hung on a loophole

The carcass of a dead bug, being eaten by a thousand ants.
The sky…an endless void of possibility, while we have limitations in our mind and in our classrooms, the sky reminds me to never stop reaching for that next great idea, that next great lesson plan, that next concept that will reach a student in a way I had been previously unable to reach him or her before.

The sky is the limit, isn’t that what they say?
The divergent path. 
Another metaphor for possibility and endless choice. That there is never one right way, nor one any way, to do anything in this profession EXCEPT the right way, which is whatever way works for you and your students.
Did you see gains made?

Did your learning goals come to fruition? What does the, gag, data say was the effectiveness of your instruction?
The hanging rope…
not sure why this is here but it works for a first year teacher because it is very easy to overwhelm yourself to the point where you are literally going to burn out in 2-4 years. Do not take your work home, be not afraid to leave things at home, and do not think there is something you are going to be found negligent of by making time to have a life for yourself!
The slippery when wet sign…

Everything needs to be taken in stride. A big theme for me over the course of this year was learning to take things in stride. I may have hit on this before but learning to swim is key to being able to survive in the water, and if teaching is the water, then before you get to the deep end, the veteran portion of your career, you must learn to tread water first.

FMD

They’re the overfed entitled swine.

On opulence they dine.

Living high of OD’s will die; to be heroically canonized.

From the tops of the penthouse treats, to the clubs on hit neon streets.

Honesty’s gone. See her sometime next year.

Hope she returns. The streets are full of fear.

When hope has fallen, and the child’s thrown to tears.

Someone please save us. From the lies of their fears.

They ran down the boulevard shouting anarchy directions.

Set fire to the minimart, watched supplies burn in expectation.

In came the fire brigade, with a riot force escort.

Hypermedia spin persona’s fuel hysteria reports.

GET BACK. MOVE ALONG. DISPERSE.

Smoke guns and tear grenades.

Everywhere a panic parade.

Knives cutting the fire hose.

The hopes of peace were indisposed.

Hands raised in innocence.

Billy clubs met bones and flesh.

ESCALATION. DEMONSTRATION. 

A man beaten well past his sense, placed in god’s arms and dropped just then.

RIOT! RIOT! RIOT!

Looking at the populace and saying no we will not help but instead stonewalling and handballing.
A system that is flawed is expected, but one that doesn’t acknowledge its faults and admit it’s shortcomings and utter failures is detrimental.

Looking at a child left in the aisle.

Blaming teachers, mothers, preachers.

Holding hostage from bandstand to bleachers.

Your bloodshot eyes belie the ties of your academic treachery.

Look toward the boulevard for the all-too-televised lechery.

OVERCROWDING

UNDERFUNDING

OVERTESTING

UNDERDRESSING

OVERHYPING

UNDERMINING

OVER

Pathetic Prophetic

It’s a ystem of fetid lies.
A bloated corpse of force-fedflies.
The establishment of the times,
turns it’s back on the hands it binds.
Gagged and flagged, then tied and dragged, through the bureaucratic rinds.

The leader sits in the back.
Let’s his dogs field the attacks.
Leadership is a listless rig.
A spoiled parlay of robotic jigs.

No, the captain’s not coming back.
So via heart attack or baseball bat; the back-of-the-line voice will be tied to the tracks.

For hell loves to grease its wheels.
And the devil loves his heels.

When fires rise and the moon wrecks tides; society will cry.
All the cowards, cheats, and all too quick-to-please will be hung at noon on high.

When the 99 return. 
Order to a freeer world. 

Those that stood and pointed cloaked in brass-colored hoods will see their children’s hearts in urns.

Rest assured that time will come.
When institution is undone.
History always repeats:

AND THE 1 HAVE NEVER WON.

   

“What does it mean for you to sit quiet as the future is strangled?!”

SUB-let the Future

The school board left us with a debt of endless lies.
They played the hardball card and took everyone’s rights.

Fast and loose with our sweet youth.
Never seeing the life they choose.
Though they were sent by the divine.
Not idealized, the one they read about one time.

They never knew the nightlife and how it shined
Took moral high ground and shut out all the light.

Rezoned the church to start a fight. Gerrymandered eyelash.
Mascara splints to hide the scars.
Never looking as they burned your cards.

Freedom. Sweet freedom.
Oh Freedom. Where have you gone?
Delirious. Serious heartbrake.
You won’t go, until it’s all gone.

Because of what is happening.
Because of your conviction.
Because you never found your hearts in the endless pitch of HOPE.

iHave HOPE

Hope in my heart that this is the start of something incredible, never seen and uncondemnable.

Over the last three weeks I have done and seen and felt and learned so much.

Met so many amazing people and been edified in so many ways.

This summer things change, and as all of life does, it starts and ends with me.

My attitude. My vision.
My goals.

Even if this doesn’t last (does anything?)

The ray of light I feel in my soul right now is what I live for.
That lone spark in the night,
ready to ignite the fires of a relationship.
Whatever happens, its just good to be here again, in this place of infinite potential and possibility.
The road is smoother when it lays before you.
Life is best right before it begins.

I am supposed to make a difference. I am supposed to inspire.

But hope.
Hope does not come cheaply, though it has no value.
A priceless heirloom handed down from one kin to the next.
So I survive.
I thrive.
I have reached a student I have shown a light I have made my way and said I do not conform because that is the way to the grave I will not capitulate to meet ends and I have instilled in my class a sense of individuality and honor in uniquety and that isn’t a word but the meaning is clear.

We have always prevailed.
We have always carried on.
And despite the negativity and press surrounding doubt and the profession,
I am good at what I do and so are you and we will continue because we have an obligation.
To the future, not the present. That is fleeting.

We teach children not robots.
And when I look out at a faculty I see a sea of seeds. Of hope.
Of change.
Of that future unfolding.
The same way to you as you do to me.

so DO.
Make me believe.
And the youth will see there is more to be than ever can we.
Make them free.

Change
Hope
Inspiration
Synonyms for teaching.

Nolo Contendre

No conformity.
A souls against the current.
Waves toward the sea.
A pop-culture phenomena feeding of off non-vibes and defiance, strong.

Utter inspiration or unfettered imagination?

A procrastinated condemnation of Americas all-hyped obsession with the übermensch, a muscle-bound
Castration.

Who wants the pale skinny intellect over dominant tanned ripping wet abs?

Adonis in the stars, a lost dream of minds.

Combing through the dirty laundry list if tawdry scandal labeled Headlines.

A maze of chaos? Lies! A web of myriad ties to what once wasn’t but should always want.

Suffocation. Bitter loneliness wrapped in self loathing, a deceptive masturbation of depreciated hesitation kept fervid and steaming through the night.

Never Shall I Forget…

NEVER SHALL I FORGET
that first morning, the first time I saw the face, the hands, the arms of the woman who transformed me from boy to man, from immature, reckless nave to a learned and responsible adult.

Never shall I forget that smile. That first time I saw those fluorescent white jewels gleaming from the sly grin of that tan face, the look of the soul that changed my life forever.

Never shall I forget the curls of mahogany silk that spun from the mind of the kindest spirit I have ever known.

Never shall I forget the flames which consumed my heart forever.

Never shall I forget the silence which struck me: a cocky braggart who always had a quip, muted by the beauty of what fell before my still unbelieving eyes.

Never shall I forget the desire to belong, the total abandon I threw toward loneliness that remains to this day a burden on my being.

Never shall I forget these things, even were I cursed to live for endless ages with a broken heart and an incomplete soul;
never knowing the warmth of another’s presence again.

Never.

Pixiedust

Glistening in the silver light;
a fantasy floated on the breeze, prisoner of the riverbed.
A naiad, scowling in the
distance.
“Do we know…what we see?”
Sparkling mist. Haze of time.
A fairytale, a child’s dream, a veteran’s nostalgia in a golden frame.
What we do to stay blind:
Color dirty memories with spectacle and call it magic.

untitled

I saw a young boy at the side of the road. Waiting for the cross sign to illuminate and his mother to ferry him to the other side. He was no more than eight, but maybe more. I’m not sure. I’ve never been good with age. The boy was teetering on his right leg and waving his left about. Frantically but gracefully wobbling between an elegant childishness and the mature, blissful art of a seasoned dancer. The moment his body would move too far to one side a flailing of limbs in no perceivable order would right him, inevitably sending him to the same predicament in the opposite direction. I tried to see, with my keen eye, a discernible pattern to his balance but as far as I could detect there was none. It occurred to me how safe he must feel. How innocence borders on chaos so readily, yet so cautiously. A carefree quality no adult possess. The boy was doing nothing more than attempting to stand on one leg, and utterly at peace -nay- utterly ecstatic with the activity that the whole world melted away. An adult is scorned from such behavior. Discouraged to laugh in public or amuse oneself in such ways. An adult is taught to stay still on a street corner and maintain poise, and to control motor function at all times. Games like this are below them, so act accordingly. WHY? Is happiness a childish pursuit? Is smiling something too immature for the grown man? “You laugh too much, so you are not learned.” “You jest and amuse and gawk and make a fool of yourself in your isolated joviality. That does not become a decent member of society.” I will not conform to this notion of control or this mantra of maturity. If it is naive to enjoy life then I am but a babe, for I take nothing seriously and nothing serious takes me. There is nothing in life worth doing that cannot be done while laughing, while happy, while amused. So to those who let their age determine their enjoyment: so be it. I will stay 8 years old. I will stay flailing and playful. I will stay happy.