Category: Writing

Non-fiction, Poetry, Writing, Writing Ideas

The Blame Game: The Politics of Teaching

Laura
Courtesy of FreeDigitalPhotos.net
Courtesy of FreeDigitalPhotos.net

I wrote this poem years ago. I ran into it (not literally) this morning as I was looking through my stuff at school. In education, we constantly discuss what is happening with the changes that are occurring, it seems, on a daily basis. The reference we use is called the “the pendulum swing.” Right now it seems as if the pendulum is stuck in one spot. Kids don’t understand how to fail and do it gracefully. Everyone deserves a trophy these days.

Don’t get me wrong. I love this profession. But I heartily admit that I feel that my kids came out of my class more intelligent when I was able to teach my own thing in the classroom. When I tested them on my own terms instead of the government’s terms, their grammar was better. We could explore the material. Right now, it’s all about high stakes testing and making sure they are ready for the one test they take yearly to make sure they measure up with all the other kids in the United States along with all the other kids in every country in the world. What happened to reading for pleasure? What happened to writing for fun?

When I saw this poem in my notebook, I couldn’t believe that I had written it in 2005. Nothing has changed. The pendulum is stuck. This is what it was like in 2005, and it is still happening. I hope you enjoy, even if you aren’t in education.

The Blame Game: The Politics of Teaching

Politics.

The ugliest word in the English language….

Or is it the ugliest word in the workplace?

One thing is certain.

Politics must be the most misunderstood word in the English language.

 

With politics you always have…

 

People telling you

“You can grade the way you want”

But it really means

“You can grade the way you want…

Provided all the kids pass.”

Or people always telling you

“We want the students to be successful”

But it really means

“As a teacher

You are not successful.”

Or people always telling you

“We need to change the culture of our school”

But it really means

“The government is breathing down our backs.

We’re doing everything we can to meet the standards.”

Or people asking you

“What are you going to do to help my kids be successful?”

But it really means

“I don’t know what else to do at home

And you’re left to blame.”

Or people asking you

“What exactly IS your failure percentage?”

But it really means

“My kid is failing

And you’re the cause of it.”

 

So why exactly do politics exist?

Politic means prudent.

Why is it that we know what is prudent,

But we don’t always follow through with this idea?

If politic means prudent, why do we always put the blame

On someone else?

 

Answer.

Because politics show us that putting the blame on others…

Is prudent for us as individuals.

How sad is that?

We are trying to teach our students that they must accept responsibility,

But our entire society is based on a practice as old as our country;

The practice of politics.

The practice of avoiding undesirable consequences.

Short Story, Writing
Laura

This piece is my first draft of this piece. The idea comes from the book Now Write! Fiction Writing Exercises From Today’s Best Writers and Teachers. This exercise is by Jim Heynen. In it, you must write a long paragraph and “introduce the character in the first sentence, and then describe the setting. Return to the character only at the end of the paragraph” (177). I really like to use this book for story ideas or practicing. I’ve used it in my classroom to give students ideas for short stories or creative ways to practice some part of writing. Hope you enjoy it.

 

As she looked around the office, Miranda knew that she was in big trouble this time, and she wasn’t going to be able to avoid it any longer. The cream-colored sheers prevented the sharp sunlight from engulfing the spacious office, causing the light to cast the room in a soft glow. Academic books lined the entirety of the wall behind the mahogany desk. Several filing cabinets rested in the corner closest to the entrance of the office. On the wall opposite the books sat the dreaded couch with a chair facing it. Miranda took a deep breath, stilled her nerves, and headed for the couch.

Modern living room and balcony

Story-Starter Sunday, Uncategorized, Writing, Writing Ideas

Story-Starter Sunday

Laura

Here is another installment of Story-Starter Sunday. There is no better day of the week to write. I hope you have fun with the last one. Again, the sun is shining here, and it’s absolutely beautiful outside despite the brown landscape. It’s a great day to spend a little time with your notebook, computer, or journal. Here is your Story-Starter Sentence:

When I woke up the next morning, I noticed I was not in my apartment. It was a year ago the last time this happened. 

Happy writing!

Question Mark

Poetry, Writing, Writing Ideas

The Lesson

Laura

Last week I posted one of my poems about the topic of drugs. I think I’ll keep with that topic this week. Last week’s poem was a little disheartening, but this one isn’t. I hope you enjoy it. As always, this is my work. If you desire to use it for anything, give credit please.

Syringe needle with a drop at the endThe Lesson

Because of you,

I have seen the degrading world of drugs.

Because of you,

I can recognize the sweet rotting smell (or metallic smell) of a meth addict.

Because of you,

I know the all-consuming thoughts of putting something else first.

Because of you,

I took off the rose-colored glasses in order to better see the lies.

Because of you,

I learned to hope for the first time.

Because of you,

I have also experienced the biggest sense of failure I have ever known.

Because of you,

I carried the burden of a broken heart.

Because of you,

I have learned to love myself as much as you hate yourself.

Because of you… and your addiction,

I am a better person today.

Because of you… and your addiction,

I learned to let you go.

Because of you… and your addiction,

I later met and married the man of my dreams.

 

Short Story, Writing

The Letter

Laura

I wrote this very short story a few years ago while I was the sponsor of a writing club at school. We would come up with story starters or topics to write about. The topic on this particular day: Sneaking around behind someone’s back. I really wanted to try something a little different. I admit my mind typically goes to cheating or theft, but I decided to try two sets of sneaking around in my fictional story. As always, if you enjoy my work and want to use it, please make sure you give credit. 

ink pen and parchment on wood

The Letter

The door silently closed behind me as I let myself into the house. The alarm didn’t go off, so I knew that Nick was home. I plopped my bags on the floor and went to search for him. It had been four long days since I’d seen him, and I was actually home a day early.

As I passed by the television, a flash of white caught my eye. There, taped to the screen, was an envelope with my name on it. Footsteps sounded upstairs as I plucked the envelope off the television and opened it.

The breath was sucked out of me and the words swam across the page. He was leaving me. And he was taking the coward’s way out. My eyes narrowed as I realized what the frantic rushing around upstairs was all about. He was obviously trying to get everything packed before I got home.

My body trembled. It tends to do that when I’m really upset about something. I can’t seem to hide any of my emotions. My teeth started to chatter as I contemplated my actions and how to deal with the coward upstairs.

The couch looked inviting, so I plopped down, suddenly exhausted. Three years. Three long years of putting up with him. We had lived together for a year and a half. All the laughs we had together. All the tears we’d shared. Other thoughts flashed through my mind. The forgotten birthdays and anniversaries. The dinners he hadn’t made it home in time to eat while they were warm. The late nights working. Me. Cleaning whiskers off the bathroom every day for the last year and a half.

I sat there quietly remembering, my eyes dry. I slowly put the letter back into the envelope. I got up off the couch. My bag seemed light for the first time that day. I placed the letter back on the television and silently walked out of the house. He was right. The coward’s way was the best way.

Story-Starter Sunday, Writing, Writing Ideas

Story-Starter Sunday!

Laura

Here is another installment of Story-Starter Sunday. What better day of the week to write? I hope you have fun with this one. Here, the sun is shining after a night of rain. Most of the snow has melted, and it’s much warmer than I thought it would be. It’s a great day to spend a little time with your notebook, computer, or journal. Here is your Story-Starter Sentence:

I opened up the love note from my boyfriend excitedly. It wasn’t until I was halfway through that I realized it wasn’t to me. 

Liebe

Poetry, Writing

Just One More Time… That’s All

Laura

I wrote this in December of 2008. It’s pretty obvious it’s about drug use, but I really think it could be about any type of addiction. On a funny note (because the poem is not funny at all), the only reason I even remembered having written it was because my Shih Tzu Zeus will not stop licking this one spot on his hind leg. I literally told him, “Zeus! Stop it! I know it’s an addiction, buddy, but this has to stop before you go bald.” Yes, I talk to my dogs. I was getting ready to post to this blog as I said it. Then it hit me that I had written several poems about addiction. Obviously, they’re much darker than my little dog licking his hind leg. I hope you enjoy. Please remember to credit me if you choose to use any of my work.

Just One More Time…  ????????????????????????

That’s all.

It’s not like I’m

Addicted.

 

I know I told her

I’d quit.

That I chose her

Over It.

And I have chosen

Her.

But it’s

Just One More Time…

That’s all.

It’s not like I’m

Addicted.

 

I know she doesn’t likeDrug abuse

The Stuff.

I know it goes against

Her morals.

She was raised

Differently

Than I was.

It’s just a party thing.

But it’s

Just One More Time…

That’s all.

It’s not like I’m

Addicted.

 

I know I have bills

To pay.

I know I hang out with

The wrong people.

I know I made

Promises

That I’ve broken.

But it’s

Just One More Time…

That’s all.

It’s not like I’m

Addicted.

 

Syringe needle with a drop at the endShe knows

I lie.

Yet I still do it.

She knows

I use.

Yet I still do it.

She knows

I’ve broken my promises.

Yet I still do it.

She knows

That I can’t quit.

Yet I still do it.

She knows

That I’m killing myself.

Yet I still do it.

She knows

She’ll have to let me go.

Yet I still do it.

Just One More Time…

That’s all.