There is your name
on the attendance list.
Absent: excused
Parents called in.
There is your name
on the attendance list.
Absent: excused
Parents called in.
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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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.
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!
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.
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.
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.
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.