Educational Musings 2 of 2: For Arts Education

Here is the second poem that came to me during PD and listening about reading levels and scores and this and that. 

As I sit here
At teacher PD
I wonder what kind
Of teacher I'll be.

I really hate
How we now teach
To find creativity
Is quite a reach.

Tests, scores
Race to the Top
We have seemingly
The humanities have dropped.

I pity the child
Who wants to create
Cause a narrowing of soul
Seems to be his fate.

Arts programs are cut
By the scores each day
Self expression no longer
Seems to be the way.

Tests and programs
NCLB and NJ ASK
Are only concerned
With math and reading tasks.

Quickly we remove
All kinds of outlets
Of creativity for all
How we got here, we seem to forget.

Remember the great men
Aristotle and Plato
They taught great things
Thousand of years ago.

They taught people science
They taught them art
They taught religion
And doing their civic part.

They created great thinkers
And philosophers too
Actors and musicians
Poets and playwrights too.

They were great teachers
Who sculpted a mind
Thinking like that
You can no longer find.

We no longer care
About the whole kid
Both mind and soul
Like we once did.

The arts are more
Then just fun and games
They teach kids a lot
And creativity they tame.

They give an outlet
And lessons to learn
They increase test scores
So it's money not burned.

They increase reading
Mathematics too
They give students
Skills in all they do.

When I think of how
Each student we teach
Aristotle would shiver
And Socrates would cease.

This is not how
Education was meant
It's supposed to widen the mind
Not take a testing bent.

Educational Musings 1 of 2

So as a theatre teacher sitting in a PD today, I was feeling quite angry especially when all of my questions about plays and poems were not being answered. I wrote two poems about this. Here's the first: 

A leveled response
A poker face
You'll never know
How my mind does race.

I sit and listen
But really don't care
Your words mean nothing
Your voice drifts on air.

What you say
Is no concern of mine
Meaning in your words
I'm struggling to find.

My mind runs
To a place far away
To a creative land
Where you have nothing to say.

People don't realize
The talents I have
Instead they want to pin me
Against a cold slab

Of standards and reasons
Core this and that
Teaching to a test
My mind is not growing fat.

My soul rebels
Against all this stuff
To be creative in here
Is proving quite tough.

I don't care about scores
Of standards to find
All I want
Is to broaden a mind.

When have we
Data based become?
When did tests and scores
Replace learning as fun?

I always hear
The arts have no place
The data's too driven
To the top it's a race.

What about a kid
With a sensitive soul
Who enters a classroom
Creativity a goal?

He is lost
In some test based shuffle
HIs mind and soul
Enter a scuffle.

The artist who finds
He has no relief
Finds that his soul
Has become quite a beast.

No one cares
In this world any more
Whether the artist can thrive
As long as he has a high test score.

The actor, artist
Musician too
Who find that his
Drive has nothing to do

With Race to the Top
Or NCLB
Terranova or Ask
Will soon be

Forced to conform
Compartmentalize his mind
Push down that creative soul
Until it, he can no longer find.

Power Point

After sitting through eight hours of professional development and listening to fellow educators READ their power point slides to us, I got a little angry. Here is what came up. 

Powerpoint Powerpoint
You I despise
Slides and clicks
My soul slowly dies.

People read from you
Each swoop of a slide
Monotony you encourage
I really wish you died.

Black text
White back
I really, really want
Prezi back.

Please, PLEASE
Memorize your slides
The constant reading of you
Makes me wish I died.

Tacky clip art
Charts and graphs too
Very slowly,
You turn my mind into goo.

Powerpoint, Powerpoint
You should disappear
Because you make me
REALLY HATE BEING HERE!

A Look Back

I'm sitting backstage waiting for my final cue to be called to dance my choreography for the last time in cbp:LLC's production of "How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying." I'm thinking of how I got here and of all the people who have influenced me. And I remember Drew University's Department of Theatre and Dance.

I get nostalgic 

Each closing night

I remember so much 

Remember so many plights.

I think of me

And how I've grown

And how glad I am

That growth has shown.

I think back to all

Who've impacted me

Helped me to become

All I could be.

I think of the man

Who started it all

A man who caught me

Each time I'd fall.

A man who says

A theatre major I'd be

Who saw my potential

When that I couldn't see.

Then all too quick,

In a blink he was gone.

The love he instilled in me

Forever lives on.

I sit here too

Thinking of all the hands

Who have helped me to grow 

My theatrical plans.

All of the professors

Who stood by me

Taught me to learn

My own potential to see.

Rosemary and Lisa

They inspired me to write

Helped me persevere

Through a dramaturgy fight.

Baz and And

Taught me how to design

To build sets and character

And always challenged my mind.

Dan is a sage

Wise and true

Words of encouragement 

He'll always give you.

Then there's Chris

Who taught me to act

 Made me a great teacher too

And that is a fact.

And of course there's Cheryl

Who taught me most to grow.

To dance and choreograph

And all about Laban I know.

As I sit backstage 

Working in this art

I'm so grateful for the knowledge 

Each chose to impart.

This closing night

Is special to me

Because I think of those

Who taught me to be.

The closing of a show

I was a choreographer and actor in cbp:LLC's production of "How to Succeed inBusiness Without Really Trying." It has been a long journey but we completed a very successful run. Here's what I thought:

A journey's end 

On a warm summer day

So many emotions

At the end of this play.

Bonds have been made

New friendships born

Shared many laughs

Many secrets sworn.

Songs and music 

Dances too

Shaving and singing

To the song of a kazoo. 

Rehearsals and techs

Challenges abound

No matter the obstacle

A solution we found.

About myself

Much I did learn

I'm quite creative 

And got praise for which I yearned.

Me and my dances called great

But little do they know

Both were only successful

Because my cast made it so.

A great director 

A wonderful cast

From this show

I've got mem'ries that will last.

 

A Treasure

After sitting through several hours of professional development and hearing about a teacher's role in the lives of his students, this poem came to me. 

Have you ever seen a box
With treasure inside
That forced you to grow
And look inside

Of your heart
Deep in your soul
In your own mind
Clarity a goal?

To find yourself
A leader born
To guide others
Your duty you've sworn.

To lead and to guide
To teach and to grow
To impart all the best
Knowledge you know.

That treasure's a child
You teach everyday
You mould and you shape them
In every possible way.

Ripped

I was sitting in Professional Development the other day and was having extremely manic thoughts. This is the result. 

I always wonder,
My thoughts like thunder,
Bounce through my brain
Like shards of pain.

They pound my ear
Triple my fears
Create a shroud
Eyes closed, loud!

I can't shake the feelin'
My thoughts are reelin'
Death fills my mind
My nose to the grind.

My thoughts won't quit
Can't sleep for spit
I've gotta run
Like quick, he's got a gun!

I close my eyes
Search for the prize
Of eternal peace
May be within my reach.

Fire in my mind
My thoughts unwind
But in my soul,
Salvation's my goal.

To be able to breathe
To think with ease
To lose control
Love deep in my soul.

To feel that fire
To know that desire
To know that touch
To love too much.

I search and yearn
I still feel that burn
I want quiet and love
Free thoughts like a dove.

Do I Go or Do I Stay?

Your Bipolar poet has messed up her medication, resulting in a really fucked up head trip where mania and depression are fighting for dominance within my brain. While nothing good is coming out of this head trip, a decent poem has manifested itself. I give you: "Do I go or stay?"

Thoughts rushing

Frantic, gushing

No end in sight

For a long endless night.

Nightmares loom

Twilight’s gloom

Doesn’t kiss the sky.

How I wish I could die.

Death’s hand is kind

Her grasp is fine

Her fingers beckon me

Her black eyes see

Into my soul

No salvation’s goal

Cannot run away

Cannot seize the day.

Do I go or do I stay

Follow Death or run away?

I know the horrors that are here

The terrors behind her I fear.

Do I go or do I stay

Follow Death or run away?

Do I take her grasping claw

Her hand as cold as a saw?

Do I go or do I stay

Follow Death or run away?

Touch her face and feel her power

Or do I try to steal one more hour

In the land of the living

Where my soul can stay forgiving?

Do I go or do I stay

Follow Death or run away? 

A Bipolar Brain

Terror and horror
They go hand in hand
A movie in my mind
Their music a band

Of tortures that
 Play in my ears
Barking and screeching
And living out fears.

What kind of thoughts
Live in a Bipolar brain?
Many of heartache,
Even more of pain.

Sometimes there's joy
But those are scarce and few
Occasionally there's happy
But that's as fragile as dew.

A word, an action
Harsh or not meant
Can take this brain
And turn it to cement.

Thoughts won't fire
Life is a haze
All that's your company
Are dark, lonely days.

Or thoughts move too fast
Swifter then lightening
Trying to catch them,
Now that can be frightening.

Each one can hold horrors
Imagined or real
The thoughts that make it
Too painful to feel.

Happy though, is what people want
So you try always to give
Smiles abound
Even when it, is too painful to live.

Don't let anyone see
The pain and the fear
Smile and laugh
Though demons you hear.

It's always a fear
Locked in my heart
If these thoughts were known
From people I'd part.

It's really crazy
The judgements I've got
Pointing fingers and jeers
"She's one crazy sot!"

I'm not crazy
I want to scream
I feel things intently
And wish it were a dream.

So rarely I tell
What's locked in my mind
Though I'd love to share
With a friend who is kind.

I'd love to one day
Tell the world who I am
Tell all the fears
A dialogue began.

So I'll share it here
In this nice little book,
A kindred soul will,
Perhaps take a look.

She'll read these words
This poem of sorts
And maybe she'll realize
Out there ARE supports.

I know I won't know her
Or learn her name
But of reading my struggles
Perhaps, some knowledge she'll gain.

She's not alone
Or isolated from all
And maybe that thought
Will make her stand ten feet fall.

Everyone is different
Her, you, me
Loved her our uniqueness
I wish we could be.

Without all the stigma
The word insanity
Love me for me,
Not who you'll think I'd be.

Please do sit
And wait till we fall
Kick us and break us
Pressed against a wall.

Honor our spirit
Honor our soul
To be fully accepted,
This Bipolar's only goal.

What Do You See?

I was asked recently, "What's it like when you meet new people?" I had to think of that answer for a very long time, but this is the result. 

I often wonder
When you look at me,
Do you see who I am
Or who you think me to be?

Do you see a quiet
Sensitive soul
Bouncing around
Trying to reach a goal?

Or do you see Manic me
Running about
Thoughts fast as lightening
Me trying to shout?

Do you see me depressed
And feeling so low
Contemplating death
As the only way to go?

Do you see an artist
Who dances, acts and writes
To make a big break
As one of my fights?

Do you see me as crazy
Because of what labels me?
Do you give me a chance
Or is Lithium all that you see?

Do you see my ideas?
How I want things to be?
Or do you break me down
For my advocacy?

Do you see I have strength
Fighting daily as I do?
For some peace of mind
Or do you simply pooh-pooh?

Do you see me as less
Then what I am
Because, to function, my mind
Needs a medical dram?

Do you see me struggle
Fighting so hard
But instead of helping
You stab me with a shard?

Do you see something special
When I reveal to you my soul?
Or is ripping it up
Your only goal?

Do you see me
When I look in your eyes?
Do you see someone who lives
Or someone who dies?

Do you see a fighter
Or someone who quits?
Someone whose hand you'd shake
Or someone at whom you'd spit?

These are the questions
When meeting someone new.
Isn't it sad
What a stigma can do?

Our Generation

I am a teacher and I was speaking to my kids today during school. I asked them "What do you do after school?" Their responses were: "Go on facebook." "Nothing." "Play games on X-Box." I realized that children lost the ability to play and do not know the true joys of a summer day. This poem is the result. 

From hop scotch
To cops and robbers,
I played outside
To pass the hours.

Our own phone lines
To Yikes and Paul Frank
We saved our pennies
In our piggy bank.

Are You Afraid of the Dark?
And SNICK at night
To stay up to watch them
With your parents you'd fight.

You called your friends
Made plans after school
If we imagined a disconnect
We'd be called a fool.

What happened then,
To that simpler time?
A change occurred
Without reason or rhyme.

No longer do children
Play outside all day
To run, imagine laugh,
Instead they'd rather stay

Inside the house,
On a computer all bright,
Surfing the web,
On Facebook all night.

Friends are made
Not in flesh and blood,
With a click of the mouse,
You've got a new bud.

We've disconnected
So far from our life,
Each other's laughter,
One another's strife.

We have forgotten
A simple touch,
From human interaction,
We learn so much.

Kids today, they
Don't understand
The world out there,
The need for a plan.

Behind their PC
They cannot stay
Chatting and gaming
And wasting a day.

What happened to us
Our own feeling goal?
Wires and gadgets
Have replaced our very soul.

Humanity is gone
Or seems far away,
On cellphones and laptops
We spend our days.

I long for summer
Of playing in the sun
An imaginative game
From when I was young.

We knew how to laugh
We knew how to play
We knew how to touch
And we knew what to say.

We knew our friends
And where they lived
We knew their touch
And the love they gived.

Today we miss that,
The human touch.
To get that back,
Am I asking too much?