Feel Through

Feel through the neediness,
Feel through the pain,
Feel through the part of you
scared to be hurt again,
Feel through your anger,
Feel through your scar,
Feel through the part of you
not sure of who you are,
Feel through your emptiness,
Feel through your tears,
Feel through the part of you
afraid to face the years,
Feel through till you come to
the place we are all of,
Feel through the heart of you,
Feel through to Love.

In response to the following news article: “Swerving to Miss Moose, Norwegian Man Slams Into Bear”

For some reason, that headline really speaks to me.

Oh, Miss Moose,
You silly goose.
For when I saw you there,
I swerved to avoid you,
For being hit,
Would have annoyed you.
And would have been unfair.
Sometimes it’s hard,
Being a Norwegian.
When moose are legion.
And nearly everywhere.
But then a brown bear,
Caught me unaware.
So hit it I did,
And it ran and hid.
Looks like irony,
Ran right over me,
When I ran into that bear.

BE

Just be, for a bit,
And see where it takes you.
No need to stress,
To feel
That you must
Exert yourself,
Alert yourself,
Be your pert little self,
That the world expects.
The world subjects us
To so much stress,
So much duress,
I must confess
That I often feel
Inclined to run
Into a wall
To fuck it all,
Let go and fall,
To tell the world to
Kiss my ass,
But this too shall pass,
Better to relax
And take the time,
A measured look,
Find your own rhyme,
Your rhythm,
Your own sense of time,
Wait for the dance
To come around,
Till you have found
It feels right,
And then
Despite
The wretched strain
You have the strength
To jump again into the race,
To smile and take
Your rightful place,
To show your face,
Amongst the best,
Subject yourself
To life’s pure test,
To strive, and struggle,
Give what’s for,
Untll once more,
It’s time to pause,
And take a rest.
Relax.
It’s just the dance.

Maybe I Should be Worried

Sometimes I wonder if,
There’s something wrong with me.
These days I’ll go two days,
Without a shower,
Even three.
When people ask me how I am,
I usually say I’m good.
But I don’t know,
Cause I don’t do,
The things I really should.
By now I thought that surely,
I could get up,
Bright and early.
But these days I lie awake in bed,
Or often sleep,
Till noon instead.
I’ve got nothing coming up,
And no job to worry about,
So there’s not much point,
In getting up.
No point in going out.
No point in doing anything.
No point in getting dressed.
Sometimes I wonder,
If I’m lazy,
Or just really depressed.

Teaching is hard. Teaching well is even harder.

The 1969 side describes what I endured in school.

Whenever I suggest that teaching is a difficult job, there’s always someone who says that being a teacher is nothing compared to, say, being a police officer or a firefigher or a soldier. Fair enough. Those jobs are more definitely more difficult than teaching. Though, I do find it oddly satisfying that the only examples of occupations they can think of that are more difficult than teaching are those which involve dealing with criminals and junkies, running into burning buildings, and fighting in wars.

The “1969” side pretty much describes what being a student was like for me. I remember how awful and humiliated I felt when I had to present my parents with substandard grades. Yet, they would never dream of blaming my teachers for my poor academic performance, even if it was partially their fault. And whist it is true that today’s students are more narcissistic than they were in my day, the issue is not as black and white as the above image indicates.

Now that I am a teacher I know that teachers, parents, and students are all responsible for a student’s education and results. Getting students through school is a team effort, and each member has to do his or her part. Therefore, all the blame for poor academic performance cannot be placed solely on the teacher or the student.

Having said that however, it’s true that there are “bad” teachers out there whose jobs are protected, and who keep on working long after they’ve burnt out and should have retired. They get to keep their jobs because of seniority, and the younger teachers are often let go, even if they have union protection. The unions can’t always protect you if the school can convince them that they don’t need you anymore and can give your duties to another teacher.

This happens all the time. It has happened to me and I’ve seen it happen to colleagues, many of whom are extremely capable and popular teachers.

Whenever someone suggests to me that teachers have it too easy, I tell them that they should consider becoming a teacher. If it’s that easy and you get off work early and get all those vacations off, then what are you waiting for? It sounds fantastic, right? Who wouldn’t want to do that?

Most people, actually, because teaching is hard. Teaching well is even harder.

The Burockra Sea

Of the many different seas out there,
There’s one of which you must beware.
Not a watery sea, but you know its name.
It’s the Burockra Sea of forms and claims.
Where the Red Tape seaweed bogs you down.
And Rubber Stamp storms run you aground.
So take heed of all the dangers therein,
Or you’ll have many more forms to fill in.

Team UK

All those races,
All those heats,
Those atheletes,
Performed such feats!
Be proud of those girls,
And those guys,
Who worked so hard,
For every prize.
Be proud!
And don’t apologise.
No doubt, today,
Was a very good day,
To be a part of team UK.

Blessings

Blessings aren’t bestowed,
Or bargained or owed,
They aren’t the gift,
They’re the gem,
The gift you will find,
Is not to be blind,
But to be of a mind
That can see them.

We Are Like Trees We Are

The crown, the glory,
Bursting leaves,
Majestic tops
On full grown trees,
But then the part
That no one sees,
Deep and strong
The roots below
Nourishing,
So it can grow,
Anchoring,
For when storms blow,
Larger than the crown,
Though not on show,
Extensive,
But without a fuss,
History and strength;
T’was ever thus,
Remain hidden,
As it is with us.