flea flickers,
bare knickers,
smooth rolls smooth brown,
once up,
then down,
pie pickers,
broken clickers,
earful by earful,
mandatory walk,
audio slave,
that cheap talk.

meteor shower

this is elementary childhood
safe and sound.
wooden meteors toppling
wooden towers.
hastily made and hastily pummelled.
smiles not seen
outside gradual release of priviledges.
ever defensive
always on the offensive.
the fight is with noone but
everyone.
this is elementary childhood
safe and sound.
pushing forward against boundaries
and bashfulness.
this bravado fall short
of masking
uncertainty.

Progress?

As educational gains are being measured by standardized tests more and more, it gets harder and harder to find measurable gains elsewhere. I have stated clearly and often that I put the connections I make with my students first, academics second. The students I work with have documented emotional disabilities and lack age-appropriate social skills. I believe it is pivotal to focus on teaching and modeling how to positively interact with adults and students. If my students do not feel safe and cared for in the classroom they will not be able to progress academically.

That being said, it is a struggle everyday to maintain connections as both a disciplinary figure and a role model, all while being responsible for delivering instruction. I pride myself in being able to strike a very effective balance of the 3, but admit shortcomings in all 3 as well.

All of this is leading up to an awesome breakthrough a student had the other day. To some, it may seem simple. Trivial. It is admittedly not a spectacular task in and of itself, but it is something this student couldn't do less than a year ago.

My students enjoy playing card games. UNO, skipbo, war, and they especially like a game named "phase10". It is a game that has 10 steps (phases) with a different collection of cards needed each round. Last year my student attempted to play phase10. She could not grasp the rules and quickly got frustrated when dealt shitty cards or left behind a round. She desperately wanted to play, but it was a constant inner battle to focus on learning how to play and quelling her building escalation. Over time she slowly learned how to play, requiring less and less guidance, but her emotions remained, causing the same setbacks.

Yesterday she successfully completed a full game with me. Smiling the whole time, talking and taking some verbal banter, appropriately and effortlessly. And in this game, I found measurable gains. I found indisputable proof that she has made progress, that what we are doing is positively affecting my most important objective; that students will be able to build meaningful social relationships and manage them with appropriate social strategies. She's not perfect by any means. But she's making progress. Unfortunately, MCAS will most likely not pick up on that.

vision skittles, optical oreos
eye candy, to each their own.
is it necessary to be eye-craving
sweet and regrettable
causing desire and resulting in lost promises.
unquestioned lack of balance
coupled with wrapper enzy.
name brand versus store brand
winner take all.
quality questioned but not proven
acquired taste perhaps.
look past foil and paper.
read ingredients.
allow a bite large enough for true
judgement.
chew and mull with time.
decision based upon feeling, one hopes.

grey skies met me as i opened the front door. stepping outside, closing the door and inhaling with a deep breath. the morning mist cooled my lungs.
the rain was light and it hung in the air. my first steps felt smooth and soon i found a comfortable pace. birds announced the morning. the trees were home to the concerto of shrill cries and tweets.
my head felt clear and i couldn't help but smile as i took a left turn off the road and onto a side path. the path was made up of bridges, mini bridges. about 10 feet long, about 1 foot wide, a few 2x6's side by side. my pace slowed as i made my way across 2,3,4,8 mini bridges.
beneath the bridges, waiting for a wayward step is mud, glossy with rainbow sludge. huge green fern leaves look like hands reaching up, hoping to catch breakfast and welcome it into their garden.
off the bridges and back on the damp trail, dodging slippery roots, landing softly on the balls of my feet. low hanging branches, leafless and skinny, tree fingers, are bobbed and weaved around.
coming out from the trees, across the road and back onto the path. the birds still singing my praises. a few longer strides get me safely over the railroad tracks. even with the constant reminder of bird calls, the morning is mine and only mine. everything that happens fuels me.
my legs begin to feel a bit of a burn. starting right above my knees and slowly making its way up my quads. steady my breathing, deep breath in. the mind more at ease. i am not the body, i am the soul.
turning a corner. a rabbit jumps out of the way, zigging, zagging, bobbing white tail acts as a beacon, allowing me to track it, picking its way through the brush.
my stride begins to lengthen and i begin to hit a good rhythm. back onto pavement, bike path offers me safety. just a few moments later i get a clear view of a pond. the tree sanctuary, half grown, mangled by beavers and storms.
the figures of the trees appear dark, moisture painting them black. the water is still, but ripples are able to occasionally find their way towards the edge. a heron, blue and grey, powerfully wings into view and then glides across the brown water. quickly it came, quickly it was gone.
i continue to pump my legs, moving me forward with an ease that surprises me and my legs. the breaths still come easy and the quiet flame in my legs reminds me i'm here, now. embrace the feeling, you are alive and well.
after finding my turnaround spot, i begin the glide back. i switch my eyes to the opposite side of the path. an easy, rolling view of hills, up and down, alive with grasses and bushes.
the feeling of lightness is still flowing through me, but i can sense a bit of a lag. i smile.

it's funny. 3 years later and i find myself staring out the same window. the same trees, same lawn, same road, digging for new inspiration. the screens on the window slightly distort everything on the outside. the crispness of the world blurred by wire mesh.
starting at the sky, the faraway blue, found only when no clouds can be spotted. the distance created by such a clear sky allows the trees to appear stronger, straighter. shadows lie about, imaginary tree footprints, amoeba like in shape.
a slight breeze winds its way through the leaves and they respond by dancing on the branches. rustling, shaking back and forth.
the branches stretch upward, always reaching for more light, jockeying for position amongst other sun-hungry limbs.
green grass, green leaves, green air. the darker greens lie about in the shadows, representing cool and comfortable. the leaves brighter in color, in direct sunlight, reflect nourishment and appear golden green.
rising above shorter trees, a fir tree presents its coat, a reminder of winter and warmth.


spotlight reversed, pointing out the dark spots
swaying, but gently blending
exhales move earth.
green mirrors show no self-reflection.
suspended field of green.
slanted branches create non-symmetrical
smiles, crooked, lips sealed.

doors shiny with carbonated focus.
youkilis lands at second with a double.
carpet brown rug rolls its tongue to
greet you, protect your soles.
you've lost champion status.
white floor piece surrounded, pull the pin.
two for one special.

flat black rose bushes.
times thought back on, just short of
reminiscent.
flat black smiles
seen, but undistinguished
lit only by the lost idea of a kiss.
returned to life's rolling chair, stable when
your feet are planted, firmly grounded.
spinning in all the wrong directions, unchecked
with lifted feet and attempted control.
the rain won't come, even with the sun
on strike and the moon, it's scab, only
big as the marble shooter.
flat black rose bushes.
petals never rotten, odor wades among
thorns, ducking in and through.
smells like it could be forever.

shadows can't capture heartbeats.
they find life in movement, but
be still and they fade.
a figure remains, a cutout of sorts.
not to be bent nor broken.
showing your outside. a hollow
look at you.
judge this book by its cover.
the cover tells the story of
trouble unseen.
open the shadow and greet
what's beneath.

rock, stone, cement, wood.
elements designed as ours, but not owned.
structures harness power and release importance.
signs indicate direction but fail to provide a path as
rivers discover bends and curves.
water will show patience.
trunks feign support while
limbs breathe confidence to leaves, leaves to us.
breezes fail to take breath away,
simply emulate earths sighs, disappointment
in day to day, joy of storms of grey and wet.
fly below it as sun follows time and round earth resigns itself
to orbit.
creatures great and greater slide
as if forgiven, though sins need no atonement.
days of hours complete a simple
cycle, often recognized.
let the leaves fall, the white blankets will come and find themselves gone before long.
but never owned.

sun melts, oozing itself orange
across the tree tops.
warmth fades and finds comfort
under blankets and above our heads.
blinking stars make their way
across the sky, shooting airplanes.
the days last moments are spent
stuck in time.
stillness made more prevalent by movement
nature's mastery of contrast.
time better spent forgetting than remembering.
sun melts, evening finds its colors,
black.

"so you guys are graduating this year?"

those words still ring, resound in my head. we were graduating that year, and did graduate. eric didn't. his dad, trying to make conversation, probably telling himself he was trying to make us feel a little more comfortable. in actuality, just trying to take his mind off the events that had occured.

what made your pain so bad? why did it hurt the way it did? would you take it back, if you could do it again?

i can still hear the first shovelful of dirt hit the coffin. it slid from the shovel, the dirt unaware, blissfully unaware, of what it was burying, sealing off from sunlight, air, life. forever. each shovelful further drove the point home. the distinct slide and scratch that is heard each time the edge of a shovel is dug into slightly damp dirt. pulling it from the pile, tiny rocks spill from the tall sides, jumping from the shovel, not ready to bury a 17 year old. the edge of the shovel starts to tip and the soil spills over. if only gravity skipped a beat, postponed this moment, allowed everyone one more second, if only. but it didn't and the dirt hit against the wood. a quick shower before the rest found its way in, the thud it made on contact. and then another shovelful dropped. another, another.

helpless, hopeless. the feeling will never go away. grief allows one to remember how little everything matters in the big picture. the day to day annoyances. traffic jams, copier james. work stress, family stress. think how much you would take if he could be brought back. trivial, quite, i know.

for a long time i hated you for what you did. the easy way out. you didn't have to deal with it anymore. each day didn't present questions, more thoughts of uncertainty, attempting to find your "why".

looking around where you are now, spending everyday, this plot wasn't meant for you. a man who lived through world war I, the roaring 20's, prohibition, the depression, world war II, the holocaust, the civil rights movement, vietname, korea, that's a lot. even a 20 year old, kerry. you spend everyday surrounded by people you should have lived at least as long as.

thank you for listening and giving me your ear. you deserve to be happy, wherever you are now. the pain you felt, the pain everyone has felt since, is not ever to be forgotten. you, to me, remain a constant reminder that life is not ever how we planned it, for better of for worse. love life, however. love it because it is all you have.

new day, old dawn.
same old sun, same old song.
robbed at the peak of sleepytime
wake up, woke up.
close your eyes, close my eyes.
drift back to days left untouched
and bring them your pain and your smile.
my pain and your smile
my pain and my smile.
rush little lady, but don't say a word
time will be before those who haven't heard
we must let ourselves be forgotten to be reborn.
found in each of us, ourselves, not the same as before.

crossroads

this past year has been very interesting in the workplace. a lot of experience has been gained by simply observing, both students and faculty. i have witnessed many ill-advised techniques, most of the time with the person using the technique meaning well. more information, more opportunities.

currently i am at a full time sub position and will be here until the school year ends in a few weeks. i have decided to switch this blog up a little bit and post some of my own writing. it's nothing extraordinary, but i like typing and have been really trying to find a reason to use this space more, so why not.

most of the posts will be copied from a notebook i write in and i am not going to title anything. some posts will include the date it was written orginally, some won't.


riding my bike home from crocker farm, the black was black and the road was near invisible. the air felt amazingly clean and fresh and a touch of chill made its way under my shirt. as i rode along, taking my hands off the bar, the night drove me on, never rushing, but driving home a brisk pace. hands open, arms outstretched, mouth wide, eyes fixed above, attempting to take in all of the night sky. big dipper, orion, the only two i know, big dipper the only one i spot. branches whiz by overhead, obstructing my view, adding to my secludedness, my perfect. mouth still wide open as the corners slowly creep their way up to my cheek bones, creating a wild smile. words don't, won't come as a joyful exhale turns into a roaring yolp, becoming a part of the night. my eyes once again look skyward, underwhelming me with simplicity, yet astounding me with a clarity so often sought. found on middle street; clarity. call if you would like it returned. reward will be expected.


pedal, pedal moving forward,
as if the day will propel itself.
fixed gears, fixed brains, broken
but forever moving.
lopsided arrows still find targets, just
those unexpected bullseyes.
chain connects two pieces, distance
adjusted to match.
not too close, not too far.
room to breath with room to grow.

bow

i am not sure.

these trials i have encountered are not usual, for me at least. life has been throwing curveballs quite effectively for quite some time. it is peculiar of me to post this sort of rhetoric, but to be more honest than i would like to, i am drunk and the paper is across the room from the wonderfully comfy and cozy bed i am currently in. i don't like associating alcohol with my posts (since most of them are posted during the school day).

explain it, let me know how these feelings began.

no, there is no explanation.

upside down, that's how i am pretty sure things are going to start feeling like.

in a funk

in a funk

i hate mtv

i really have been meaning to write about a lot of experiences lately.

right now, i happened to switch to mtv. they are airing a show called "steve-o; demise and rise" which basically chronicles steve-o doing a whole bunch of drugs and alcohol and sending tapes into mtv and them glamorizing hardcore drug use and alcholism.

i hate mtv. give me 5 minutes in room with those motherfuckers. please. give me 5 minutes. and then give me 5 minutes to explain to them how much they have set back so many of america's viewers.

fuck you. fuck you. i hate you. this is not good for people to see. i hate you.

those darned black native americans.

recently, i assigned a 3 paragraph essay to my students.

the writing invitation was titled "Why do you think Martin Luther King Jr. was important?"

this was right around the time of the inaguration, as well as MLK Jr. day.

one student chose to begin his essay with this sentence.

and i quote, "The black native americans killed Martin in 1884."

holy crap. the next sentence, while not quite as poignant and filled with conspiracy as the first, is still very resounding. it started off well enough, and i thought for just a second that we might have some progress, "Martin had a dream to get people.....", i should have stopped there. "....to work at war and they did." ouch.

the rest of the essay is so full of baloney it is astounding. i haven't had a chance to talk to the student yet, but there will be some dialogue concerning this writing piece.

this same student also recently gave me another glimpse into his inner workings. while i was writing something on the board and i had my back turned (to them, if my back is turned, they assume i can't hear anything) a student accused my king-conspiracy theorist that he was a cheater. he responded by saying, "Hey, i am not a cheater.....except in math and sports, and ummmmm, video games." had this been a joke, i would have laughed. but unfortunately, this was said deadpan and serious. brilliant.

after reading this post and reading the essay again, i have decided that if i happen to lose this, i really want to have it written down somewhere. so, in all of it's insanity and copied directly from the paper, here it is.

Martin Luter King Jr.
The black native americans killed Martin in 1884. Martin had a dream to get people to work at war and they did.
Martin Luter King Jr. want the war to go on the people said no because they did want to get killed. He got short by black native americans they did want him.
Martin made a song from him because people and children want to remember him because they would like to see him. Martin like his children because he want to rember.

at least my student didn't say................

....that barack obama is the first native american president.

well, yes, yes he did.

awesome.

taking on the test

so, winter break has come and gone. it was really nice to have a full two weeks to regroup and get ready for the bulk of the year.

the monday we came back from school, we had a staff meeting at the end of the day. during the meeting, the testing schedule for the rest of the year came out.

what the fuck.

we have at least 2 full days of testing from february until the end of the year.

for the month of january, we have 4 test prep. sessions a week. for me, that means spending at least an hour each day. that may not sound like a lot, but that means 4 hours a week. i only have them for ela for 10 hours a week, and that is if we don't have music. now, that means that basically half of my time with them for the week is spent doing mindless practice tests.

i am also supposed to be teaching them different themes from the regular ed. english book, a book they can't read. teaching the themes isn't too difficult because i am able to use a couple other books that examine and present these themes. but then, this is the best part, they have to take the 5th grade test on the theme. despite the fact they might actually understand the theme (genre of writing or reading, grammar) they can't read the fucking question because they are not 5th grade level readers. but can't they just raise their hands and ask the teacher to read it, like they would normally during class? fuck no, that would make it too easy. i am not even allowed to read the question to them. despite this, sometimes i am able to get around that.

why don't i just break the rule and read it to them? because then, if they do well, they might get bumped out of special ed the next year. that wouldn't be helpful to them because then they would be in a setting where they aren't really going to be able to learn. but, it's ok that the special ed. kids don't do well on the test, right? it's not like the district would require us to give our special education students the same test as the regular education students and then use these scores to determine how well the teachers are teaching and the principals principaling. so when a school has more special ed. students, naturally, their scores might be a little lower. so instead of perhaps giving more funding or a few extra teachers or aides, they punish the principal and threaten their job. i am not making this shit up.

PRINCIPALS ARE TOLD HOW MANY SPECIAL EDUCATION STUDENTS THEY ARE ALLOWED TO HAVE. IF THEY GO OVER, THE DISTRICT WILL COME IN AND QUESTION AND PENALIZE THE PRINCIPAL. STUDENTS THAT NEED SERVICES ARE NOT GETTING THEM BECAUSE THE DISTRICT, ESSENTIALLY, SEEMS THEM AS A LIABILITY.

anyway. i can't stand standardized tests, as you may see. it completely is ass-backwards of the way a good teacher would teach. it is completely ass-backwards of the way that the district and state expects us to teach. we get memos and attend workshops, expressing the benefits of hands-on learning, teaching to multiple intelligences, and alternative assessment. and yet each year, we subject the students to hours, literally, hours of the exact opposite.

i am not sure how i can begin to work for change, but it is something i am going to be a part of.