No Ma’am

You with your Southern charm,
Don’t really mean me any harm.
Just being polite,
But it doesn’t feel right,
When you call me ma’am.
Please understand,
Why it doesn’t appeal.
It makes me feel,
Truth be told,
A little old.
So please pick another.
‘Cause when say “‘scuse me, ma’am,”
I look around to find my mother.

Past Due

Dedicated to my sister and my stubborn little niece.

One week past due,
But not here yet.
We’re hoping she,
Did not forget.
The time has come.
Time to arrive.
But she’s past due,
More days than five.
The time is now.
The world awaits.
She’s past due,
But procrastinates.
One week past due,
On her account.
That baby just,
Will not come out!

Her Old Life

She wants it back, you see.
Not her new life.
This world of troubles
Always on her back.
But her old life.
When she was happy
And fulfilled and free.
Not filled full of misery.
Attacked by chance.
Under the constant threat
Of circumstance.
She wants it back, you see.
For she has not been she.

Radical Ideas

When you’re an American teacher
In Sweden,
Your job is often extra
Interesting.
Here everyone is expected
To conform.
And neutral complacency
Is the norm.
But I try to teach them
Ideas radical.
And instill some passion
Most emphatical.
That self-reliance and defiance
Are okay.
(Though neither of these is the
Swedish Way.)
And it won’t hurt them to
Have opinions.
We really don’t need more
Mindless minions
Of the Nanny State, handing all
Their needs.
I’m encouraging dissent among
Young Swedes.

Rail Against the Fail

It’s enough to make you,
Scream and rail,
Against the fail,
This rail fail.
Neither your fault, my love,
Nor mine.
But all the faults,
On all the lines.
Conspire to keep us both apart.
My darling heart,
The train won’t start.

Out of the Blue

Out of the blue, you came.
I lay dormant in the dark,
Hidden deep inside myself.
Until you reached in and found me,
Released me, pulled me out.
And filled me up with your sunshine.

So, here I go.

So, here I go,
Another show,
A smaller younger audience.
Another school,
With different rules,
And different kids and parents.
A whole new task,
A brand new class!
I’ll do my best, but will it last?

Teachers Know – a personal application letter

Dear Sir or Madam,

Sometimes it’s hard to be a teacher. You have to deal with stressed out parents, students, colleagues, and administrators. At times it’s a completely thankless job, and you feel undervalued and under-appreciated. It’s like that most of the time, in fact.

Yet, for all of those moments where you find yourself sitting on your couch crying after a really difficult day, there are those other moments that make it all worthwhile.

Those moments are why I have been a teacher for fifteen years. When I see a student’s face light up like a pinball machine, I know I have reached him or her. The kind of joy a teacher feels at those moments can’t really be described, but teachers know. Only teachers know.

When it comes down to it, teaching is about the students. It’s not about meetings, and exams, and statistics. It’s about helping students to see, and to understand, and to think, and to learn, and to create. If I have only the slightest effect on the future of young people, then I consider it a job well done. I take that responsibility very seriously.

Sometimes it’s hard to be a teacher. You have to really want to do it. You have to care. You have to realize that nothing is more important.

Yours sincerely,

Gwen Maddy

No Water Blues

Waking up to no water,
Is so much worse, you see,
Than waking up and finding,
There’s no electricity.
You can flush,
And brush your teeth.
Though, it’ll still be hectic,
If you can’t make any coffee,
‘Cause your coffee pot’s electric.

Oh, Cruel Dishwasher!

By Cinnamon Cat

I can’t find the,
Receptacle.
For the crunchy food,
Delectable.
That was once so very,
Plentiful.
I will starve and become,
Skeletal.
And I’ll need attention,
Medical.
This is truly,
Unacceptable.
I guess I am,
Neglectable.