plaster a big smile on your face
even though it's hidden by your mask
wish the mask covered up your eyes too
because you're end of the school year tired but it's only December
because it's hard to fake enthusiasm with your retinas and your pupils
remind your in-person pupils, all twelve of them, to keep their space
don't touch his desk
or his backpack
or his breakfast
pinch your nose and close your eyes while you tell him for the umpteenth time to get his mask over his nose
lose your mind as he covers his eyeballs with it
because the sass, the audacity, is too much
because you're jealous
begin going through the eMotions
start your Google Meet
check you COVID screening spreadsheet
tell a student that if she doesn't turn her camera on, she will be marked absent
she doesn't
choke on your sigh of frustration
because she never listens
because you don't know if she's with her mom or her dad
because she might not even be there
because you don't know if she has anything to eat today
be thankful that the resolution sucks so the kids at home don't see the tear leaking out of your left eye
but the resolution IRL works just fine
nobody sees anyway because they're teenagers who have screens for faces
you're overwhelmed by going through the eMotions
put on a dog and pony show, a three ring circus, an Oscar worthy performance to try to get anybody to talk during the lesson
but the only thing you can hear is the clack clack clack of the keys
let them type their exit tickets while you recall pen and paper with nostalgia, the worst emotion of them all
work on fully digitizing a week's worth of lessons
turn pink and then red when you remember you can't use anything you've spent hours creating next school year because the curriculum is switching for the second time in two years
angry pound the keys as you type with a force that could shatter
your fingernails
your desk
the county
because you're tired of going through the eMotions
sift through Google Classroom for an assignment that he completed three weeks late that he expects to be graded RIGHT NOW
and so does his mom
she's only emailed you five times about it
you've responded once in return
the assignment's only half done
like the school year
like your sanity
like your self-esteem
ignore the other late work emails
rest your forehead on your desk
stare at your lap and breathe, breathe, breathe deep
look up to see if anyone witnessed your saga, your mental break down, your calamity
but they're teenagers who have screens for faces and Ray-Bradbury-is-rolling-over-in-his-grave
AirPods
because they're only concerned about their own emotions, not yours
and you're marrow-deep tired of going through the eMotions
so
you hand them a book--tactile, paper, cover, spine, pages to turn, black ink
and they stare at it like their mom put Brussels sprouts on their plate
when you've actually given them chocolate cake
because you're tired of eMotions
you smile, a real one this time, that lights up your bloodshot eyes
because books
because the bell rang
because it's finally break
and you've got two weeks off from going through the motions
try to turn off your inner monologue as you power down your Dell
but you know that you'll spend your entire break
going through your emotions
-
Tag: poems about teaching
-
A Teacher Poem: Going Through the eMotions
Posted at 10:46 am , on December 19, 2020
-
A Teacher Poem: We’re in Trouble, Shoot!
Posted at 9:34 am , on September 26, 2020
trouble trouble troubleshoot nobody can hear me i've been speaking but i'm on mute trouble trouble troubleshoot caydon left the Zoom because his Chromebook needed to reboot trouble trouble troubleshoot amira's not paying attention because she's choosing a filter to make her look cute trouble trouble troubleshoot nobody can hear me i've been speaking but i'm on mute trouble trouble troubleshoot owen! turn off your camera! your dad just walked by in his birthday suit! trouble trouble troubleshoot mj's Google Doc won't load so he can't do the lesson on greek and latin roots trouble trouble troubleshoot i forgot to click record at the beginning of class hope i'm not slapped with a lawsuit trouble trouble troubleshoot Nobody can hear me. I've been speaking, but I'm on mute. We're in trouble, trouble, trouble. Shoot! Nobody can hear us. We've been speaking, but we're on mute. We're in trouble trouble trouble, bang! trouble shots fired! bang! all the teachers are tired trouble shots fired! bang! am i too young to retire? We're in trouble, trouble, trouble, shoot! Nobody can hear teachers. They've been speaking, but they're on mute. We're in trouble! Shots fired! Bang! We're in trouble! Don't shoot the messenger! Bang! The traditional classroom is dead. It isn't funny. Time of death: 2020. We're in trouble, trouble, trouble. Shoot!
-
A Teacher Poem: Invisible Students
Posted at 8:17 am , on August 22, 2020
invisible students cameras clicked off and microphones muted can't even mark them truant because i'm teaching invisible students invisible students masks hiding their faces making them feel stupid and like mutants because i'm teaching invisible students who don't want to talk because nothing is normal the People in Charge have stopped offering improvements because we're teaching invisible students living in the paranormal ghosted translucent the People in Charge are being imprudent because They don't care that we're teaching invisible students
-
A Teacher Poem: Buzz Words
Posted at 11:17 am , on January 25, 2020
begin with the end in mind, AKA backward design
Common Core and 504
ELL, STEM, and IEP are not absentee (But if they were, you’d have to let them make up the work, for sure.)
collaborate and debate
Claim retired, and its replacement is assertion; try teaching that to little persons.rigor
response
reflection
rubric
will point you in the right (write?) directionfacilitate with fidelity; provide actionable feedback . . . (but don’t call in sick unless you’re having a heart attack)
Is your summative assessment warm or cold? (Grab a blanket–so we’re told.)
flip the classroom; personalize learning (to get their brains churning)What’s the objective?
Does it align with the standards?
How does the curriculum get them college and career ready?Scaffold.
Differentiate.
Rigor.
Peer conversations.
Rigor.
Text complexity.Rigor.
Rigor.
Rigor.Build relationships.
Rigor.
One to one.
Rigor.
Lexile.
Rigor.Rigor.
Rigor.
Rigor.TRIGGER WARNING
The kids still find it boring.
And by week’s end, the only buzz words we care about are Tito’s, tequila, and Tanqueray (with honorable mentions to happy hour and chardonnay).
Photo by Daria Shevtsova on Pexels.com
-
A Poem: English Class Will Never Be Baseball
Posted at 3:40 pm , on September 21, 2019
English class will never be baseball.
Cracking open a book can’t compete with the crack of the bat and the crowd’s cheers for you.
Fumbling through Homer’s The Odyssey will feel more like fumbling a grounder in the bottom of the ninth during a tied game than hitting a homer to win it all.
Throwing words around with a pen and paper to write an essay will never rival throwing warm-up pitches in the bullpen.
The thunk of the catcher’s hand pounding his mitt between curveballs and changeups will never sound like “The Secret Life of Walter Mitty” nor The Catcher in the Rye.
Wry puns and satire will never play hardball in your playbook. Three strikes you’re out and triple plays are more important to you than the rule of threes and idioms.
Sliding into second and shaking hands at the game’s end will never be sliding into the second act of a Shakespeare play.
And that’s just fine, sluggers, because English class isn’t supposed to be baseball, but the real MVPs and big leaguers value both.
Photo by Matthew T Rader on Pexels.com
-
A Poem: Stop What You’re Doing and Lock the Door
Posted at 8:55 pm , on March 8, 2019
stand at the door
make conversation
Happy morning, students!
check their uniforms
Take off that necklace, please!
No labels on socks; that’s a citation.
the bell rings
go inside
lock the door behind you
take attendance
“Can I charge my ChromeBook?”
You mean, may I charge my ChromeBook? Yes, you may.
“Can I take my doctor’s excuse to the office?
Ummmm, number one–you should have done that before the bell rang. Number two–did you not just hear me say it’s “may” not “can”? Sign out. And somebody go lock the door.
submit attendance
read announcements
knock knock
go answer the door and lock it behind you
continue reading announcements
knock knock
stop what you’re doing and answer the door and lock it behind you
go over the objective
overhead intercom interrupts–“Can you send So-and-so to the office?”
So-and-so, stop what you’re doing, sign out, and go to the office. And somebody please go lock the door behind her.
model your thinking
knock knock
Somebody, stop what you’re doing and go answer the door. And don’t forget to lock it.
students work on group work
take a student’s ChromeBook because he’s playing games
admonish another for for using hers as a mirror
“Hey, my ChromeBook’s frozen!“
And? That’s a statement. If you want help, please ask a question.
“Can I go to the library to get my ChromeBook fixed?”
Did you try to trouble shoot? Did you turn it off and back on?
continue to monitor the students
“It still won’t work.”
Take it down to the library. Sign out.
stop what you’re doing and lock the door
they’re finally working
sit down at your desk
check your email
check exit tickets
check your coffee breath
pop a mint
field questions from your desk
decide that’s useless
they’re restless
help them
make them laugh
get them back on task
knock knock
This is ridiculous. said under your breath
stop what you’re doing and answer the door
“You look mad. Can I tell you a joke?”
ignore the remark
forget what you’re doing and what day it is and your middle name
take a deep breath to recenter yourself
hold a discussion
overhead intercom interrupts–“Lock down! Lock down! This is a lock down! Active shooter! Active shooter!”
Students, get in the corner. Be quiet.
check the blinds to make sure they’re drawn and swipe your phone and your laptop from your desk and turn off the lights and open the cabinet door to block the view from the classroom door and huddle on the floor next to your students and send an everyone’s-accounted-for email
shush the children
Moment of Clarity.
The. Door. Isn’t. Locked.
Crawl on the floor.
Reach up.
Cold lock in your sweaty fingers.
Twist it as as someone pounds on the door.
Students whimper.
Look up. See a cop.
His glare, a condescending reprimand.
Because even though you stopped what you were doing, you forgot to lock the door.
The overhead intercom interrupts–“All clear. All clear. It was only a drill.”
but you know that the only thing that’s clear is the drill of your beating heart and your lesson is ruined and you’re close to tears because the only thing that’s important anymore is having your door locked
-
A Poem: A Student Departs
Posted at 2:23 am , on February 9, 2019
Because a version of this has happened to me twice in the past two weeks.
a stranger approaches
maturity’s quietude
candor blurs his angles
lankiness perpendicular to his broad shoulders
smooth aplomb, vintage messenger, scoffed loafersMiss, do you remember me?
his smile unleashes
youth’s echo
vulnerability shrouded in tomfoolery
pudginess crowned with a pimply forehead
asymmetrical slouch, dragon sketches, untied ChucksYes, sweet boy. How could I forget?
a student departs
-
A Poem: Teacher Shaming
Posted at 12:54 am , on September 14, 2018
I’m tired of societal teacher shaming and teacher shaming within the teaching profession. Are you? These unrealistic expectations Need. To. Go.
you’re a bad teacher
if you can’t hold your bladder for six hours plus
you’re a bad teacher
if a student and his parents see you at a restaurant with a glass of wine in front of you
you’re a bad teacher
if every single lesson isn’t differentiated and appealing to every single type of learner
you’re a bad teacher
if it takes you a week to return 95 five paragraph essays with quality feedback
you’re a bad teacher
if you question state standards and
if you don’t question state standardsyou’re a bad teacher
if you don’t teach to the test
and if you do teach to the testyou’re a bad teacher
if all of your students aren’t mastery by the end of the year
you’re a bad teacher
if you don’t grade at home
if you turn your email off after school hours
if you aren’t available to students and parents 24/7
if you aren’t losing sleepyou’re a bad teacher
if you take two days off in a row because you have contagious strep throat
if you take a day off to accompany your kindergartner on her pumpkin patch field tripyou’re a bad teacher
if you put your children, your spouse, yourself before the job
you’re a bad teacher
if you don’t spend your own money to fund
pencils, paper, and markers for your students who can’t afford them
donuts, pizza, or ice cream for the victors of a classroom competition
stickers, candy, and prizes for motivationyou’re a bad teacher
if you think you deserve a raise
because, how dare you, it’s a calling, it’s not about the money
if you think you deserve a raise, did you forget about your summers offyou’re a bad teacher
even though you have a bachelor’s degree in your area of expertise and a master’s to seal the deal
you’re just a teacher
you’re a bad teacherif you take a day off to protest at the capital for educational reform
you should be in the classroom instead, teaching those kidsyou’re a bad teacher
let me, my suit, my tie, my MBA make legislative decisions for you
you’re just a teacher
you’re a bad teacherif you’re human
if you have a life outside your career
if you don’t ooze platitudes and exalt your profession to the masses
if you’re not a martyrYou’re a bad teacher.
You’re just a teacher.
You’re a bad teacher.
I’m a bad teacher . -
A Poem (Plus Stage Directions): Why Teachers Can’t Remember Names at the Beginning of the Year
Posted at 8:22 pm , on August 17, 2018
Mrs. Ram Jam: [After much reflection, Mrs. Ram Jam realizes she’s called a student Alyssa instead of Allie the entire class period. Allie never once corrected Mrs. Ram Jam. Mrs. Ram Jam pulls Allie aside after class ends.]
Hey Allie,
Mrs. Ram Jam apologizes profoundly
for messing up your first name so soundly.
Please realize my dear,
at the beginning of the year,
just how many names teachers have to memorize.
Allie, I see you rolling your eyes!
There’s one of me and 94 of you.
Isn’t it obvious why I’m becoming unglued?
Allie, again, stop rolling your eyes!
Give me a second to rectify!
In your class alone,
wait for your mind to be blown,
there’s a Brandon, Brady, and Brayden!
And three more that rhyme: Jayden, Caden, and Aiden!
To make matters worse, in second block I’ve got two Breannas,
but one says it “onna” and the other “anna”–How’s that for bananas?
Throughout the day there’s a Bree, Breelyn, and a Brea,
then come the Sophs: Sophocles, Sophie, and Sophia.
Enough with the eyes Allie! I’m almost done;
I just need one more minute hun.
You’ve also got to consider–I’m getting old.
I’ve taught an entire family of Goldes.
Six years ago, I had Ezra, now I have Ari who’s the last.
How can it be my fault if I confuse current students’ names with their siblings’ names from the past?
Not to mention the three sets of identical twins that I teach . . .
Getting their names right on the first try is as impossible as removing stains without bleach!
Allie, before you interrupt, I’ve got one last point to make.
What’s with the abundance of Kens this year, for goodness sake?
McKennas, Kenneths, Kendalls, Kendras, Kennys, Kennedies, and McKenzies?????
Quickly matching names to new faces addles my mind into a frenzy!
[Allie finally manages to get a word in edgewise–drops the mic.]
Mrs. Ram Jam: [Embarrassment in her tone, but not completely surprised . . . ]
Dear lord! You’re not Allie or Alyssa but your name’s Hadley?
Hadley, my sincere apologies; tomorrow, fingers crossed, I won’t screw up your name as badly. -
A Poem: Teacher Tired
Posted at 11:22 am , on August 11, 2018
I’m back to school teacher tired,
as useless as a carton of milk gone sour and expired.
My back is on fire, I’m finding it hard to respire, and my entire essence perspires.
My throat feels like I’ve swallowed barbed wire.
I’m terrified of this nervous tick I’ve acquired.
My sanity has been swallowed by a quagmire.
I’m simultaneously full of mirth and ire.
Don’t get caught in the crossfire.
In college, why did I switch my major from becoming an esquire?
I’m so exhausted even my rhyme scheme is delirious and dire.
Might as well throw this shitty poem on the funeral pyre.
When can I retire to the Berkshires, listen to nothing but Reba McEntire, and build my own reading empire?
For now, I’ll just sleep all weekend and wake up Monday refreshed and re-inspired.
-
Mrs. Ram's Jams 