It couldn’t be, he said, that you are unwilling?
A shrug was the reply.
Do you feel unable?
Another shrug.
You know, he said, it’s always a choice;
if you are willing,
eventually,
you are able.
poem- censored September 15, 2015
You do not believe in censorship
you say
and yet you sit there and complain that
I accept work with curses. Work that is
about process, about drafting, about stretching.
I do not censor youthful voices
that may want to shout,
to try new language, new words.
We learn about audience and persona
and your child is allowed to stretch her wings
to try on new faces and expressions with me.
She is allowed to find her voice in my class room,
even if her voice
is louder than you like.
poem-Micah August 2, 2015
Micah has questions
about ereaders and
the value of studying Shakespeare.
Micah has opinions
about math education
Stephen Harper
minimum wage
immigrant involvement in government
and politicized school districts that don’t put kids first.
Micah is young
but he is the future;
his critical thoughts
will shape a new nation.
.
.
.
Sitting above the UBC Rose Garden today watching the ocean traffic, and reading while I waited for the art gallery to open, I met this thoughtful young man, and enjoyed an hour of conversation with him. Don’t you just love those brief connections with intelligent, inquiring minds?
poem- quiet voices July 1, 2015
I didn’t hear you
and you slipped past
your whispers only faint murmurs on the wind
less than the burbling susurrus of the river.
I heard shrieks and giggles,
running feet and splashing laughter;
I didn’t hear you.
poem- dubious June 10, 2015
secretly
you scribble,
hiding words,
worshipping
silently.
.
.
.
So many kids constantly writing, but not handing in their work! Arg!
poem- faith June 3, 2015
I see your fear
that your words are inadequate,
that what you offer is not
good not
enough not
good enough.
But your words are.
Have faith that when you climb to the heights
when you are brave enough to free your words
that I am holding the ladder steady
so you won’t fall.
.
.
(A teacher poem)
poem-rapid write May 21, 2015
Your pens are scratching
Timer ticking
Ten minutes of writing
frantic
fervent
instant effort
fired up
The buzzer sounds
and you have created
something that did not exist
ten minutes before.
.
.
In my classes students do daily timed writes to get the brains used to engaging quickly and just writing loosely. I give them prompts to use or not: lines from songs, Rory Story Cubes, a photo. It’s amazing to see how they develop writing muscles. I check these as complete, but don’t grade them. They’re about process because you learn to write by writing. 🙂
poem-bone bling March 30, 2015
“So what happened exactly?”
the students asked,
and I told them about the fall,
casts, surgery, plate, and screws.
“Ha!” one laughed, “That’s perfect for you!”
“Why?” I asked
“Because now
even your skeleton
has bling!”
.
.
True story.
I love my students.
🙂
poem-identity March 15, 2015
Hovered over the computer
you groan about how you’ve been screwed up
by school schedules that don’t let you take
the courses you need to graduate.
Something from grade nine,
another from grade ten,
a couple from grade eleven,
how can you fit it in twelve?
School’s fault.
Not your fault, of course.
Never your fault
for not coming to class,
for not doing your work,
for not taking advantage of offers to help
for not being respectful of your peers
for not accepting support,
for not passing the courses.
One or two (or three or four)
missed credits each year.
It’s the school’s fault.
Of course, it is.
Everything is hard for you.
Why?
Why?
Why?
You strike the question,
a damning indictment.
I will tell you,
though you won’t hear:
This is why:
Because you don’t see that
you choose.
You choose
to work.
You choose
to fail.
You choose.
Until you choose
to be responsible
for every choice,
to admit you failed because you chose
not to work,
not to accept help,
not to accept the consequences of
your choices,
life will always
seem unfair.
It’s not life that’s unfair.
It’s you who is refusing
to own your reality.
Accept responsibility for yourself.
What are you afraid of?
Be!
poem-puppies December 4, 2014
Teen-agers are
loudly gregarious.
Their laughter magnified by tousles.
People who are afraid of them,
would not be, if they saw them
collapsed upon my drama room floor
giggling like so many puppies,
or arguing about their favourite authors
around the tables in the library.
Though even wolves
are adorable
when they’re little.
Shawn L. Bird 