in my high school, but only for the first few months of my Freshman year. I remember our Physics teacher, Mr. C, who was also the building’s default handyman, went through every single classroom and replaced them with whiteboards. It was a great improvement, and things went better after that. But I always sort of missed the chalkboards.
I really like chalkboards, it’s probably my childish urge to draw all over them. I find giant murals fascinating, and always enjoyed drawing huge scenes all over when i was a little kid. Chalkboards are fun and useful, i guess.
Oh, how the smell of chalk annoyed me. I hated cleaning the board. OH why oh why, did the teacher made me clean it! I remember her poor behind, in black pants, all white. How lovely to be a teacher. And to think, that THAT is my future work life.
chalk and you write stuff at school mostly but you can have one just for fun at school, thats what i would want!!! and i like writing my ABC’s on it thats what pre-k ers doo!!!! so yep thats wat amber thinkss
School, of course. What else would I think of? Back to the days of black and white, round handwriting that you could smear with your finger and playful drawings on the board whenever the teacher wasn’t looking. You tried not to inhale the dust, but sometimes traces of chalk were left on the cuff of your sleeve.
From desks away, you’d observe your class and daydream until the squeak of the chalk jolted you back to spelling and arithmetic.
Now, few people use a black chalkboard. Sometimes, it’s a small green lapboard. More often, it’s a whiteboard, with smooth, colored markers and toxic dust at the corners. What happened to traditional education?
My first day as a substitute teacher I went to the wrong school. I remember my hands slipping off of my steering wheel as I turned into the parking lot next to the tall brick building. I slunk in through the side door because I was late to my first class as an adjunct. I remember scouring the empty halls looking for the classroom that matched the smeared numbers on the napkin I had used to write my instructions on. I remember that my footsteps sounded like gunshots with all of the bodies in the classrooms, nothing to absorb the sound of my heel bouncing off the tile floor, just black, metal lockers. When I finally found the room I thought I was looking for I walked through and loudly announced that I was sorry I was late, and found myself in the middle of a woodshop class. An older gentlemen, a Ghallager look alike at the front of the room, pulled his safety goggles off and balanced them atop his bald head. Can I help you? he asked. And I felt my phone buzzing in my pocket — in contrast with the spinning saw — and I knew it was the administration of P.S. 118 wondering where I was. I missed first period and made in time for the last half of second. In the desk I found the regular teachers instructions. “My students are to take a test today. No talking. If they do, don’t hesitate to take the test away. I have preemptively written John Henderson of my fifth period class a referral for disrespect. He will earn it without fail, just a forewarning.” When the third period class filed in I handed them the tests and then wrote the answers on the chalkboard. I said, “No talking,” and then watched as the class suspiciously copied down what I had written onto their paper. Most of my answers were wrong, and some of the smarter kids knew that, but it didn’t stop me from collecting their sheets and filing them into the teacher’s manilla folder. When the last test was handed in I opened my briefcase and pulled out a VHS of the 1930’s “King Kong” and then told everyone to take notes. One of the kids in the back said, smartly, “Shouldn’t you be teaching us something?” I wrote him a refferal and laid it on his desk. “I didn’t get this job to teach,” I said. “I’m just here to watch movies.” I took a seat behind the teacher’s desk and I did just that. I did nothing. I did nothing and I watched.
Wow. Looking at the chalkboard in this room brings so many memories. I remember Billy sat in front, and I would just stare at that beautiful aura of his.
if i had only one word to say to somebody, it would probably be “sorry.” i’m sorry for all the harm i put you through, for all the pain that i might put you through in the future. it’s hard to be nice all of the time. i know i would want to make sure everyone knew that i truly felt remorse for my bad actions. i love them.
The strokes of crisp white on a clean smooth black surface. The tremor of putting the creamy end of the stick to the board. The anticipation right before the tip breaks and the magic begins.
In third grade, I read the book “Loser” by Jerry Spinelli. The protagonist, Zinkoff, threw up on his teacher’s sacred chalkboard eraser. I really miss this book.
It reminds me of elementary school. Fall. Apples. Crisp fall leaves. Auburn. Football. Jeans and crisp cool fall nights. First grade at Lee Scott Academy.
i was once captured by Russian spies dressed as giant trolls, you know the ones with the weird hair, and tortured with the sound of fingernails on a chalkboard until i told them the birth date of my great uncle. it was a strange experience.
A chalkboard can be erased; so can a life.
We are all just chalk.
We teach and be learn, sometimes we make mistakes.
Some days we look perfect, other days – a bit shabby.
But we are chalk.
We are on the board, then we’re off.
Writing on the wall. Stark white against cold black. Let’s add some colour to this drab world. Grab the blues and greens and reds and paint this world with colour.
The chalkboard was dusty, the erasers filled with chalk. The squeek of the piece of chalk was deafening to the ears of the students sitting in the one room schoolhouse. THe teacher’s heair was piled up on her head and she wore a gray dress that smelled of mothballs.
a chalkboard is where you write. Similar to here in fact. Except here you dont actually use chalk…you use a keyboard. In a sense it is my chalk. But to someone without an artistic crazy mind, it isn’t. Who’s right, well the 2nd person clearly, but the 1st person is more fun.
Chalkboards are amazing. If we ask ourselves why, we’ll never really know the answer. I think that it has to do something with our elementary lives, where we all use to fight each other off to use a chalk duster to clean the chalkboard. It’s a beautiful creation that has made us who we are today.
i hate chalkboards they are really gross with all the powerder and chalk just waiting to hit the softeness of the silk dress and pants that i wear. White boards are much more better, and besides, you can get high off of the markers. Chalkboards are just an intstrument people used back in the day but now there are white boards!
That scratching shaking feeling that makes your cringe.
Thinking about nails dragging themselves down the bored.
Merely to irritate
Merely to frustrate
White lines and numbers
Pi is only a number
not intended to frustrate
I sit here in class and stare at this chalkboard. It’s dark. It’s bland. At the same time, my mind starts to draw figures and shapes on it’s desert-like surface to keep me entertained while I’m trapped in this prison with windows.
He stood in front of the chalkboard, the dusty utensil gripped in his trembling fingers. He was unsure of what he was supposed to do. He was all too aware of the rows of people behind him, eyes boring into his back, snickers beginning to spread across dirty, sticky cheeks. His tanned flesh produced a rich, deep flush of red as he imagined them behind him, mocking him.
Once there was a boy who loved to doze off in class. He was easily distracted. But there was something about that chalkboard that always kept him focused. Maybe it was the beautiful Mrs. Applebees that stood next to it, writing with her special purple chalk, but whatever it was this boy couldn’t take his eyes off it…and was that a good thing? We’ll never know…
whats that? I looked in the corner and sitting there was an old chalkboard. Wow. Who uses those anymore? it’s ancient. Haha, if only that were true. I can see theres a story behind this but I dont know it.
words fly across. fast to be caught up. looks shared, smiles lost. no one is sure what we all did. scribble, scribble. chalkboard is full. our papers are not.
nails on it hurt
but
my ears are dead anyway
my heart is dead anyway
what’s hurt
?/
I hate and love chalkboards. I hate them in the classroom, I want smartboards instead. But I love them in the home. I want them all over my house to jot down notes, and shopping lists. They are somehow nostalgic.
I saw chalkboard as I logged on, so why the surprise not any more… I can prepare now its not a surprise and can rattle off a hundred words easy even with my limited keyboard performance !
in the classroom my teacher writes in the chalkboard, in it she writes instructions words and phrases. Sometimes she lets us write in it and i write in it my name and whatever is on my mind. I hate however when my fingers get all dirty with chalk and so i need to go to the bathroom to clean them up. I also love to clean the erasers of the chalkboard although i always cough when i do.
She looked around, wishing there was a chalkboard to write things out on. She knew that he wouldn’t understand it until it was represented visually.
“Alright,” she said, “it’s like this.”
He looked up, confused still.
The teacher scribbled on the wall, making the chalked words screech their way to dust.
screechng nails fall down childeren bending down by the sound ear drums popping hhilderen loving it childeren hatg it one wondering y is this happenening to me another hate this teacher the teacher hahahaha i hate u al i do but at the end of the day i will listen o anyone of ur home problems or anything u have to say so think again y im doing ths i dont hate u all i hate ur parents i will understand
The chalkboard filled up with calculations as his bottle drained. He had never been this clearheaded in his life. The equations flowed from him. It all had come down to this, all of his life’s work together into one dusty chalkboard.
chalk, board, teacher, school, uniform, cough, desks, pencils, eraser, dust, cloud, green, wood, classroom, rows, columns, tile
I like to eat chalkboards, they have a simple taste but I think they are good for my nutrition and diet for they have these minerals that help your brain function properly,which is why i am such an excellent, “on-top-of-it” kind of person. I also like to eat oranges.
it scratches in my mind and leads a white line that only defines where my brain allows it to travel.
it reminds me of school and i think of the chalk dust flying off and landing on the little metal thing that holds the chalk. erasers and colors and art and school and kids and teachers. it reminds me of cartoons and beating erasers. chalk.
The word was splattered in the chalkboard. The writer must have used lots of anger to write it. It looked as if it was in bold. How the echo of the laughters and giggled remained in my ears. My lower lip trembled, but up my head stayed. I was not gonna succumb under their mocking ways. I was gonna succeed. I was gonna walk away from the chalkboard and their lies.
The chalkboard was visibly empty of any writing. Since it was the end of the school year. Everything had to be cleaned out in every teacher’s classroom, so the janitors can do their work. Including the chalkboard.
reminds me of being a young child and learning how to write and join up words. now we just use computers. whiteboards are always my preference, chalk is messy and smelly and always makes me sneeze! doubt these are even used in classrooms anymore! black and white.
We used to have chalkboards in my high school, but only for the first few months of my Freshman year. I remember our Physics teacher, Mr. C, who was also the building’s default handyman, went through every single classroom and replaced them with whiteboards. It was a great improvement, and things went better after that. But I always sort of missed the chalkboards.
I really like chalkboards, it’s probably my childish urge to draw all over them. I find giant murals fascinating, and always enjoyed drawing huge scenes all over when i was a little kid. Chalkboards are fun and useful, i guess.
Oh, how the smell of chalk annoyed me. I hated cleaning the board. OH why oh why, did the teacher made me clean it! I remember her poor behind, in black pants, all white. How lovely to be a teacher. And to think, that THAT is my future work life.
chalk and you write stuff at school mostly but you can have one just for fun at school, thats what i would want!!! and i like writing my ABC’s on it thats what pre-k ers doo!!!! so yep thats wat amber thinkss
School, of course. What else would I think of? Back to the days of black and white, round handwriting that you could smear with your finger and playful drawings on the board whenever the teacher wasn’t looking. You tried not to inhale the dust, but sometimes traces of chalk were left on the cuff of your sleeve.
From desks away, you’d observe your class and daydream until the squeak of the chalk jolted you back to spelling and arithmetic.
Now, few people use a black chalkboard. Sometimes, it’s a small green lapboard. More often, it’s a whiteboard, with smooth, colored markers and toxic dust at the corners. What happened to traditional education?
My first day as a substitute teacher I went to the wrong school. I remember my hands slipping off of my steering wheel as I turned into the parking lot next to the tall brick building. I slunk in through the side door because I was late to my first class as an adjunct. I remember scouring the empty halls looking for the classroom that matched the smeared numbers on the napkin I had used to write my instructions on. I remember that my footsteps sounded like gunshots with all of the bodies in the classrooms, nothing to absorb the sound of my heel bouncing off the tile floor, just black, metal lockers. When I finally found the room I thought I was looking for I walked through and loudly announced that I was sorry I was late, and found myself in the middle of a woodshop class. An older gentlemen, a Ghallager look alike at the front of the room, pulled his safety goggles off and balanced them atop his bald head. Can I help you? he asked. And I felt my phone buzzing in my pocket — in contrast with the spinning saw — and I knew it was the administration of P.S. 118 wondering where I was. I missed first period and made in time for the last half of second. In the desk I found the regular teachers instructions. “My students are to take a test today. No talking. If they do, don’t hesitate to take the test away. I have preemptively written John Henderson of my fifth period class a referral for disrespect. He will earn it without fail, just a forewarning.” When the third period class filed in I handed them the tests and then wrote the answers on the chalkboard. I said, “No talking,” and then watched as the class suspiciously copied down what I had written onto their paper. Most of my answers were wrong, and some of the smarter kids knew that, but it didn’t stop me from collecting their sheets and filing them into the teacher’s manilla folder. When the last test was handed in I opened my briefcase and pulled out a VHS of the 1930’s “King Kong” and then told everyone to take notes. One of the kids in the back said, smartly, “Shouldn’t you be teaching us something?” I wrote him a refferal and laid it on his desk. “I didn’t get this job to teach,” I said. “I’m just here to watch movies.” I took a seat behind the teacher’s desk and I did just that. I did nothing. I did nothing and I watched.
Wow. Looking at the chalkboard in this room brings so many memories. I remember Billy sat in front, and I would just stare at that beautiful aura of his.
writing on the chalk board when holding the chalk the wrong way gives a screech that sends shivers up the spine gratins the nerves
with the technologies these days most chalkboards are obsolete SAD
if i had only one word to say to somebody, it would probably be “sorry.” i’m sorry for all the harm i put you through, for all the pain that i might put you through in the future. it’s hard to be nice all of the time. i know i would want to make sure everyone knew that i truly felt remorse for my bad actions. i love them.
The strokes of crisp white on a clean smooth black surface. The tremor of putting the creamy end of the stick to the board. The anticipation right before the tip breaks and the magic begins.
In third grade, I read the book “Loser” by Jerry Spinelli. The protagonist, Zinkoff, threw up on his teacher’s sacred chalkboard eraser. I really miss this book.
It reminds me of elementary school. Fall. Apples. Crisp fall leaves. Auburn. Football. Jeans and crisp cool fall nights. First grade at Lee Scott Academy.
i was once captured by Russian spies dressed as giant trolls, you know the ones with the weird hair, and tortured with the sound of fingernails on a chalkboard until i told them the birth date of my great uncle. it was a strange experience.
A chalkboard can be erased; so can a life.
We are all just chalk.
We teach and be learn, sometimes we make mistakes.
Some days we look perfect, other days – a bit shabby.
But we are chalk.
We are on the board, then we’re off.
Writing on the wall. Stark white against cold black. Let’s add some colour to this drab world. Grab the blues and greens and reds and paint this world with colour.