Poem for Last Days of School

©2010 Sara Holbrook, Zombies! Evacuate the School!

All Rights Reserved Boyds Mills Press

TWO MORE DAYS?

It's not the last day. It's not the first. It's not the 100th, President's Day, Valentine's Day or even crazy sock day. Everyone from the bus drivers to the kids to the teachers and the class hamster is worn out. The pencils have exhausted their points and take home notebooks are just barely holding it together.

What do you do for the SECOND to the last day of school? Grandson Dan told me at his school, the kids get to teach the teachers, so I shared a poem for him to teach.  Every poem holds a built in mini-lesson!

TWO MORE DAYS!

Two more days of school,

of lockers slamming in the hall,

of "class please find your seat,"

and "turn your chairs to the back wall."

Then, no more

who sat where at lunch,

no more giggles by the bunch.

No more watching Wilma's wiggle

when she writes up on the board.

No more trying to look interested

when classes are a snore.

I can't wait!

To go without a pass,

and not count seconds till the bell.

No more hunting for a pen

or hearing stressed-out teachers yell

at some poor slob who just forgot

where he was supposed to be.

No more handing out detentions,

especially not to me.

When summer gets real boring,

I'll be ready to come back.

But now,

two days is two too much.

If it were three 

I'd crack.

©1996 Sara Holbrook, The Dog Ate My Homework

All Rights Reserved Boyds Mills Press

A Graduation Poem: Stepping Out

I wrote this poem for my daughter Kelly's graduation from Bay Village High School.  At the time, I was working as the Public Information Officer for the Cuyahoga Metropolitan Housing Authority (as I explain in the video) in inner city Cleveland and living in Bay Village, OH.  Everyday was a lesson in a term that is being thrown around a lot these days, but wasn't mentioned much 20 years ago: Income Inequality.  My time at the housing authority enriched me more than any other job I have held, except maybe visiting schools all over the world.

This particular video was shot at the International School of Kuala Lumpur while Michael Salinger and I were visiting in the fall of 2012. I was reminded of the poem lately as I watch pictures of new graduates, hopeful and smiling, flash across my Facebook feed.  Privileged young people with a responsibility to build bridges across the great and growing divide that is income inequality.

Good luck to you all!

Dostyk American International School, Atyrau, Kazakhstan

“What were you doing in Kazakhstan?’ asks the customs agent in Newark.

“How much time do you have?” I want to answer, but these folks get paid to not know how to take a joke, so I just say, “Visiting.”

He stares me down. 

“Visiting a school.”

“Do you speak Russian?”

“No.” Neither do all Kazakhs, I’m thinking.  They have their own language.  But I don’t say that part.  It was a long trip; I don’t want to add any interrogation rooms to the legs of my journey.  “English language,” I say.

“What are you bringing back?”

The true answer involves memories, smiles, stunning lines of poetry, new friendships, hugs from old friends, new vistas, tacos, home made beer, a muddy market, laughter, and a slight head cold.  But this guy doesn’t want all that, so I just say, “a hat and some alpaca socks from Frankfurt.”

Thump.  Thump.  He stamps my passport and hands it across the counter.

“Welcome back.”

How do you sum up a weeklong trip to the other side of the planet in a single sentence?  Memories are crammed into the data bank like an over stuffed suitcase, hard to contain even if you sit on it.

My best attempt would be, “Spots of brilliance against an otherwise grey landscape.”  Favorite line came out of Cheryl Fullerton's pre-school class where one student said that "snow is water than looks like sugar."  Most laughable line came from the K-1 class where one writer was searching a word and pointed to my eye for me to help her.  "She's not being rude," explained her writing partner, "she just doesn't know the word."  The word was wrinkled.  

Salinger and I spent a week working with the 81 students at all grade levels at Doystk American International School in Atryau.  The skies may have been grey most days, but the kids were brilliant.  Writing poetry can be risky business, but the kids just jumped right in.  This tells me that they are in an atmosphere where they feel safe.

The kids had illustrated some of our poems before we arrived and are active writers, so were open to trying new approaches as they wrote and revised their way to a culminating performance for classmates and parents.

The first couple of days, I taught in borrowed clothes as our bags got hung up in Moscow and flights to Atyau only happen every two-three days.  

Luckily, they arrived before the evening reading we did for parents.  Lots of good snacks and warmth with the ever gusty winds whipping outside.  Once in a while it's good to share poems just for the sake of the words.  Not teaching, just sharing.  

This was the first time we could leave behind a copy of our new book with projectable lessons, High Impact Writing Clinics, with teachers for follow-up, which was exciting.  We never go into a school thinking we know the needs of the students better than their teachers.  What we hope is that we can add a few more lessons for teachers to draw upon as they help kids find their voices through writing.  Sometimes it just helps to have someone back up what the teachers have been saying all year -- draft, revise, be specific, use comparisons.  The normal stuff made more than normal if kids hear it from more than one place.

Atyrau, Kazakhstan is not a well known tourist destination.  But we had fun touring, one day taking a 5 mile walk.  This picture was taking on the bridge where you can cross from Asia to Europe and back again.  The hat is on loan from Konna, the face mask a souvenir of Vietnam.  

Thanks to Principal Raul Hinojosa and his favorite librarian, wife Patsy for the invitation.  Thanks to Konna and Peter Parker and their therapy husky Toshe for opening their home to us.  Special thanks to the parents who made us feel welcome with spectacular meals and conversation. 

To Brent, Cheryl, Lauren and Maxim Fullerton, how great to see you again! Thank you so much for recommending us.

Pasir Ridge International School

Coming around again to something brand new is traveling to a foreign port and being met by familiar faces.  Didn’t we meet before in Seoul?  Didn’t we have dinner in Kota Kinabalu? I remember you from Cairo!

Michael and I have been on the international circuit long enough that we are more certain to be greeted by folks we’ve met before than not.  Still this trip was extra special as this is the third time we have had the privilege of working for Principal Seamus Marriott and his dynamic teaching wife Theresa.  First meeting in Wisconsin, traveling to work at their school in Shanghai, followed by Cairo American College and now Balikpapan, Indonesia. 

Pasir Ridge is a small school by any measure except quality, where they are overflowing, stacked to the ceiling tiles and busting out the windows. 

But, by far the best part of the week was Friday afternoon assembly -- they came with poems about happiness, anger and frustration, from the points of view of slaves, sun bears and the Empire State Building. They spoke with the kind of confidence that comes from feeling safe, to parents, teachers and their classmates.  Every voice blending into a harmonious chorus celebrating individuality. Thank you Pasir Ridge, Balikpapan.

Baby Talk 2013

I recently wrote on a friend's Facebook wall, joking about emotional displays in public, that I had thrown up while watching Bonnie and Clyde. True story, no flu symptoms. 

I have no trouble suspending disbelief in a movie. If someone sets a table for tea, I lean in to blow steam from the cup. When the bullets started flying into their roadster tearing Warren and Faye to pieces, I jumped around in my seat, taking it all to heart (and to the gut). That's when it happened. Barf.

Fact is, it was 1967, I was a teenager and had never seen anything like that before on the screen. I'd seen Spartacus, but that was from a time, oh like, a couple of hundred years before 1967, right?

Sometimes at school visits I ask kindergartners if the have seen Star Wars, and 94% of them say yes (the other 6% are braiding each other's hair, so this is not exactly a scientific sampling). This means they have seen bullets tear through bodies, dismemberment, decapitation, torture, and every type of mayhem very creative Hollywood brains can invent to visit upon the human body. Before they are six.

There is no putting this huge rhino back in the closet. It's out there. But I wonder if we maybe need to be having some more conversations about it. Instead of laughing at each other when we cringe (yes, I still cringe and get laughed at) and admonishing each other to toughen up, maybe we need to talk a little to kids about the differences between film and reality. That head shots aren't necessary, that people have families who love them and that's one reason you never shoot first and ask questions later. That people are people and that real life isn't a carny shooting gallery.

Michael's son Frankie was a primary student  on 9/11/2001. A few days after the tragedy, he asked, "when will the bomb hit here?" We thought he understood, we thought he felt safe, we thought he wasn't paying attention. He was.

Even though 1967 is to 2013 what 1921 was to 1967, kids listen when we tell them stories. When we tell them how it was and how it really is. Heros don't spray the room with bullets and then get the pretty girl and live happily ever after. Being strong means to be able to say the words, "I don't like that," not get off a head shot.

 

When we take time to explain the difference between fiction and reality to kids, they get it. But we have to say the words. We can't assume they already know or that they are not paying attention. At home, at school, everywhere. We have to say the words.

Frank and his brother Max grew up to censor movies for me, as in, "don't come in here right now Sara, this movie will upset you." Last weekend, my grandson Dan said something similar about a video game. This "protect Sara," action has become a family story to chuckle about. 

Only, it's not a joke. Not really. It is and should be a discussion starter.

This year my resolution is to follow up my question about Star Wars with, "you know, that really isn't how most people settle fights. Mostly we don't shoot and chop one another to pieces. Mostly we talk things over. Sometimes we even use poetry. Here, let me show you."

 

William Blake Enters the Fourth Grade

Oh, hark!  I hear the conversation leading up to the inclusion of William Blake in the Common Core State Standards (CCSS) Appendix of recommended literature for fourth grade.

Here’s a poem about a park.  Fourth graders like to play in the park.

Not in my neighborhood, they mostly play video games.

But it would be better if they played in the park, so let’s go with it.

Who’s the author?

William Blake.  I’ve heard of him.

THE William Blake of the 18^th century?  The nutter who espoused free love and eschewed the church?  That William Blake?

Yes, that’s the best part.  He's out of copyright. 

Didn’t he have hallucinations about talking to angels in trees and God sticking his head in his bedroom window?

Look! He made a bunch of pictures to go with his poems.  A model for students illustrating their own poems.

Luckily most of his artwork will be blocked by elementary school search engines.

We don’t have to look at his artwork, we can just talk about it.  And look here, 12,462 PhDs have written their theses on him.  This guy is a great topic for online research assignments.

Most of those papers were written about whether or not opium influenced his writing and artwork.

A cross-curricular connection for science class! 

He thought marriage was institutionalized prostitution.

That works right into our social studies unit on slavery.  Do you see any math connections here?  We might have a home run.

Look, I just don’t think this guy is very good.  Most of his rhymes are too predictable and these couplets don't work at all:

The skylark and thrush,

The birds of the bush,

or

Till the little ones, weary,

No more can be merry:

He’s quirky, I’ll grant you that.

He was insane.

Since 1820 every educated person has had to study Blake. 

Not in fourth grade alongside Ramona and The Hardy Boys.  Even his contemporaries thought he was a mediocre poet and a headcase.

That was before he was dead, what did they know?  Stop trying to buck the system.  How else will we prepare them for seventh grade where he appears again rhyming “eye” with “symmetry?” 

Can’t we find a poem more relevant to kids’ lives rather than this thing written through the eyes of two bitter geezers leering at kids in a park discussing their youth-time?

He was a free thinker, he didn’t bow to the wishes of others.

Are you saying we should include him just because he is like the honey badger?  What about poetic form?  About relevancy of content?  About his themes?

The man was English, he is old, and he is out of copyright.  What more do you want?

A picture  of a fourth grader, included here for reference purposes. 

Below, a copy of Blake'spoem, included anywhere in the elementary curriculum for purposes I cannot discern.

 

Blake, William. “The Echoing Green.”

 

The sun does arise,

And make happy the skies;

The merry bells ring

To welcome the Spring;

The skylark and thrush,

The birds of the bush,

Sing louder around

To the bells’ cheerful sound;

While our sports shall be seen

On the echoing green.

Old John, with white hair,

Does laugh away care,

Sitting under the oak,

Among the old folk.

They laugh at our play,

And soon they all say,

‘Such, such were the joys

When we all—girls and boys—

In our youth-time were seen

On the echoing green.’

Till the little ones, weary,

No more can be merry:

The sun does descend,

And our sports have an end.

Round the laps of their mothers

Many sisters and brothers,

Like birds in their nest,

Are ready for rest,

And sport no more seen

On the darkening green.

 

Violence Hurts: A Discussion Starter

The past three months we have all witnessed the horrible reports of the shooting at nearby Chardon High School, the shooting at the theater in Denver, and the shooting at the Sikh Temple in Wisconsin.  Young Travon Martin was just walking home with an iced tea when he was shot.  Innumerable other cases wind through the courts and across our TV screens daily.  Add to these the various wars and uprisings and the movie heroes that shoot first and ask (or not) questions later and one almost begins to think that violence is the only way to settle disputes. Not only is it not the only way, it isn't even close to being the best option, but it sure gets all the press.

The poem I am posting here is from one of my older books.  I am hoping that teachers might use this as a possible discussion starter/writing prompt, perhaps even an impetus for on-line research. 

There was lots of discussion around the house this morning about whether the police radio is too distracting in the background.  At least the wee video has Michael and me talking about it! 

If any students do write a poem or reflection in response, I hope some will share.



A back to school poem

Here is a back to school poem for all my teacher/principal/student friends.  Or anyone who ever remembers being a student and who maybe, like me, thinks January 1st is somewhat anti-climatic.  The real new year begins in the fall. 

Poem is from my book Zombies!  Evacuate the School!  delightfully illustrated by Karen Sandstrom.

Voices in the Virtual Silence

It wasn't on the calendar in advance. No prior knowledge on my part. But as the weather cooled and the travel escalated, I kind of withdrew from my blog and facebook. Virtual silence. I've been lurking around, reading, an occasional comment, but I was putting my creative energy into other buckets. And then came the holidays and family and ahhhhhh relaxing.

The first week after the new year Michael and I flew to Aiken, South Carolina for the first school/teacher visit of the year. What a great way to come back into the world, not the virtual world, the real one. Real kids. Real classrooms. Real words put on paper. Thank you Beth and Sue and Joanne for all your hard work in putting the visit together.




Sad. Shy. Proud. Crazy. Here kids acted out an emotion before they wrote to put their movements into words, focusing on the motions of emotion.

Days like we had in Aiken, surrounded by a tumble of kids and ideas are what I need to feed my spirit and enable me to be strong and hopeful in the face of societal tragedies like what happened in Arizona.

Today we pack and get ready for our big trip to Hong Kong, Bali and Jakarta. Two big cities with paradise sandwiched in between. More excited writers and a vibrant green respite to do some of my own writing in Bali.

HONG KONG! See you soon!

Where were you on 10/10/10?

Where were you on 10/10/10? This seems like an important date, and I almost missed it. I mean, I was here, but where was I? In computer update limbo. Kicking with my software. Holed up in front of this blinking cursor. What kind of a memory is that?

A big date like this should be like a cornerstone in which we lay memorabilia, photos, reflections, artifacts evidencing the way things are today, on this day, on 10/10/10.

My grandmother used to tell me (and I heard this story SO many times and wish I could hear it just one more) that she turned 19 on the 19th day of October in 1919. She wore a white dress with lace on the sleeves. It was a big day.

Yesterday I wore khaki pants and a grey T shirt. What kind of an image is that to pass along to the grandkids? Surely there were songs sung, poems written, pictures drawn, stories crafted to commemorate this milestone? Balloons of fancy rose somewhere. Happiness squirmed. Where? How? Who?

I need some images to put in my memory bank to override this mess.

Help!