Over there are rides and such,
but here are the barns and displays.
4-H sheep, goats, rabbits, and cows
The spinners and weavers.
Photographers.
Prizes for craftwork.
Mini-doughnuts and fresh squeezed lemonade.
Local talent on stage: kids dancing,
dreamers singing.
We stand at our assigned gate, and stamp arms
so folks can get back in later.
You don’t talk to me
I don’t talk to you.
That’s fair.
You were right there
each line carefully crafted
and now you’re gone.
Embrace the new!
They declared.
Projectors, Smartboards, wifi,
Go paperless!
Let’s be a digital learning environment!
And so we did, but where has that left us
when the tech department is falling apart?
The student records can’t be accessed.
The projectors are no longer connected.
The Smartboards don’t work.
The printers won’t print.
The wifi is off-line.
At least there are new whiteboard pens to start the year.
They’re the only new technology that’s working!
.
.
.
.
Big plans to revamp the entire system are not going so well. The front lines are more than a little annoyed, but it could be worse! We could be the tech dept trying to fix all those problems at every work site! Poor techies. They (like is normal for teachers) weren’t given the resources to do their jobs properly and everyone is feeling it.
In the Toronto dawn
the sun crept silently up to the
last mortal remains of the pudgy bandit,
laid out on the sidewalk like a sacrifice.
The call went out:
Three-one-one! Three-one-one! Come!
The City promised swift removal of the corpse.
But–political promises being oft full of air–
the raccoon remains remained throughout the day.
Not content to leave sleeping Procyonidae lie
crowds marked the site of his demise,
memorial to the adorable, nocturnal beast
with flowers, photos, Tweets, and cards,
pseudo-grief growing with the day
while #deadraccoonto began to decay.
Until by the light of the moon (a raccoon’s party hour)
The City van came to gather the cadaver,
but left the flowers.
.
.
.
This was a social media event in July . The body of a raccoon was found and reported. A spontaneous mock-memorial grew up around it. It was all recorded on Twitter, with even a council member (Norm Kelly) participating. I think it makes a fascinating commentary of social media through parody.
.
Free
might not be all it’s cracked up to be.
If where you are, you’re unhappy
what improvements do you foresee?
What will you change inside you?
Because here’s something true
unless something within is new
Your baggage’s just dragging after you!
You’re just bringing the same self you knew
The next adventure
awaits the sunrise.
Have faith it’ll be better
than you surmise.
The sea
rocks tiny feet,
caresses small hands,
steals breath and rests
tiny bodies on the shore
where they’re at peace,
but out of reach
of their father’s desperate grasp.
The sea
rocks small boats,
of dubious sanctuary
and with each wave it tosses on the beach,
points foaming fingers at those
who turn faces from the tragedy.
.
.
I decided not to attach the iconic photo of Alan Kurdi to this poem out of respect. Instead, here is an interview with his father describing the tragedy.
http://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/british-columbia/syria-migrants-canada-drowned-migrants-1.3213772
Beneath the dusty cover,
these pages are a brown tinged
crinkly time machine.
The sun is shining,
but in the distance I hear rumbling.
Trouble is coming.
Four lanes of traffic gush past
the single stunted sunflower
stretching through a cleft in the pavement,
blooming in adversity.
Shawn L. Bird 