To Professor Lee M. Johnson: On Poems
I always knew I did not like the poems
of our day, but never knew just why
those golden poems, read from olden tomes,
inspired, while “free verse” seemed but a lie.
I knew I loved those poems Grandad read
out loud to me before I went to bed,
but hated E.E. Cummings and his ilk,
whose modern poems trash taste, metre, and rhyme.
My loves and hates remain the same today,
but now, from Johnson, I have learned the why:
decorum, suiting forms to what they say,
true poems suits to echo forms on high.
A poem is not a poem which doth cease
pursuing its creator's ordered peace.
Shared in My Thoughts in Poetry on Free Verse as Poetry →
Illumination
Processing a student-teaching practicum through poetry—and the source of this site’s motto.
1st Glance (Will o’ the Wisp)
Shades of black I wear to school.
Dullness is the only rule.
Once I wore bright hues of red,
But now my heart obeys my head.
Passionless I teach the text,
Leave the building vaguely vexed,
Bored to tears, but in control—
Stop me please, I'm on a roll
With 30 kids who hate my guts,
But know to ask no "ifs" or "buts".
I hate the system, but cannot
See how to change it, so get out.
2nd Look (Fade to Black)
Once I wore bright hues of red,
But now my heart obeys my head.
Shades of black I wear to school.
Dullness is the only rule.
Passionless I teach the text,
Leave the building vaguely vexed,
Bored to tears, but in control—
Stop me please, I'm on a roll
With 30 kids who hate my guts,
But know to ask no "ifs" or "buts",
Learning names and dates and grammar,
How to speak and not to stammer,
How to add up "a" plus "b",
How to fake it till you're free:
Free from all this useless learning,
Free to "get out" and start earning
Money, though a few survive,
Escape the system half-alive,
Return to turn it on its head,
And fade to black from wearing red.
3rd Strike (Coalblack)
Once I wore bright hues of red,
But now my heart obeys my head.
Shades of black I wear to school.
Dullness is the only rule.
Passionless I teach the text,
Leave the building vaguely vexed,
Bored to tears, but in control—
Stop me please, I'm on a roll
Of words and rhymes now in control
And framing mem'ry like a roll
Of film without the star's control,
But rolling, rolled, into a roll
Of fear, self-pity, uncontrolled
Reactions, anger, till the whole
Explodes, collapses, self-implodes
Into a lightless blackened hole.
4th Attempt (Sunrise)
Enough already! I am in, not out,
And in or out, I'll teach. The problem's not
That I can't turn the system on its head,
But how to overcome my fear and doubt
And how I can escape the blackened hole
That's swallowed me and all the dreams I bought.
My struggles show that I am not yet dead,
But what will give me life, to truly teach?
Not what, but who will heal my broken soul.
Who but the Teacher whom the system killed?
Who lives and teaches truth that we may reach
Outside ourselves to live and teach and build
An open system, and a living rule
Where God and life and love are all our school.
Shared in Education and Illumination →
