Your lovely face
Brings to my heart enormous joy
Your lovely face
Reminds me nothing can replace
My very own Helen of Troy
You are truly the real McCoy
Your lovely face
©2015-Art Belliveau
30 April 2015
29 April 2015
Late April Inservice
Wednesday, after school, an inservice class meets
in the library to talk about iPads.
Nervously, the anxious instructor smiles, greets
us, tries to put us at ease, knowing we've scads
of things we'd really rather be doing now.
It's spring, we're antsy, so she'll have to allow
for our fatigue--we're almost slap happy here--
as we learn new things that will help us--next year.
©2015-Art Belliveau
in the library to talk about iPads.
Nervously, the anxious instructor smiles, greets
us, tries to put us at ease, knowing we've scads
of things we'd really rather be doing now.
It's spring, we're antsy, so she'll have to allow
for our fatigue--we're almost slap happy here--
as we learn new things that will help us--next year.
©2015-Art Belliveau
27 April 2015
Grading Papers
Sitting alone in my room,
Grading papers after class.
Wanting desperately to give good grades,
But knowing I will deal out fair grades.
The only way to give them growing room
When they all come back to class.
And I know that tomorrow, in class,
When I hand them back their grades,
I'll have to motivate the room.
"Class, remember, with revision there is room to raise your grades."
©2015-Art Belliveau
Grading papers after class.
Wanting desperately to give good grades,
But knowing I will deal out fair grades.
The only way to give them growing room
When they all come back to class.
And I know that tomorrow, in class,
When I hand them back their grades,
I'll have to motivate the room.
"Class, remember, with revision there is room to raise your grades."
©2015-Art Belliveau
Looking for a Metaphor
I thought
for a long time
that I was a catalyst.
I was there to speed up
and sometimes start
my students and their thinking.
A catalyst in chemical reactions
does that.
And I was proud of my metaphor.
Until...
Not being a science teacher,
I discovered my understanding
of a catalyst was flawed.
A catalyst does indeed start
and/or speed up a chemical reaction--
but in doing so,
it remains unchanged.
And after twenty-eight years of teaching
there is one thing I am sure of...
teaching all these kids has changed me.
So I think I need a different metaphor--
I am not the same person
who started this ride so long ago.
I am different in ways both good and bad
but there is no way
I could do this
and remain
unaffected.
©2015-Art Belliveau
for a long time
that I was a catalyst.
I was there to speed up
and sometimes start
my students and their thinking.
A catalyst in chemical reactions
does that.
And I was proud of my metaphor.
Until...
Not being a science teacher,
I discovered my understanding
of a catalyst was flawed.
A catalyst does indeed start
and/or speed up a chemical reaction--
but in doing so,
it remains unchanged.
And after twenty-eight years of teaching
there is one thing I am sure of...
teaching all these kids has changed me.
So I think I need a different metaphor--
I am not the same person
who started this ride so long ago.
I am different in ways both good and bad
but there is no way
I could do this
and remain
unaffected.
©2015-Art Belliveau
25 April 2015
23 April 2015
21 April 2015
Be Careful What You Wish For
When the new kid came to class,
All the others pointed and laughed.
He wasn't dressed right, wasn't cool,
It gave them the green light to be cruel.
He really wasn't so different from the rest.
But he became the butt of every jest
With each giggle, laugh, guffaw,
They magnified his every flaw,
Until he could do nothing right.
And all his days were fraught with fright.
He knew whatever he'd do, he'd be wrong.
He tried so hard to stay strong.
But all he wanted was to fade away.
Finally there came a day,
When as he'd come did, he slunk into class,
And no one tripped him--no one laughed.
No one pointed or made a face,
He felt his heart begin to race.
Would they at last leave him alone?
Too much to ask, he thought with a groan.
But no one even looked at him,
Soon it was time for class to begin.
He sat in his seat as the teacher called roll,
He tried to call, Present," but had no control.
His voice was gone, not a sound came out,
So he lifted his hand and waved it about.
She called him once more, then moved on to the next,
He put his hand down, and sat there, perplexed.
She hadn't seen him, in fact no one had,
Was this real happening, or had he gone mad?
He got up from his seat, and walked up to her desk.
The whole situation had become kafkaesque.
She still didn't see him, or hear him at all,
So he walked boldly into the hall.
He went to the bathroom and looked in the mirror.
The truth, when he saw it, couldn't be clearer,
He was invisible, and no one could hear him,
His wish had been granted, but that didn't cheer him.
More lonely than ever he ran from the school,
He got what he wanted, he felt like a fool.
He never returned; he never was found.
The kids picked another for all to put down.
©2015-Art Belliveau
All the others pointed and laughed.
He wasn't dressed right, wasn't cool,
It gave them the green light to be cruel.
He really wasn't so different from the rest.
But he became the butt of every jest
With each giggle, laugh, guffaw,
They magnified his every flaw,
Until he could do nothing right.
And all his days were fraught with fright.
He knew whatever he'd do, he'd be wrong.
He tried so hard to stay strong.
But all he wanted was to fade away.
Finally there came a day,
When as he'd come did, he slunk into class,
And no one tripped him--no one laughed.
No one pointed or made a face,
He felt his heart begin to race.
Would they at last leave him alone?
Too much to ask, he thought with a groan.
But no one even looked at him,
Soon it was time for class to begin.
He sat in his seat as the teacher called roll,
He tried to call, Present," but had no control.
His voice was gone, not a sound came out,
So he lifted his hand and waved it about.
She called him once more, then moved on to the next,
He put his hand down, and sat there, perplexed.
She hadn't seen him, in fact no one had,
Was this real happening, or had he gone mad?
He got up from his seat, and walked up to her desk.
The whole situation had become kafkaesque.
She still didn't see him, or hear him at all,
So he walked boldly into the hall.
He went to the bathroom and looked in the mirror.
The truth, when he saw it, couldn't be clearer,
He was invisible, and no one could hear him,
His wish had been granted, but that didn't cheer him.
More lonely than ever he ran from the school,
He got what he wanted, he felt like a fool.
He never returned; he never was found.
The kids picked another for all to put down.
©2015-Art Belliveau
20 April 2015
Room 509
my classroom
after school
teachers joking
students leaving
chairs on desks
lights out
resting
planning
grading
ten months a year
my second home
©2015-Art Belliveau
after school
teachers joking
students leaving
chairs on desks
lights out
resting
planning
grading
ten months a year
my second home
©2015-Art Belliveau
19 April 2015
test week
wasting my time
spinning my wheels
another week gone
unnecessary stress
test week 2015
©2015-Art Belliveau
spinning my wheels
another week gone
unnecessary stress
test week 2015
©2015-Art Belliveau
empty walls
empty walls
posters taken down
so boring
desolate
testing takes priority
over teaching kids
©2015-Art Belliveau
posters taken down
so boring
desolate
testing takes priority
over teaching kids
©2015-Art Belliveau
16 April 2015
Uh-oh...
I love my Christmas presents;
They're exactly what I wanted.
Each and every one is just what I preferred.
Mom and Dad got all these presents.
And they decided where to hide them.
Luckily for me, I overheard.
So now I have one giant problem,
With my brand new Christmas presents:
I opened them December Twenty-third.
©2015-Art Belliveau
They're exactly what I wanted.
Each and every one is just what I preferred.
Mom and Dad got all these presents.
And they decided where to hide them.
Luckily for me, I overheard.
So now I have one giant problem,
With my brand new Christmas presents:
I opened them December Twenty-third.
©2015-Art Belliveau
15 April 2015
randomness: four senryu
i reach for the words
which skitter-scatter away
playing hide and seek
the noise in my head
could drown out a hurricane--
wait--what did you say?
almost the last page
can't wait to finish the book--
wish it were longer
turtle crossing road
macadam almost melting--
somebody help him!
©2015-Art Belliveau
14 April 2015
Icarus
Papa,
You just don't understand.
You never did,
for all you are a genius.
The genius.
You understand the architecture of engineering.
You understand mechanics and rudimentary physics.
Your knowledge of the physical world is unparalleled.
But Papa,
me--
your only child,
your only son--
you don't know me at all.
You made me those wings
and you warned me,
"Don't fly too high, my son. The heat will melt the wax"
But how high is too high?
With you there is an exact number.
All I can do is wing it.
How can I remain low and lowly
when you have given me the means to soar?
I feel the joy and the freedom.
I can't pretend I don't.
I refuse to pretend I don't.
How could you not know
merely by putting the idea in my head,
that I would have to try it?
You didn't know, though.
People are a mystery to you.
I am a mystery to you.
Up I go.
You were right, of course.
I fly too close to the golden chariot.
The wax melts.
The feathers molt.
And a new sensation comes to me.
In your head you can do the math;
you can tell how fast I'm falling.
You know how hard I'll hit.
What I know is the joy of soaring.
The laughter of exuberance.
I know that the wind screaming past me
causes my blood to rush through my veins.
And rushing to the waves below,
I scream with the wind,
not in fear, but in defiance!
Do not be sad, Papa.
Do not blame yourself.
I don't.
I thank you.
You gave me choice.
One I made willingly.
I love you.
Good-bye.
©2015-Art Belliveau
You just don't understand.
You never did,
for all you are a genius.
The genius.
You understand the architecture of engineering.
You understand mechanics and rudimentary physics.
Your knowledge of the physical world is unparalleled.
But Papa,
me--
your only child,
your only son--
you don't know me at all.
You made me those wings
and you warned me,
"Don't fly too high, my son. The heat will melt the wax"
But how high is too high?
With you there is an exact number.
All I can do is wing it.
How can I remain low and lowly
when you have given me the means to soar?
I feel the joy and the freedom.
I can't pretend I don't.
I refuse to pretend I don't.
How could you not know
merely by putting the idea in my head,
that I would have to try it?
You didn't know, though.
People are a mystery to you.
I am a mystery to you.
Up I go.
You were right, of course.
I fly too close to the golden chariot.
The wax melts.
The feathers molt.
And a new sensation comes to me.
In your head you can do the math;
you can tell how fast I'm falling.
You know how hard I'll hit.
What I know is the joy of soaring.
The laughter of exuberance.
I know that the wind screaming past me
causes my blood to rush through my veins.
And rushing to the waves below,
I scream with the wind,
not in fear, but in defiance!
Do not be sad, Papa.
Do not blame yourself.
I don't.
I thank you.
You gave me choice.
One I made willingly.
I love you.
Good-bye.
©2015-Art Belliveau
13 April 2015
12 April 2015
late Sunday night
late Sunday night
the stars hide behind clouds
and the windblown rain
taps the windows for attention
i drowse on and off on the couch
as my unfinished lesson plans call
and my ungraded papers nag
pulling me back from the brink
each time i begin to fall
tomorrow comes too soon
©2015-Art Belliveau
the stars hide behind clouds
and the windblown rain
taps the windows for attention
i drowse on and off on the couch
as my unfinished lesson plans call
and my ungraded papers nag
pulling me back from the brink
each time i begin to fall
tomorrow comes too soon
©2015-Art Belliveau
11 April 2015
senryu for Heather
everywhere we went
with every word that you spoke
i heard poetry
©2015-Art Belliveau
with every word that you spoke
i heard poetry
©2015-Art Belliveau
10 April 2015
Need
"I need a pencil!"
this cry is flung out to the universe
or maybe just the classroom
or maybe aimed just for me
i have lost count
of how many times
i hear this
every single day
i hear this
"I need a pencil!"
shouted out plaintively
so many
many times
and the simplicity of this need
makes me a little jealous
i think of all the things that i need
and find my needs are not so simple
nor so simply met:
i need love and closeness
i need space
i need people
i need for those people to respect my boundaries
i need my family
i need them in my life
but not too close
(600 miles is just about right)
i need to feel like
in this life that i have been granted
that i have been useful
that i have made some kind of a difference
even if it is just the difference
of whether or not
a student's need for a pencil is met
"Here's a pencil. Get to work."
i just hope
i just need
for this to NOT be
the only difference i make today
©2015-Art Belliveau
this cry is flung out to the universe
or maybe just the classroom
or maybe aimed just for me
i have lost count
of how many times
i hear this
every single day
i hear this
"I need a pencil!"
shouted out plaintively
so many
many times
and the simplicity of this need
makes me a little jealous
i think of all the things that i need
and find my needs are not so simple
nor so simply met:
i need love and closeness
i need space
i need people
i need for those people to respect my boundaries
i need my family
i need them in my life
but not too close
(600 miles is just about right)
i need to feel like
in this life that i have been granted
that i have been useful
that i have made some kind of a difference
even if it is just the difference
of whether or not
a student's need for a pencil is met
"Here's a pencil. Get to work."
i just hope
i just need
for this to NOT be
the only difference i make today
©2015-Art Belliveau
09 April 2015
Sisyphus
So many days on my teaching journey
all I seem to do is try to make the slightest headway
and my Students seem to be working on their resistance
when i was Younger, it didn't seem so hard
it seemed i just Played with them, and they learned
and it just effortlessly Happened, though that cannot be correct
because memories don't reflect reality Under most circumstances
So the effort i put in before slides past my awareness as i continue slogging on.
©2015-Art Belliveau
all I seem to do is try to make the slightest headway
and my Students seem to be working on their resistance
when i was Younger, it didn't seem so hard
it seemed i just Played with them, and they learned
and it just effortlessly Happened, though that cannot be correct
because memories don't reflect reality Under most circumstances
So the effort i put in before slides past my awareness as i continue slogging on.
©2015-Art Belliveau
08 April 2015
date night
as we prepare to leave
dogs barking
annoyed at being left behind
sending us on our way
with an extra load of guilt
©2015-Art Belliveau
dogs barking
annoyed at being left behind
sending us on our way
with an extra load of guilt
©2015-Art Belliveau
07 April 2015
04/07/15
Wrote haiku and senryu with my students today. They seemed to have as much fun as me!
change is in the air
naked to completely clothed
suddenly springtime
students struggle to
create order from chaos
they write their haiku
my tummy rumbles
I dash to the closest john
I ate corn last night
a hot, summer night
staring overhead I see
ice chips in the sky
where is the right word?
I chase it everywhere, but
it eludes my grasp
they ask when it's due
and how many they should write
they need to focus
a problem solver
answering the tough questions
I could use a break
hot, bubbling water
easing away tension caused
by seventh graders
the diff'rence between
whispering and shouting is
lost on my students
desperate to finish
they look for short cuts and not
original thoughts
©2015-Art Belliveau
change is in the air
naked to completely clothed
suddenly springtime
students struggle to
create order from chaos
they write their haiku
my tummy rumbles
I dash to the closest john
I ate corn last night
a hot, summer night
staring overhead I see
ice chips in the sky
where is the right word?
I chase it everywhere, but
it eludes my grasp
they ask when it's due
and how many they should write
they need to focus
a problem solver
answering the tough questions
I could use a break
hot, bubbling water
easing away tension caused
by seventh graders
the diff'rence between
whispering and shouting is
lost on my students
desperate to finish
they look for short cuts and not
original thoughts
©2015-Art Belliveau
06 April 2015
Good Question
Tommy is drawing a picture.
Carol's chatting on her phone.
Tray is singing his favorite song.
Clara's showing how bubbles are blown.
Kiki is snoring quite loudly.
Terry is going berserk.
All while the teacher is trying to teach.
So how can I do my class work?
©2015-Art Belliveau
05 April 2015
04 April 2015
03 April 2015
A Fairy Good Idea!
The tooth fairy came to my house last night.
And I'll tell you the truth--
She left me a brand new $5 bill,
In place of my fallen out tooth!
But that is nothing to the dough I'll get,
Tonight when I put underneath
My pillow a guaranteed money maker--
Grandpa's full set of false teeth!!
©2015-Art Belliveau
And I'll tell you the truth--
She left me a brand new $5 bill,
In place of my fallen out tooth!
But that is nothing to the dough I'll get,
Tonight when I put underneath
My pillow a guaranteed money maker--
Grandpa's full set of false teeth!!
©2015-Art Belliveau
02 April 2015
Table Manners
I didn't set the table;
I didn't cook the food;
I didn't clean up after--
At the restaurant that is rude.
©2015-Art Belliveau
I didn't cook the food;
I didn't clean up after--
At the restaurant that is rude.
©2015-Art Belliveau
01 April 2015
Heather
i am typing a poem
while listening to poem
waiting for your kiss
and all I can do
is all I can do
and loving you is
more melodic than the poem i'm listening to
more poetic than the poem i am typing on the computer screen
and your pickle-flavored kiss is more precious to me
than the rest of spring break spread out before
and all the time i will have therein to listen to poems
and to write poems
but less precious than all those kisses
we have waiting for us ahead
and the smile i bring to your lips
with my multitasking virtuosity
is warmer than the the heat of the shower
that i just took
the soap and the water washing away the past
leaving our future open and i am ready for it
but only when i can share it
with you
©2015-Art Belliveau
while listening to poem
waiting for your kiss
and all I can do
is all I can do
and loving you is
more melodic than the poem i'm listening to
more poetic than the poem i am typing on the computer screen
and your pickle-flavored kiss is more precious to me
than the rest of spring break spread out before
and all the time i will have therein to listen to poems
and to write poems
but less precious than all those kisses
we have waiting for us ahead
and the smile i bring to your lips
with my multitasking virtuosity
is warmer than the the heat of the shower
that i just took
the soap and the water washing away the past
leaving our future open and i am ready for it
but only when i can share it
with you
©2015-Art Belliveau
Love Story
I don't care if they're short or tall,
Fat or thin, I love them all.
Big or little, fancy or plain,
I don't care--they drive me insane.
What's inside is what's important,
And not the looks--
I am totally in love with books!
©2015-Art Belliveau
Fat or thin, I love them all.
Big or little, fancy or plain,
I don't care--they drive me insane.
What's inside is what's important,
And not the looks--
I am totally in love with books!
©2015-Art Belliveau
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