I don’t know if I have a hundred words tonight-
maybe just a poem about writer’s block.
oh wait, I already wrote that-
Maybe I could tell you about spring-
but certainly there is a post like that hanging around somewhere -
Perhaps I could post a picture of my kiddo -
or tell you why I love teaching -
Man, am I out of ideas.
I’m feeling faintly ambivalent to the political
and too overwhelmed with the state of the Big East
to really talk about sports.
Dear muse, where have you run off to.
Would you mind, a return trip – stop by my bed tonight
breathe some inspiration in my half sleeping parted lips-
let the words that I wake with tomorrow -
be better than what I have tried to rake out tonight.
It needs to be a
paragraph long. Instead could
I write a haiku?
But Charlie, don’t forget what happened to the man who suddenly got everything he always wanted.
He lived happily ever after.
– Willy Wonka and The Chocolate Factory
I had a hell of a teaching week last week. Things were not going in my classroom how I wanted them. Students were behaving outside of my classroom, and perhaps in it, in ways that disappointed me. This coupled with the fact that we remain a district with an interim superintendent, a principal who leaves in two weeks, and no contract to speak of, well let’s just say there was some drinking done last weekend.
Also, my students got the business from me a time or two in the last week. At the end of one of my self-righteous lectures. . . A student raised her hand, politely, as she was sure I could still bite.
“Ms. B, have you ever thought of recording those rants, they sound a whole lot like poems”. Read the rest of this entry
Biting my tounge till
It bleeds. Not picking fights. No
longer worth my time-
She tells me, “one thing at a time”.
She believes that all stories
get the ending they are supposed to,
She has to.
Underneath the all-business facade, Read the rest of this entry
Confessional poetry is a problem.
I mean, I want to be just like Sylvia and Annie,
(as if the three of us just sat down to lunch yesterday),
and get down with the courses of verses I could lay on the page.
But I’m not all that ready for everyone to
know the level of insane that I harbor. Read the rest of this entry
Having gotten sent home twice,
and nearly three times,
at five years old,
from a camp run
by the Y -
Last week, to say the least,
was tough for my energetic one. Read the rest of this entry
A poet kicked my ass
recently challenged what I
thought I knew so well
I can’t help but be
in love with lines and stanzas
words written with care
This year, August has two full moons, or the proverbial blue moon. I feel like I’m living a blue moon month, and the fifth day isn’t even over yet. There are twenty-six whole days left to keep doing things I’ve never done before.
And it’s not like I’m looking to jump off a bridge with or without a bungee cord, but just push the limits of what I can do, and what I am capable of.
Mostly though it is about the five envelopes I want to ship off by September one. Five envelopes full of self-loathing, desperate times, and hope.