See the tense bodies, tentative smiles,
step through the door into new beginnings,
slip into a new desk, a new view,
ready?
Stretch understandings,
begin again!
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poem-time traveler November 1, 2019
Boom box boy
bouncing to the smoke pit
announcing your existence-
loudly.
Stride on
Caught in a lost decade
I’m grateful as that music fades.
poem-interpretation February 6, 2018
The Lord of All Knowledge,
Gatekeeper of Truth,
says the poem means this.
Generations of readers bow
before this wisdom,
even though they don’t see it,
can’t believe it,
they just accept it.
When the poet reads
the critic’s piece,
she laughs and laughs
at the irony of such arrogant
assumptions!
Oh, student!
Good reader!
There are no errors
of interpretation in poetry!
Your experiences show you a meaning,
and if you can find lines to support,
your responses are just as valid as any critic’s.
(So the famous poet said to me,
and he should know).
poem- Muffin Pantoum December 10, 2017
Here’s another pantoum poem, written as a demo with a class on Poetry Friday. This was last block of the day, and one of the students wanted to go get a muffin… Another laugh filled class as we created this poem together!
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Muffin Pantoum (C block)
Josie and Ally want a muffin;
They can’t work on empty stomachs.
Without food, they won’t do nothin’.
How about crackers and hummus?
They can’t work on empty stomachs
How can we ask them to?
How about crackers and hummus?
As we watched, their hunger grew.
How can we ask them to?
A muffin’s not too much to ask!
As we watched, their hunger grew.
They couldn’t do their tasks.
A muffin’s not too much to ask!
A morsel would be fine!
They couldn’t do their tasks
Oh, please! Please, let them dine!
A morsel would be fine!
They only need a bit of food;
Oh, please! Please, let them dine!
Josie gives us attitude.
They only need a bit of food
Without food, they won’t do nothing
Josie gives us attitude:
Josie and Ally want a muffin!
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(This is quite literal. When we were done, they went off and got ONE muffin that they shared). 🙂
Poem-Egger Pantoum December 9, 2017
In our school, the chef’s training kids make ‘eggers’ in the morning. These are buns with fried egg, cheese, and a sausage patty. They are a popular fast-food breakfast fare, but I hate them. Fried eggs are nauseating to me, runny yolks make me want to vomit, the smell makes me nauseous. So, to avoid calamity, I do not allow them in my class room. Kids have to eat them outside the room. There are huge windows between room and hall, so the class can watch the egger eater outside, like a sad puppy at the glass, waiting to come in.
Today we learned about pantoum poems, and before they wrote their own, I guided a class written one. This was what A block English 11 came up with, as one student was barred and then didn’t realise the door was unlocked, so he could just walk back in when he was done eating his egger. There was lots of laughter, as we wrote it! 🙂 I love Poetry Fridays!
Egger Pantoum (A block’s)
I wanted into English class.
I wasn’t allowed in.
They laughed at me, en masse.
Eating eggers is a sin
I wasn’t allowed in;
I walked away.
Eating eggers is a sin.
What a great start to the day.
I walked away.
I wandered through the halls.
What a great start to the day,
Trapped within these walls.
I wandered through the halls.
I’m chewing very slowly
Trapped within these walls
Eating eggers, I’m unholy
I’m chewing very slowly;
Tears are streaming down my cheeks.
Eating eggers, I’m unholy,
The door won’t open for a week.
Tears are streaming down my cheeks.
They laughed at me, en masse!
The door won’t open for a week.
I wanted into English class!
quote-attracting poets July 17, 2017
From The Colour Master by Aimee Bender:
…part of trying to attract those poet-men was to look a little like I had wandered onto campus by accident after having spent 10 years with the wolves behind some farm house, living off scraps and reveling in the pure air like a half-girl Mowgli, half-woman Thoreau.” p. 76
I found this quite amusing, as I had just come from the Honeymoon Bay Poetry Retreat and had spent some time with a few poet-men.
poem- I want to know June 6, 2017
What I want to know
is what the magical ingredient is.
What’s that essential something
that makes this kid go “WOW!”?
Not just this kid, but that kid, too.
You know how some will not be moved,
never seem to find their groove?
I want the magical ingredient for them all,
so when they’re pushed from their nests
they don’t fall, they aim for the skies with eyes
open to opportunity, head full of curiosity.
Every time I think I know the secret
I see another one sneaking by,
not willing to try or
afraid
to try?
What’s broken their curiosity?
Taught them to close out possibility?
It hurts me.
I want to know if that kid
is going to move to his groove later.
Will he save his curiosity to ride a wave
at twenty instead?
I want to see it now,
but late is better than never.
I hope when it happens,
I’ll know.
poem-surprises May 4, 2017
It still surprises me
To uncover these weaknesses
You try to so hard to cover
With bombast and bomb blasts.
Acting out to hide insecurity
Inability
And the itching awareness that
You don’t measure up.
Your brain doesn’t quite hold onto
the words
the meanings
The feelings fill you up
Fear
Frustration
Anger.
Why?
WHY!
Just because
is not enough answer.
Why?
Chemistry.
Biology.
Nature? Nurture?
Better just say
“Because”
You didn’t win the lottery
And everything will be harder.
You’re pushing at the pull door.
But if you quit pushing against it
embrace your responsibility
For your own life,
Take it
I know it will go
Far more smoothly
For you.
You are so much stronger
than you believe
you are.
We just have to pull together.
poem-choose honey, hon March 9, 2017
You think
if you swell your chest
and shout with a voice that covers others’
if you argue
every word from the teacher’s mouth
that somehow you can win.
Oh, but hon,
who really has the power?
Consequences grow with your defiance
and you’re the one who loses.
The class laughs,
but it’s at you, not with you.
Biliousness and lies do not lead to success.
Trust me,
honey catches the flies
of achievement and respect.
poem- obliviously December 14, 2016
Max and Jenn were in our grade eight classes
and our grade nine classes,
but then, they were not.
Where are they? asked the teachers.
Whispers replied to one another in the back rows,
I saw them outside The Royal Anne.
They’re turning tricks. Doing drugs.
We blinked at one another that our peers
would make such choices,
muttered, How terrible.
We slowed down our lives to peer into the
accident scene of their lives
from a safe distance,
but did any of us go downtown,
and offer them a different option?
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This is a forty-year old memory. Where are they now, I wonder?
