An Open Letter on Bad Parenting

First of all, don't show up to Back-to-School Night.  Don't show your child that his or her learning is important.  Don't provide any support to your child's teacher by reinforcing the message that education is important and that you are going to work as a partner with your child's teacher in making sure your child has a quality educational experience.  When asked about why you didn't attend Back-to-School Night, make excuses that are about you and how busy you are; this gives permission to teachers to make the same excuses to you about how busy they are and why they're not providing your child with a quality education.  Or, make the excuse that you didn't attend Back-to-School Night because you already know everything because the same teacher taught your child's older sibling.  Teachers like this excuse too because then they can give it as a rationale for why they haven't changed anything at all in their teaching; they can use the same old books, techniques, lessons, etc. that they used for your older child.  Teachers don't want to innovate or improve their learning; they much prefer being lazy and just going through the same tired motions year after year.

Second, don't respond to notes that the teacher writes home to you about how your child is doing in school.  All teachers operate under the lawyerly "silence equals assent" assumption.  This just makes it easier for us to send notes home, knowing that you agree wholeheartedly with what we have written.  It isn't necessary to respond and let us know that you too are concerned, or that you've spoken with your child about the problem and you've given them some help and advice on how to correct it.  Also, it's even more helpful to send the note back offering excuses about why your child isn't doing well.  Some blanket statement about how responsible they are even though the note was about how they're not handling their responsibilities as a student is most helpful to the teacher.  Obviously, we were just mistaken and didn't have that crucial knowledge. What we were seeing firsthand in the classroom is superseded by your statement about how responsible they are.  We are sorry for bothering you to get this important information and we can now rest assured that the problem will correct itself.

Third, go directly to the principal with your concerns about your child's teacher.  We teachers don't want to be bothered by pesky parents and their petty concerns.  Show your child that it's best to go over someone's head to get what you want.  Dealing fairly and respectfully with the person that you have an issue with is a waste of time, especially if it's a teacher, because they are notorious for not listening to you, being unfair, and generally being difficult and confrontational.  We understand that you are just saving us all a great deal of precious time by not speaking with us first.  We actually enjoy getting called into the principal's office to deal with parent concerns.  We are especially delighted when this occurs with parents who didn't show up to Back-to-School Night, who have not contacted the teacher at all in any positive way so far this year, including not returning the note sent home the second week of school asking your preferences for teacher-parent communication, who have not responded to notes sent home, and who have responded to other notes with rationalizations and excuses about their child's problems.

[I'll just apologize now for the sarcasm, before anyone writes me any comments.  Please understand that all this comes from a place of hurt, which has turned to anger, thus the sarcasm.  I'm not proud of it, but I had to get this off my chest.]

Breakthrough

I'm having difficulty with the word breakthrough
it's as if I'm having an argument with it
and, to be honest, it's not a fair, rational argument
because breakthrough just rubs me the wrong way
like someone you just don't like
because everything about them just turns you off

granted, I did concede there is wisdom in through
you have to work through your problems
it usually fails if you avoid them or try to go around
looking for some shortcut, an easier path
but everything else about breakthrough rankles me

military breakthroughs are violent, penetrative acts
and, frankly, so are medical breakthroughs
we like to think of doctors as healers
following the oath of first doing no harm
but that's just a pretty myth to believe in

surgeons can do amazing things, I know that now
but to an eight-year-old, they're just butchers
slicing you open, breaking you to fix you
and I have the scars to prove it, so don't argue
don't give me some line like surgeons save lives

a surgeon didn't save my father's life
that bit of useless butchery just drained him more
and the cancer took him that much faster
so I don't want to hear your thoughtless philosophy
because if you do, I'll show you my scars
and I'll bare my heart to you and show you
the hole there left by my father's passing

a surgeon didn't save my life when I was eight
but left me forever changed, limping along
broken inside, and knowing I had to be broken
so that I could be fixed, like some faulty machine
and all these years, the mending has been slow
accomplished without the help of any surgeon
the daily tenderness supplied by nurses and my parents

* * * * *

This poem was written in response to the breakthrough prompt at Writer's Island.

Need to Know

Lucy, there is nothing you need
to know about me. Keep dreaming
your British Empire dreams.
Keep believing you are safe,
even as I stand here, watching
you sleep.
                Your dreams will soon turn
to nightmares, if I stay too long
before our caress. It will not hurt.
If only you knew how delicious
you are, the iron bite of your blood
softened by the sweetness
of your soul.
                   There is one thing
you will know. You are mine forever.

* * * * *

This poem was written in response to the "Need to Know" prompt at We Write Poems.

I have been completely unsuccessful at posting a link to my poem over at We Write Poems.  It's always worked before.  I must be doing something wrong, but for the life of me, I can't figure out what it is.  My browser did crash while I was on the site, and my laptop shut down and restarted, so I figured that fixed the problem.  Maybe it didn't.  I hope people will find my poem.

If only

If only understanding
wasn't a gerund
mixed race child
of noun and verb
a chimera
a misfit
an outsider
looking in at us
with wisdom
in her eyes
and sadness
because we can't see
what she sees

if only learning
was as easy as
breathing
automatic
not a thought at all
really
just a fundamental fact

if only loving
was as simple as
picking up a stone
and holding it
in your hand
and holding it in your hand
was the same as
holding it in your heart
and being held
by the stone too

if only I could be content
with just being
if I could get over
connecting doing
with happiness
writing a poem
and being satisfied
with the
creating

* * * * *

This poem was written in response to the "If only" prompt at Writer's Island and the "finding words from our everyday lives" prompt at Big Tent Poetry.

The "if only" phrase kept bouncing around in my head, but I didn't know what to do with it. Then I remembered a note I had jotted down in my lesson plan book in response to a question one of my students asked about the word "understanding". He had identified it as a noun on a homework assignment and was wondering why it wasn't correct. I explained it was a gerund, and told my class that I'd research it further and that I'd teach a lesson on gerunds, which is why I had written it down. And those two words, understanding and gerund, from my everyday life were the inspiration to go somewhere with "if only".

End of Summer Update

Tomorrow I go back to my day job, teaching.  The last couple of weeks I have been alternately working really hard to get ready for my new group of students on one hand and not thinking about teaching at all and trying to enjoy the last of my time off on the other.

I have also been thinking about what a good time I had writing poems earlier this summer, and realizing how much I missed it, so I'm going to try to come back to this blog and honor it, the work/play I was doing, and all the wonderful people who came here to read my poems.

I did write other things this summer.  My mother watched my two boys for a couple of days and I stayed in a nearby hotel and wrote.  I worked on my memoirs/autobiography.  My father wrote to my brother and I before he passed and I value (that's just not a strong enough word) what he shared with me about his childhood and growing up years.  I plan on being around for a long, long time, but I am writing for my sons, as my father did for my brother and me.

I also got back on track with my novel that I started last November as part of NaNoWriMo 2009.  I read a really good book on writing: Write Great Fiction: Plot & Structure by James Scott Bell and got to work on revising my novel.  I'm happy to say that I did finish what I was calling version 1.5 of my novel and did send it off to CreateSpace for my free proof copy.  I didn't make the end of June deadline for my free proof copy, but it was worth every penny to get that copy and see my novel as a real book.  My wife is reading it now.

I have since gone back and rethought my first attempt at writing a novel for NaNoWriMo 2008.  I started that novel over again, which is why I haven't been sharing any poems here.  I just haven't been writing any lately, but I'm ready to come back now.

And somewhere in there, I got an email from the people over at Poets for Living Waters.  They accepted my poem "Immature" and put in on their Open Mic page.

Two Poems for We Write Poems

Mad About Science

the foundation of life
carbon
its unique ability
to bond

water
two molecules of hydrogen
and one of oxygen
the essential solvent

just add nitrogen
and you have the four
basic building blocks
of life

trace amounts of many other elements
but there it is
the solution
that life created
the chemical soup
of which we're all made
formed in some primordial sea
long, long ago

as with any recipe
balance of ingredients
is necessary for success

too much water
we drown
too little water
and drought

we measure
we think
by-products of our
nervous system
our backbone
of thought and feeling
we know
happiness and sorrow

and then
thinking about water again
vapor   liquid   ice
for good or bad
how it is that
wisdom is glacial

* * * * *

Tanka

completing another
circle around the sun
my birthday again
and, I, as per usual
obsess about my waistline

* * * * *

I wrote "Mad About Science" in response to the Wordle prompt at We Write Poems.  Then I realized I had used all the words, except three: obsess, birthday, and circle.  So, I used those three words for "Tanka".

Changes

he asked me if I felt trapped
did I make the right choices in life
would I go back and make changes

he wasn't lonely - maybe just a little sad
about who he is - something he can't change
so he asked me if I felt trapped

but I don't think he was asking about me
I was just a cipher - a way to ask himself
did I make the right choices in life

it got me thinking nonetheless - he did ask
but no I don't feel trapped in parenthood
I would not go back and make changes

* * * * *

This poem was written in response to the change prompt at Writer's Island.  I also attempted to use the cascade form which I read about on Poetic Asides.

Reflecting

I'm always looking back,
hanging around as I do.
That's what I'm here for.

I see you as no one else does.
I look you straight in the eye.
I'm always looking back

at you when you're looking at me.
I'm a good listener too.
I listen to you sing in the shower

and I pay special attention
when you practice asking your boss
for that raise we both know you deserve.

I wait for you to come home.
I'm always here for you,
morning or night. Just turn on the light

so I can see you better.
You're looking tired now. Time
to brush your teeth and go to sleep.

* * * * *

This poem was written in response to a prompt to write a "looking back" poem at Poetic Asides back in April.

Birthday

Today's my birthday.  I'm off to a friend's wedding, and then some time with my family in Santa Rosa.  I'll be offline for the weekend, but then I'll get caught up on Monday.  I want to send a big "Thank you" to everyone who's been reading my poems here and leaving comments.  It's been delightful - and I am much grateful.

Two Poems for Big Tent Poetry

for the dreamers

a message resent
this time full
of praise

for the minds
that can see through
the cloud-dark sky
to the stars beyond

who walk gently
on the Earth
but part the herds

making them tremble
those greedy and hungry
those ignorant and dull

those dark comforts
we know are dangerous
in their ease

gravity holds us all down
but starlight makes us shine
if reflected in our eyes

* * * * *

This poem was written in response to a Wordle prompt at Big Tent Poetry.

* * * * *

An Angry Pantoum

Anger, oh my foe, my friend,
how is it you so move me?
It is not a dance I enjoy.
Why are you with me still?

How is it you so move me
to actions of shame and courage?
Why are you with me still
though I have worked to be rid of you?

To actions of shame and courage,
two-faced, you have spurred me on.
Though I have worked to be rid of you,
yet you cling to my fragile heart.

Two-faced, you have spurred me on,
when you should have - and not.
Yet you cling to my fragile heart,
Anger, oh my foe, my friend.

* * * * *

This poem was written in response to the Angry Pantoum prompt at Big Tent Poetry.

Two Poems for Writer's Island

The Gift

birds have flight

fish breathe underwater

plants make their own food

nature has bestowed

the gift on all

but in each

it takes a different form

we have our minds

and everything that stems

from that gift

but now I have

to wonder if

we've used ours well

we've invented devices

so that we can fly

and breathe underwater

we've even gone farther

than all other living things

into orbit and beyond

but what of compassion?

we have not done things

with, but for

we copied the birds

we imitated the fish

and the plants?

we need them

but we don't want

to be like them

we bent them

to our will

to serve our needs

lower than pets

stuck in pots

arrayed in fields

concentration camps

that don't need fences

to keep the prisoners

cultivation now to me

seems like subjugation

domination not dominion

you might say

plants don't feel

we're not doing them harm

you might be right

maybe the plants

are happy to serve us

you might be wrong

maybe the plants scream

at us but we cannot hear

there are waves

we cannot see or hear

out gift doesn't extend that far

maybe it's foolish

to think that plants can feel --

personification

see, even I do it

thinking I can impose

my perspective on others

* * * * *

This poem was written in response to The Gift prompt at Writer's Island.

* * * * *


The Key

my house key looks a lot
like my classroom key
I get them mixed up
all the time

what does that say
about me
and my priorities?

their shape is similar
but they are noticeably
different in size
so why don't I notice?

when the key doesn't fit
I know it's the wrong one
it's tactile, not visual

(I can't even talk
about my car key
that symbol of shame
and complicity

because the closest
gas station to my house
is Arco, a BP brand)

what hangs me up though
is that definite article
I want to know
what the key to life is

is it love? is that
the key? or is it
fidelity to that love?

or is it just silly
of me to play
grammar games with the phrase?
as if that were cleverness

I've already talked
of different keys, so one
is obviously not the answer

my work, my home,
my car which transports me
between the two, and my wife
who holds the key to my heart

the physical keys
and the metaphorical
are all splayed about me

so how do I choose?
or are all my choice?
and thus all are
ways to unlock me

now I understand, I think,
that the key is not
the answer, but the question

* * * * *

This poem was written in response to The Key prompt at Writer's Island.

Walking

To walk in other's shoes,
it is to stories and poems
that I turn.

I enjoy giving
myself up, living through
their lies, loves, and laughter.

Strangers in history,
like surrogate ancestors,
are my touchstones.

Sometimes, so scared,
I edge down passages
in my imagination.

While my true ancestors,
Scottish fullers all, walked
on wool for their trade.

Would we have sat, sharing
stories, soothing our feet
around a fire pit?

My mind rebels
at a world of one people, one faith,
but it was so.

And then I return
to my life, full of sunlight
and deeper shadows.

I adopt a persona,
and write a story
not mine, and yet true.

Who shall I be today,
and what paths, false and true,
shall I tread with you?

* * * * *

This poem was written in response to the Walk a Mile prompt at We Write Poems.

No Deadlines

Mother Nature has no deadlines.
Her methods are ancient,
older than calendars.
She has no need of them,
and has managed beautifully
without them for eons.

The water falls from the sky,
life-bringing precipitate,
And it flows to the sea.
It doesn't care when it gets there.
There is no rush for that tributary
to join another, to enter the bay.

The Earth will spin and orbit,
and the Moon about her.
They take their time with their dance.
They move to rhythms we cannot hear,
or perhaps we've shunned them for our own,
or papered them over with lines of death.

* * * * *

This poem was written in response to the day fifteen prompt at Poetic Asides to write a deadline poem.

Immature

  i

the door is
a barrier
that must be
conquered

I swear
this is what
my son
must be thinking

every time
I close
the bathroom door
in our house

  ii

why do we
erect barriers
except for privacy
and shame

we close doors
pull down shades
and build fences
around our homes

all this makes
sense to me
the difference between
adult and child

  iii

barriers provide protection
so we are building
a fence along our
border with Mexico

and Arizona passed a law
a barrier made of words
to punish those
who crossed that line

three days after
we began spilling oil
without barriers
into a gulf not ours

* * * * *

This poem is a response to the doors prompt at We Write Poems.

Writer's Meme

1. What's the last thing you wrote?
I finished a poem yesterday which I'm going to post tomorrow.  It's called "Immature".

2. Is it any good?
I don't know.  I'm not a very good judge of my own poetry.  Or rather I'm a very good judge of what's a good poem, but I'm willing to put things out there that are just okay in my book.  I think it's a good poem.  It started as a response to the door prompt at We Write Poems and I struggled with it.  It went somewhere in the first draft that just didn't work out.  Then I cut out the last section.  But I still couldn't finish it; I could have left it as it was, but it still seemed fragmentary to me.  Then I cut out the second section, which left it a complete poem, but not a very serious one, and it wanted to be more serious.

3. What's the first thing you ever wrote that you still have?
I don't have any of the poems I wrote in high school, but I do have some that I wrote in a poetry writing class I took with George Barlow at De Anza College back in the mid-eighties.

4. Favorite genre of writing?
Currently, poetry.  But I enjoyed writing a novel back in November for NaNoWriMo, and I'm sure I'll do so again.  I'm also working on my memoirs for my boys.

5. How often do you get writer's block?
I don’t get writer's block.  I sometimes get stuck trying to get a poem where I want it to go, but I'm not "blocked" in that sense.

6. How do you fix it?
I'll write total garbage, just to get something down on paper.  Or I'll set it aside and work on something else.  If I'm stuck on one thing, I've got all kinds of ideas for other poems or writing projects that I could work on.

7. Do you save everything you write?
Yes.  I'm a hoarder.  (My poor wife).

8. How do you feel about revision?
Revision is absolutely necessary.  Some poems do come out pretty well in a first draft, but I don't think I've left anything untouched - at least, not recently.  I may have when I was younger and didn't understand how important revision can be.  Other poems just aren't worth revision; they just don't work - and can't be made to work.

9. What's your favorite thing that you've written?
I couldn't choose.  (It seems self-indulgent to me).  Or rather - the last thing I wrote is my favorite, so my favorite keeps changing.

My favorite blog post was about NaNoWriMo, which got excerpted by Renaissance Learning in their Extraordinary Educators newsletter.

10. What's everyone else's favorite thing that you've written?
I wrote a poem a day in April as part of the Poem a Day Challenge at Poetic Asides.  I asked a colleague of mine, also a writer, and my wife to choose their favorites.  Of the fifteen or so poems I gave them to read, they each chose seven that they liked.  They agreed on four of them: "Pacific Grove", "I love my country", "Reflecting", and "According to the waves".

11. What writing projects are you working on right now?
I’m writing poems in response to various websites who are posting prompts, and posting them here.  I'm also trying to work my way through the prompts posted in April at Read Write Poem, which I didn't discover until the last week of the month.

And this summer, now that I'm not working, I want to write more of my memoirs, a writing project for my two sons.

12. What's one genre you have never written, and probably never will?
Romance.

13. Do you write for a living?
No.  I'm a teacher, which does include a fair amount of writing, but that's not what they pay me for.

14. Quote something you've written, the first thing to pop into your mind.
We forgot
we had freedom of conscience
before we had
freedom of religion.

* * * * *

I got this from Writer's Meme, a blog post by Poet Mom.

Vocation Island

We've put treasure on islands,
and prisons, dark houses
swept by lighthouses.

We've put fantasy on islands,
and reality shows that prove
every one is a part
of the main, that when
you dive down, you find
the island is just a piece
of the continent.

We like the metaphor
of separation,
the vacation island,
the going away
that makes us
long for home,
then the bittersweet
return to vocation island.

These islands,
these bits of sand
and rock we cling to,
surrounded by waters
too vast to fathom,
we like them.


We like our islands,
and we cling to them still,
for peace, quiet, chaos, noise,
rising and falling,
yin and yang,
anima and animus.


But they aren't separate:
the water and the land.
They are one.


We walk along this shoreline,
this meeting of land, water, and sky,
bathed by sunlight, and watch
the tides drawn by the reflected light
of our little brother island
across the Armstrong strait.

* * * * *

This poem was written in response to the day fourteen prompt at Poetic Asides to write a poem titled "(blank) island" for the Poem a Day Challenge back in April.

The Alchemist's Daughter

I wish you would not fondle

the bottles of tincture,

daughter, and disturb the pattern

of my work. It seems futile

for me to ask you not to purse

your lips at every offered proof.

Oh, father, what tender proof

could I offer to you how fond

I am of thinking and pursing

my lips as I do. Your tincture

bottles are just my hand's futile

attempts of finding a pattern.

Do not speak to me of patterns

of thought as I seek a proof

of what is probably an alchemical futility.

Have no doubt that I touch and fondle

the cool glass, too, of my tinctures,

but I do not slip them into my purse.

Ashamed I am that in my purse

of such beautiful handwoven pattern

I have secreted a necessary tincture

and here in my hand is the proof

of it. See how I fondle

your work which I know is not futile.

Oh, daughter, I find it is futile

for me to be angry of your purse

and what it hides. You fondle

my heart; that is our pattern.

Of your love and your shame, no proof

I need from you, only my tincture.

Father, it is a beautiful tincture.

It was foolish and futile

of me to take it. Here is the proof

in my hand, taken from my purse.

Your thought, your work, is your pattern.

It is that, and not me, you fondle.

My work's proof is in this tincture,

which you have fondled, yet it was futile

to hide it in your purse, my love, my living pattern.

* * * * *

This poem was written in response to the May 17 Wordle prompt at Big Tent Poetry.

I wrote the first four stanzas and then got interrupted. It took me a while to get back to it and finish it.

Dinner at Millennium

We go out to celebrate and dine

on an exquisite vegan meal. Some wine

for you, my love, while I

will be satisfied, more than fine,

with Pinot Noir grape juice.

As usual, long before the clock reads nine,

though we have talked of our selves,

we both know how splendid, how fine

it is to be parents, and we talk

of our sons, and our hands entwine.

I find myself rich in love,

as I am yours and you are mine.

* * * * *

This poem is a ghazal, written in response to the WD Poetic Form Challenge at Poetic Asides.

It is clear to me now, having read other's poems, that I misunderstood the form of the ghazal. It should have a refrain that repeats, not the rhyme scheme that I used. Additionally, each couplet is supposed to stand alone, but I have carried thoughts from one stanza to the next. Oh well...

I did write about wine and love, and did allude to my name in the last stanza. This is an intriguing form, which I am sure I will attempt again.

"I love my country"

I love my country
but not everything
she does.

She's a beautiful
beast, but too big,
sprawling.

United, but not really
unified, the oxymoron
of one
out of many.

A paradox, a chimera,
part myth and reality,
pride and disappointment,
spirit and religion,
though we're supposed
to keep that apart
from the rest.

We forgot we had
freedom of conscience
before we had
freedom of religion.

We are spirit and body.
We are soul incarnate.
We are one.

We must stop fighting
ourselves - one part
against another.

We are unified.
Some of us have forgotten that.
Some haven't learned it yet.
Though some lived it once,
they have strayed from the path.

We must get back
to what we once were
in the beginning
to be what we need -

We must again plant
the roots of conscience
in fertile soil,
in every region
and climate,
then protect them, nurture them,
do what we need to do,
to be what we need to be:
out of those many, one.

* * * * *

This poem was written in response to the love/anti-love prompt at Poetic Asides for day thirteen of April's Poem a Day Challenge.

Behind the Piano

She knew she had simply

poked the piano.

Then the annual school concert -

all the girls fear

her heart, trembling limbs

and burning eyes -

Feeling her whole hand faint,

notes fumbled and slurred

into each other.

At the musical evenings,

she had played and sung,

hoping each time afresh

to be able to reproduce

the effects which came so easily

when she was alone.

But she could not discover

the secret of getting

rid of her nervousness.

Only twice had she succeeded -

at the last school concert

when she had been too miserable

to be nervous, and once

she had sung "Chanson de Florian"

in a way that had astonished

her own listening ear -

the notes had laughed

and thrilled out into the air

and come back to her

from the wall behind

the piano.

* * * * *

This is a found poem in response to the Erasures prompt at We Write Poems. I did use Pointed Roofs by Dorothy Miller Richardson as my source text.

I've Been Away

I've been away from my blog for a few days because I've been so busy with end of the year stuff. The last day of our school year is this Friday! While I'm looking forward to the end of the year and the beginning of my summer, I have to get those report cards done. Talk about a deadline! I've been reading papers and grading quizzes and getting all of it recorded.

I essentially worked all day Saturday and all day Monday, Memorial Day. I took Sunday off, which I'll blog about tomorrow. I'm almost there. I'm done for tonight, which is why I'm here, adding an entry for today. But now I'm tired, and I'm going to go fall asleep reading.

"in the aud/i/tor/i/um"

in the aud/i/tor/i/um

for another music assembly

it's too late in the year for this

we've all got spring fever

and it's just too boring to listen

to musicians tell us how to say

music in five different languages

just play your music

and transport us somewhere else

because that's what we want now

have you forgotten how to read

your audience - or do you dismiss

that because they're just children

is this just another gig for you

that you want to be done with

because you played "Libertango"

beautifully and I wanted to be free

* * * * *

This poem is a response to the We Write Poems prompt to write a poem after listening to some music.

Pacific Grove

In the excitement
of that first junior high
overnight field trip,
I ran up the hill by myself,
ahead of everyone else.
It was after dinner,
and I discovered the bus driver
playing the piano in the lobby
of our lodge.
He stopped
when he realized
I was there.
No one else heard.
I was the audience,
solitary, unwelcome.
I had broken something magical.
This is what I learned
on that field trip,
not the marine biology
that was the purpose:
Some people are far more
than they appear,
certainly more
than the work they do.

* * * * *

This poem was written in response to day twelve's prompt to write about a city at Poetic Asides. It was one of the five poems that I submitted to Robert Brewer at the end of the month.

Stereocilia

Things could be worse

for me I guess

At least my vision's still

good - and I'm getting better

at reading lips

Have you ever noticed

the overwhelming beauty

of human lips

and their diversity

I want to make a

documentary on lips

I can see their softness

and their strength

the supple flexibility

and the restraint

how small they are

where they leave off

and become face

I hope my doctor doesn't mind

that I don't look her in the eye

She must be used to it

still - I don't want her

to think me rude

but I can't afford

not to see

what she's saying

because I can only

hear about a third

of her words

She's telling me about the bundled

structures they've seen under

the electron microscope

so small even light waves

are too big - and how

they resemble stereocilia

Then I ask her

how soon a clinically

relevant therapy

will be ready

She tells me ten years

It's then that

my eyes wander

and now without

focus and attention

I may hear every third word

but I take none of them in

I'm not looking

to fill in the gaps

either

It's only when

I hear her tone of voice

change that I bring

my eyes up to hers

and the emotion

I see there

makes me cry

from them both

* * * * *

This poem was written in response to the May 10 prompt at Big Tent Poetry about "listening to language." I was inspired by an article I read on Digg called "New Research Paves the Way for Cure for Deafness" which accounts for some of the language I used, including the title, as well as the theme.

Speaking of Boxes

My classroom is a box
If I were teaching math
I'd call it a rectangular
prism - but it's just a box
for teaching and learning

My dilemma now is
telling my students
to be themselves
and then minutes later
telling them to conform

What am I modeling
for them? I encourage
autonomy and then I
assert my authority

No wonder they're confused
even though I know
confusion is a good place
from which to begin learning

Is it a balancing act
one box in each hand?
one of reason and one of emotion
Or is it one big box
that is our burden?
What to put in and what to take out
our primary concern.

If the classroom is
that one big box
then what is our responsibility
in that shared space?
What do we add?
What do we take away?

And our houses and apartments -
what of those boxes?
And the blocks we live on?
The grids we drive on?

Maybe I'm just as confused
as my students.
Perhaps the box is
the wrong metaphor
for the classroom
too static
too linear
limiting rather
than expansive

I should have recycled the box
and moved on to real geometry
measuring the world
and talked of spheres

* * * * *

This poem was inspired by the boxes prompt at We Write Poems.

I'll Show You

You left your back gate unlatched,
when you took out the recycling.
Even if you locked it, wood gates
and fences don't stop me.

I'm in your backyard now,
peering into your child's
bedroom, watching the slow
rise and fall of the sheets.

You think you're safe.
You think you're in control.
But you're wrong. Just you
wait until I show you how.

* * * * *

This poem was written in response to day ten's prompt to write a horror poem over at Poetic Asides.

This also works as the day number three prompt over at ReadWritePoem to "write about something that scares you."

Media Diet

Over Mother's Day weekend, I read The Red Pyramid by Rick Riordan. I still haven't finished all of the Percy Jackson books, but I wanted to read this one quickly before all of my students had already read it. In case you're wondering, I'm about halfway through The Titan's Curse. The Red Pyramid is a good book. I certainly enjoyed it. If you liked the Percy Jackson books, then you'll probably like this one too. It has many of the same elements, young teenage heroes, mythology, action, saving the world, etc. And I liked how it was told with the alternating voices of the brother and sister main characters.

I saw Iron Man 2. I liked it. I didn't love it, but it was a good sequel. I wouldn't say better than the first, but, as sequels go, this was a good one. It had a lot of the same energy that made the first one enjoyable. It's worth seeing on the big screen. Plunk down your ten bucks, and then another ten bucks for popcorn and a soda, and enjoy.

I'm watching season two of Lost streaming on NetFlix. I'm late to the game as a fan of Lost, but man it's a good show. Last night, I watched episode 16, "The Whole Truth". I liked what we saw in the flashbacks of Sun and Jin, and Ana Lucia and Sayid as they go to find out if the guy they have locked up in the hatch is an "other" or not.

And I recently finished watching season four of Doctor Who, so now I'm all caught up and ready to start watching the new season with the new Doctor.

Today, at school, we had an assembly where we got to see this year's school play, Seussical, Jr. They've really put together a great production this year. Kudos to the students and parents who've been working hard on this play. I thoroughly enjoyed it and was pleased with how well the messages of Dr. Seuss came through. A person's a person no matter how small.

Message in a Bottle

Voyager was a bottle,
and it carried a message inside,
a gold disc,
ductile, malleable,
conducting bits of science
and art to the stars,
already quaint in our eyes,
in our world of wireless
everything except radio.

And now Mr Hawking warns
us that was a mistake,
as if some weren't already
thinking the same,
like Mr Leinster,
a science fiction writer
of the forties,
who imagined two space-faring
civilizations meeting in space,
and then covering the trail
back to their respective worlds.

Do we need to fear the unknown?
Aren't the odds so
(pardon the pun) astronomical
that we needn't worry?
A bit of hopeful thinking
just in case,
isn't that what a message
in a bottle is?

* * * * *

This poem was written in response to the "message in a bottle" prompt at Writer's Island.

Poetry Prompts

Robert is continuing to post a Wednesday poetry prompt at Poetic Asides.

There appear to be three different groups that have continued something like what was going on over at ReadWritePoem. We Write Poems has a Thursday poetry prompt.

Big Tent Poetry has a Monday prompt.

And Writer's Island has a Saturday prompt.

I should have no trouble finding some kind of prompt to keep me writing. I'm sure there's more out there. I need to quit browsing and start writing.

"I walk, blinded by"

I walk, blinded by
white
hoping I don't stumble

this world is so dark
I can only
survive

by always moving, looking
down
at where to place my feet

my own dark feet -
who have they left
behind?

who has fallen along the
way?
are there yet some ahead

of me? I cannot see
their footprints in the
shifting

sand that threatens
thirst
and a slow, crushing death

so I keep trudging
towards that hope, that
dream

of flight
of magic
of release

* * * * *

This poem was written in response to day six's prompt to write an ekphrastic poem. I Chose "Flight of the Witches" by Francisco de Goya as my inspiration.

Poem a Day Challenge Submission

I emailed Robert Brewer over at Poetic Asides what I think are the five best poems I wrote last month. While I think it would be cool if he chose one of my poems, I'm not going to get my hopes up. He's only going to choose 50, and I'm sure he's going to get submissions of at least 500 poems.

Whether he chooses one of my poems or not, I had a great deal of fun writing poems in April. I've never done anything like this before, but I truly enjoyed it. I've been writing poetry since my high school days, but I've never considered it a serious practice.

I took a poetry writing class with George Barlow at De Anza Community College, and I had one poem published in the student anthology the college put out that year, but that's the extent of my poetry publication.

I did try to take another poetry writing class when I went to UC Berkeley, but I was rejected. You had to submit a few poems to be considered for the class, which was being taught by Thom Gunn. I didn't make the cut. I kept writing poems, but once I graduated, my writing tapered off.

I have written a poem here and there over the years since, and as often as I've been able to manage it, I've written poems in my classroom when we've had Susan Sibbet from California Poets in the Schools come in to teach poetry writing.

But the Poem a Day Challenge certainly whet my appetite for more, and I'm having a blast writing poems, reading poems, and seeing how blogging and the internet are changing how people are writing and reading poems.

Did I Join Too Late?

So, this evening, I'm checking out all the poetry blogs that I've just discovered, and Lemon Hound mentions Harriet, kindly providing a link, and I go check it out. Lo and behold, it's a blog over at the Poetry Foundation, and it's changing into something else, not really a blog with places for people to comment anymore.

And, mid-month or so, I discovered ReadWritePoem, which also seems to have become defunct. I was very excited to discover it and learn that they hosted NaPoWriMo, which I didn't know about until I started poking around more as I was in the midst of the Poem a Day Challenge over at Poetic Asides.

And for reasons that I cannot find, ReadWritePoem "is no longer active." I'm not sure what that phrase means, nor do I understand why it's so.

Is the poetic universe sending me a message? Did I miss the boat? I'm just now finding all these great things that have been happening online, but they're changing on me just as I find them.

I'm trying not to be discouraged, because, frankly, I had a blast writing thirty poems in thirty days. And, had I known about NaPoWriMo sooner, I would have attempted sixty. As it is, I'm challenging myself to use those prompts to write another thirty poems over the course of May.

National Poetry Month may be over, but I'm just getting warmed up. I'm going to keep blogging, and now that I've started posting some of my poems, I'm going to keep doing that as well.

I don't know... I guess I was just starting to feel like I was participating in a poetry community, just getting my feet wet, and then they closed the pool for the season. Sorry, kid, you came too late.

Day Two: Water Poems

Here are some more poems and blogs I discovered:
* "Flood Stories" by Joseph Harker, who blogs at naming constellations
* "like water" by Chev Shire, who's blog is Whatever and ever
* "Regular White Paper" by Laura Kayne, who's blog is Life Distilled
* "Mixed Bathing" by Nancy Posey, who's website is Discriminating Reader. Her poem is not posted there; I read it at Poetic Asides.

I also like what I saw over at Pens and Pages Writer's Guild. Besides all the writer's blogs I've begun to follow, I'm also discovering many people who write about what they're reading.

Thirteen Ways

I
Less than a day's drive
from the snowy mountains
sits the city of San Francisco.

II
Water has three states,
a secular trinity
that provides life.

III
The autumn winds pull the fog
through the Golden Gate.

IV
Hydrogen and oxygen
are one.
Liquid and ice and vapor
are one.

V
I do not know which to prefer
the beauty of thirst
or the beauty of slaking it.
Lifting the full glass
or emptying it.

VI
Icicles filled the picture
above December's grid,
those barbaric teeth
of old man winter,
or are they instead
translucent carrots
growing in the sky?

VII
O buff men of the city
surrounded by golden-skinned birds,
do you watch them as they drink
their vitamin water and sports drinks
after their runs along the bay?

VIII
I know the taste
of accented water -
the teas and coffees
and their rhythms
of afternoon and morning.

IX
As the fog burned off,
its disappearing edge
was natural magic.

X
At the sight of the marine layer,
giving everything a gray light,
even the purples of pigeons
were a welcome flash of color.

XI
He walked across the bridge,
stopping to look out at Alcatraz
-no glass cage for him-
and the fear
of too much freedom
and too much restraint
was the fog's shadow on him.

XII
The sixteen rivers are moving.
The bay must be alive.

XIII
Then leaving in the morning
for afternoon snow-
and it was going to snow
they said,
watching the evergreens turn white.

* * * * *

This poem was inspired by the prompt to "write a water poem" at Poetic Asides.

More Poems and Interesting Blogs

I just emailed a friend of mine with seventeen of the poems I wrote for the Poem a Day Challenge in April, asking him for his input. I don't know which five to select to send to Robert. My wife has already given me some input on some of the earlier poems, but she hasn't seen any from the last third of the month. She promised me she'd read them tonight.

For now, here's some more interesting poems I read this morning, or blogs that I've found intriguing. I like "and suddenly strange" at Whatever and ever. Over at Never Say a Commonplace Thing, I like both poems written for the last prompt of the month: "Flow" and "The Final Battle". "And suddenly, there were turtles" did not at first catch my eye when I read it in the comments at Poetic Asides, but I read it again at Emergency Metaphor Technician, and I like it. Two sites which I know I will return to because of the poems and the many links to other sites are: naming constellations and carolee sherwood. I enjoyed "Arbor Day" on the former and "Because she can't help it" on the latter.

"the lonely poem"

the lonely poem
sat by itself
on a blog
with just one entry -
itself

the poet never
came back
never gave the poem
any neighbors
any friends to talk to

it sat by itself
unnoticed, unread
a piece of internet
jetsam
waiting still

perhaps you'll find it
and read it
maybe even share it
with someone you care for
and it will have
fulfilled its purpose

it won't be
the lonely poem
anymore

and you can carry
its thank you
for all of your days

* * * * *

This poem was inspired by the prompt "to write a lonely poem" from Poetic Asides.

* * * * *

So, today, I've started to post some of the poems I wrote in April. I won't post them all, because some of them just aren't any good. But there's a few that I'm willing to share.

Poem a Day Update

So, I wrote my last two poems last night. I successfully finished the Poem a Day Challenge. I wrote thirty poems in thirty days. (Yay me!)

I spent some time this morning reading poems over at Poetic Asides. I wanted to just focus on writing poems in April, but now that it's May, I want to go back and see what other poets participating in the challenge wrote.

I've added some more blogs to my blogroll based on the poems I read, and those were just ones I read posted in the comments for the twenty-ninth, the "and suddenly, (blank)" prompt.

I like "April Alumni" over at CrankyMango. I also like "And suddenly plumes" at our lost jungle. "An April Moon" at Across the Lake, Eerily is also a beautiful, well-crafted poem. "And Suddenly the World Was Big Again" over at surdus moved me. And, last for today, but certainly not least, is "And suddenly the ideas stopped" at The Ghosts of Silence.

Poem a Day Ending?

Today is the last day of April and of the Poem a Day Challenge that I have been participating in over at Poetic Asides.

I still haven't written yesterday's poem yet, and it's still too early in the morning for me here on the west coast to see today's prompt, but I will write both poems today. When I have done that, I will have written thirty poems in thirty days.

I also decided last night, which I continued this morning, to share some of the poems I have written. I posted several in the comments sections for the appropriate days over at Poetic Asides. I am also going to post them here. I just don't see myself pursuing publication of my poetry, so I'm just going to post them here.

And then I'm going to try my hand at the poetry prompts over at NaPoWriMo. I didn't realize so many great things were going on during National Poetry Month!

Booking Through Thursday

God* comes to you and tells you that, from this day forward, you may only read ONE type of book–one genre–period, but you get to choose what it is. Classics, Science-Fiction, Mystery, Romance, Cookbooks, History, Business … you can choose, but you only get ONE.

What genre do you pick, and why?

*Whether you believe in God or not, pretend for the purposes of this discussion that He is real.

- Booking Through Thursday


Today, I'd have to say history. It's the type of book that I'm reading the most lately. It also has the advantage of being true. I've read things in history books that put fiction to shame. And it is a creative endeavor, putting together a compelling story from something that actually happened.

So, It's Sunday

Woke up Friday morning and realized I hadn't blogged on Thursday. So much for NaBloPoMo for April. And then I just wasn't in the mood to say anything on Friday; mostly because I was mad at myself for forgetting. I mean, how hard can it be to find a few minutes just to jot something down?

Some days I write a lot, because I get inspired. Other days, it's just an update on something that happened that day, just to put something down. Part of me thinks Emerson was right, foolish consistencies and hobgoblins and all that, but then I think that's just sour grapes.

I wrote everyday last November for NaNoWriMo. I didn't blog everyday that month, but I did write more than 50,000 words, so I know I can write everyday. And this month, not only did I try my hand at NaBloPoMo again, but I've been writing poems for the Poem a Day Challenge.

Okay, so I haven't written a poem every day. I started the month writing a poem each day, but then I started to fall behind. I wrote three or so last weekend and got mostly caught up; I think I was only one poem behind schedule. And this week I fell even further behind. (I blame it on the stress of standardized testing.) But already this morning, I wrote three poems. I have three more to write and I'll be caught up again.

I will write thirty poems this month. I may have failed the NaBloPoMo challenge of blogging everyday, but I will write thirty poems this month. (There are thirty days in April, right?)

WWW Wednesday

I got this idea from Should Be Reading:

What are you currently reading? That's the problem. I'm reading too many things. I haven't read anything in The Titan's Curse by Rick Riordan for weeks now. I'm also reading Eats, Shoots & Leaves by Lynne Truss and The Best Alternate History Stories of the 20th Century, edited by Harry Turtledove and Martin H. Greenberg. The latest thing I started reading, which is my current favorite is Adopted Son: Washington, Lafayette, and the Friendship That Saved the Revolution by David A. Clary.

What did you recently finish reading? See above. I haven't been finishing books recently. I keep starting new ones. I honestly can't remember the last book I finished, but it was probably Blood on the River by Elisa Carbone.

What do you think you'll read next? I really want to read Julie and Julia by Julie Powell. I've had the book for a while, and wanted to read it before I saw the movie. But now that I've already seen the movie, I want to read the book as well.

Theatre of All Possibilities

My class put on a performance of "California or Bust!" today with two actors from the Theatre of All Possibilities. They did two assemblies at our school and did a fantastic job. Many of them brought things they could use for costumes, which was a nice bonus. Thanks, parents! But mostly, they really threw themselves into their performances, and had a good time. I didn't hear a single complaint about having to perform, and a few of them even mentioned to me how much fun they had. It was a great thing to do for themselves and everyone else at the school the day before we start our standardized testing for another year. I'm proud of them, and, again, very pleased with the people from Theatre of All Possibilities. They do an excellent job in bringing theater to students.

Poem a Day Sites

So, for some reason that I cannot recall, I typed "Poem a Day" into Google yesterday, and came up with interesting results, including:

• Robin Chapman's Poem a Day Blog
• A Poem a Day by Writers in the Schools
• Poetry Daily
• Read Write Poem
• Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer

Those were all on the first page of search results, which is far as I allowed myself to browse. The last one, of course, was the one I was looking for, but I was pleasantly surprised by what I found, which is why I'm sharing it with you now.

A Quiet Sunday

Nothing big today. A very quiet day. A family friend came over and went out with the wife and kids, so I got to stay at home and have some quiet time for myself. They went out for brunch, then went to the beach and the park. I stayed home, read, watched movies, and worked on my poems for Poem a Day. I'm all caught up now, except for today's poem. I even spent some time typing them up and doing some minor editing.

One Reason I Don't Want to Teach Anymore

Parents.

It's not the students. It's the parents. Not all parents, mind you, but there's always a couple every year that make it more challenging than it needs to be. Teaching well is already challenging enough. Don't believe me? Try it yourself. Walk a mile in my moccasins, and then tell me it's easy.

So... this isn't even directed at any parent of my students. This is about what I observed today at my son's swim class. There were some other parents sitting in front of us, and this one dad comments on how the teacher should get out of the pool and help the students with their dives. The other two moms sitting near him agree, nodding their heads and saying similar things.

I overhear this, and my blood starts to boil. I want to say something, but I refrain, as usual. And they keep talking, so clear in their own minds that they can teach better than the qualified swim teacher who has been successfully teaching their children for weeks and weeks. It's so easy to sit back, watch someone else do their job, and think you can do it better. We all have thoughts like that. I do. I'm not saying I'm any better than these people. But I have the discretion to know when to keep my mouth shut.

This is one of the things about teaching I dislike the most. I wanted to tap this guy on the shoulder and offer to come watch him do his work, just sitting there talking about how I could do it better than him. It's like being a quarterback from the comfort of your couch.

And then, sure enough, the teacher sees that they're not doing as well as she probably hoped, and she climbs out of the pool and begins to help them just as the dad had been talking about. Do these parents acknowledge her for doing this? No, they do not. They do not see that she has been assessing how they can dive, and then modified her teaching technique accordingly, which is what I saw. No, they don't do that. Instead, the moms congratulate him on his keen observation. "Look," one of the moms says, "it's like she heard you through the glass."

At this point, my blood is boiling over. I lean close to my wife, point at the three parents in front of me, and say quietly, "This is why I don't want to teach anymore."

Poem a Day Update

I've fallen behind on my poems. I'm three days behind schedule, which is ironic because the prompt for yesterday, tax day, was to write a deadline poem. Now, I have to write a death poem, a deadline poem, and a (blank) island poem.

I'm planning on getting caught up this weekend. I like to mull the prompt over in my head and see what ideas come to me, which often happens when I'm driving, but sometimes it just works better to sit down and start writing.

I did that the other day for Tuesday's prompt, which was to write a love poem or an anti-love poem, two concepts that I decided to combine into one poem. Once I sat down and started to write, ideas just came to me, and I ended up writing a longer poem. The first stanza needs to be reworked or cut entirely, but the rest of the poem came together once I got writing.

Not About Tax Day

So, it's tax day. We filed our taxes a couple of weeks ago, and have already received our federal refund. This is big for us because we (my wife and I) are procrastinators. But enough about that...

Took the day off work and went with my wife to UCSF. We had been invited to have lunch with her doctor and get to see some of the facilities where they are doing amazing research. Everybody has their thing that they donate to, their own personal cause. For us, it's vision research. We donate to That Man May See.

You could go to their website and maybe learn a thing or two, but it doesn't do the people there any justice. We are grateful to the wonderful doctors and researchers at UCSF, in particular the ones working in the Ophthalmology Department. They not only treat patients, and my wife has been a patient there for about seven years now, but they do research that leads to better treatments that one day will benefit patients. The clinician-researchers do work that... well, it practically leaves me speechless.

My heart appreciates all they have done for my wife. My head appreciates all the geeky science that they are doing. And my wife's doctor is one of these clinician-researchers. He works in the clinic and treats patients, but he also does research, working on things that he hopes one day to bring to the clinical trial stage, where it's actually being tested on, and benefiting, people. My wife is one of those people. She was helped immensely from a clinical trial, and has continued to do well with the treatments she has received since that time.

I genuinely hope that the work that President Obama is doing to bring health care to all U.S. citizens is just the first step. There are many things wrong with health care in this country. But today, I'm not going to gripe about taxes, or the government, or both. Instead, today, I'm going to be grateful for when health care does work. I've seen it first hand. And I saw other people today, other patients, who have also been helped and who are grateful.

It was a good day.

Standardized Testing

Today was kind of a strange day. One of my fellow teachers and I put on a presentation today for parents at our school about the GATE program and preparing students to take the upcoming standardized tests.

Then, at my son's school, I attended a meeting put on by his teacher about their after-school program and how to help your child prepare for standardized tests.

It was most interesting to be on both sides of that discussion in the same day, first as a teacher, and then as a parent.

Truth is stranger than fiction. You can't make this stuff up. If you read it in a novel, you wouldn't believe it.

NetFlix on the Wii

In today's mail, we received the Wii disc that allows us to stream video from NetFlix on our television. This is something I've been doing for some time on my laptop, but now everyone in our family can enjoy movies or television programs on our big TV.

I know, I know... this seems absurd after the last two posts, but that's life. I can't be bitter every day. I'm worn out and discouraged by the state of the economy and its impact on public education, but I can't stand on my soapbox every day. Sometimes, I just want to come home, relax, and watch some TV with my boys.

The Value of Education - Part 2

Okay, I'm still angry and depressed... So, no arguments today. Just a few facts and figures for you to contemplate.

According to my Time Almanac for 2007, on the Smartest States, 2004-2005, California ranked number 43.

According to my New York Times Almanac for 2008, for 2004-2005, California ranks ranks 32nd for expenditures per student. (California ranks first for the number of students enrolled, of course.)

According to my World Almanac for 2009, for the fall semester of 2005-2006, California's expenditure per pupil was $8,834. The national average is $9,557.

I also searched for information on the internet. According to the U.S. Census Bureau for 2003-2004, California spent $7,748 per pupil and was ranked 26 amongst the 50 states. That year, New Jersey was the most at $12,981 and Utah the worst at $5,008. The national average was $8,287.

I also found information collected by the NEA for 2007-2008. California spent $8,883 and was ranked 44. The national average that year was $10,589. The District of Columbia spent the most, at $19,077 and Arizona the least, at $6,189.

The Value of Education

Today's topic: the big mistake we're making in not valuing public education.

Look, I know the economy's bad. I have friends who are looking for work. I have friends who are already preparing to look for work because they might be laid off soon. I'm afraid of losing my job because the economy is so bad and the unemployment rate is so high.

But... we can't be short-sighted and undercut public education. Wasn't it some of that short-sightedness that got us in this economic mess that we're in? I think it was. We like the quick fix here in America. We want it easy and we don't want to work that hard to get it.

Well, that doesn't work, does it? We can't all win the lottery. Most of us have to work for what we have. And that's a good thing to teach our children as well. But who's going to teach the children?

Teachers are getting laid off all over the place. I know it's happening in the district I'm working in. It's going to happen to at least one person I know, and, very likely, far more than one. It's going to happen in the district I live in. I know, because I talked to my son's teacher.

But these are the people who are actually teaching our children. We can't lay them off. They have to keep working. Everyone knows they already aren't being paid what they're worth, and now we're going to take their jobs away from them.

They're going to suffer; they're now unemployed. The teachers still employed are going to suffer, because their class sizes are likely to go up. (We won't even mention the morale of the teachers who will miss their laid off colleagues and friends. Oops. I did mention it.) Which means the children are going to suffer. They're not going to get a good education.

And, ultimately, we're all going to suffer. Who's going to hire these poorly educated people, when they finally finish high school? The business people who don't want to pay any taxes to support public education will be amongst the first to complain about the failures of the public educational system that they helped hamstring.

We are shooting ourselves in the foot. We are making bad decisions that will come back and bite us in the butt. We're thinking short-term. And we can't think short-term about young people and their educations. We always have to think long-term, about where they are now and where they'll be a year from now, and five years from now, and so on.

We can't make this up in the future. The opportunity will be lost. And if we can make some sort of patch, it will cost us more. There's going to be a lot of remediation, and it's going to be expensive.

And when, in the future, people complain to me about the sorry state of public education in this country, I'm going to remind them that they are the public, and if there's a problem with public education, it's their problem too, and they should have spoken up sooner, done something when it mattered, instead of looking out only for themselves, so that they can quarterback from their sofa. Because you know they will. The economy will get better, and teachers will get hired again, and class sizes will go back down, but the damage will be done. And the teachers will get the blame, but we're all to blame.

Poem a Day: Horror

It has seemed some days like the Poem a Day prompts were tailor made for me. One day the prompt was to write a history poem. And that prompt came the day after I bought a book on the Marquis de Lafayette and George Washington, Adopted Son.

Yesterday, the prompt was to write a self-portrait poem. And that fell on my wedding anniversary. That was a particularly easy prompt to respond to.

And it happened again today. Today's prompt is to write a horror poem. And last night I watched The Host. The other day on Digg I came across an article about movie monsters, which reminded me of the scary one in Cloverfield, and which also mentioned The Host, which I already had on my NetFlix queue, so I streamed it on my laptop. While I haven't written my horror poem yet, I do recommend The Host. And I want to watch Cloverfield again.

Anniversary

Today's topic for big is easy. My wife and I have been happily married for nine years now. We've been together as a couple for much longer than that, but we made it official nine years ago today, April 9th, in Las Vegas.

Poem a Day Update

While I have not yet written a poem for today's prompt, I have written a poem every day so far this month. So, now it's time for me to quit fooling around on Facebook and Digg, and write a poem about a tool...

100 Pixar Characters

I found this graphic on Digg. I'm always amazed by the creativity that I see other people display via the internet. I have a fondness for the wonderful films and shorts that have come from Pixar Studios. And I don't think I ever realized before just how many of their characters are small in size, though often big of heart.

The 80s

Had an urge to go to the movies today. Needed a break. And I needed to reward myself for all the hard work I've done this past week already.

The big decision was how to go back to the 80s tonight. Should it be via comedy and Hot Tub Time Machine or action and the remake of Clash of the Titans?

I went with action. And it was a good movie, not great, but good.

Trip to the Dentist

Today's big event: I get to take the boys to their dentist for a check-up and a cleaning. This is not such a big deal for my younger son, who has a very easy-going personality. But for my oldest... that's another story. Going to the doctor or dentist is almost always an ordeal with him. He almost always seems to work himself up, being very anxious about what might happen. Going to the dentist is particularly difficult, because he's very light sensitive, and even though the light they use doesn't shine into his eyes, he starts to get stressed out. And when the dentist actually gets into his mouth, or tries to take x-rays... I wonder if I can get an anti-anxiety pill for him to take before going to the dentist.

Back to Work

Today's big news: I had to go back to work. My spring break is over. It was good to get back to the routine, which might be part of the appeal of blogging every day, as well. But, man, am I tired.

Facebook for Introverts?

My big thing today: I logged onto Facebook for the first time in weeks.

There needs to be something for us introverts. Not something so crass as a GetOutofMyFace but something less stimulating than Facebook, maybe something like IWanttoBeAlone.

Movie Hype

Okay, today's topic is about a couple of movies - and hype. That's the big topic for today: hype, exaggerated or extravagant claims.

Yesterday, I took my two boys to see How to Train Your Dragon. I enjoyed it. It was a really good film, that works well for children and adults. "What does that have to do with hype?" you say. Well, a couple of days ago, I stumbled across an article titled The 15 Worst Opening Weekends in Box Office History. What initially caught my attention was that it started with How to Train Your Dragon.

Have we really gotten to the point that we're concerned with how much money a film makes on its opening weekend? Is this some kind of barometer for our ailing economy? Are we so desperate for good news that we'll hang onto any bit of it that comes our way? And when it doesn't come to lift our spirits, we lash out at it in disappointment? I'm glad to say that the author of that article, Marcus Leshock, wrote the article to put the whole hype surrounding box office receipts for a film's opening weekend into perspective.

I'm not interested in how much money a film makes. It is not one of the factors that determines whether or not I'll go see the movie on the big screen - and pay a hefty amount of money for that privilege. It's an industry insider kind of thing. And I don't work in the movie business.

I guess that's the point. It is a business. But I don't go to the movies thinking that I'm supporting such and such studio. I don't see them as brand names that draw me. Okay, well, except for Pixar; I'll see anything they make. I'm even less drawn by particular actors than I am by particular directors. Who is directing a movie is usually far more important to me than who's in the movie.

All of which takes me to movie number two: Avatar. This definitely counts as the most hyped movie in recent history. And, for me, it didn't live up to expectations. It exceeded my expectations when it came to visual special effects. There's no denying it. Visually, the movie is a stunner, and it's well worth the price to see it on the big screen.

But the story... Very disappointing. It didn't help that whoever put together the trailer told us the whole plot of the film. I hate it when they do that. Maybe they did it that way deliberately because the story is so much of a retread, that anybody with a reasonable amount of intelligence could see where things were going pretty early on.

I get all the historical references. For me, it's very much a retelling of the European exploration/exploitation of the New World. And that's a story worth retelling; we can't forget our own history. However, it needs to be done well. And Cameron is a bit heavy-handed when it comes to storytelling. It has Pocahontas written all over it. The daughter of the local chief saves the white man, and then romance. Well, that's the myth of Pocahontas. There was no romance between the real Pocahontas and John Smith. And Jake Sully is no John Smith. Did Cameron really give his character the same initials to draw that parallel? Jake Sully is a 21st century version of what we wish John Smith had been.

Sigourney Weaver, as usual, gives a delightful performance. Cameron is wise to continue to work with her. But, the character Giovanni Ribisi plays reminded me too much of Paul Reiser's character in Aliens, the corporate scumbag. Again, the storytelling was too heavy-handed.

The people who go to see films are smarter than Hollywood often gives them credit for being. We like good stories. Give us good stories to see and we'll go see them. And if you can blend story and spectacle, so much the better. But don't think we don't know spectacle without a story.

NaBloPoMo - April - Day Two

So, what's big today?

I have no idea. I already started a list of topics so that I'd have things to write about during the month, but I just can't bring myself to take one of those. They're my back-ups, for those days when I really just don't have any idea what to write - or the time.

Today, I have nothing but time. It's the last weekday of my spring break. So, I have to come up with something...

The poetry prompt for today is to write a water poem. I haven't written my poem for today yet. In fact, I'm a little stumped because it's such a big concept. I have a feeling that today I'm going to write a really long poem, or more than one.

Water is so important, literally vital. Earth has been called the water planet. (I wonder who said that first.?) If I'm not mistaken, it's the only substance that occurs naturally as a liquid, solid, and a gas on Earth. It is so versatile and variable - and yet, so dependable.

April Poem-a-Day Challenge

Okay, as if attempting to blog every day this month wasn't enough, I am also participating in the April Poem-a-Day Challenge as sponsored by Robert Lee Brewer at Poetic Asides over on the Writer's Digest website.

I don't think I'll be posting my poems, but (who knows) I might change my mind later in the month.

Today's prompt: write a lonely poem.

NaBloPoMo - April - Day One

So, it's April, and I'm attempting to blog every day this month as part of National Blog Posting Month (NaBloPoMo).

The theme this month: big.



I'll start off slow. Today's topic, April Fool's Day. Today is the day when we get to joke and pull pranks on each other. As a kid, the best part of the day is telling somebody something, having them fall for it, i.e., believe you, and then getting to yell, "April Fool's!"

Google has already played a big joke on us. Google is now Topeka. Don't believe me? Go check out their blog at Topeka. I can't top that. That's big for today.