23 December 2018
21 December 2018
19 December 2018
shadorma 12/19/18
the struggles
of everyday life
are weighty
and wearing
i feel them pulling me down
i cannot drown, though
©2018-Art Belliveau
of everyday life
are weighty
and wearing
i feel them pulling me down
i cannot drown, though
©2018-Art Belliveau
10 March 2016
Riddle Poem
Working on Riddle Poems with my students. I came up with this...
It's said I never change my spots,
No matter how fast I go.
I chase down zebra and wildebeest,
Because I am not slow.
Lions and tigers envy my speed,
As through the savanna I race,
To catch my food and feed my cubs,
I'm always in first place.
What am I?
©2016-Art Belliveau
It's said I never change my spots,
No matter how fast I go.
I chase down zebra and wildebeest,
Because I am not slow.
Lions and tigers envy my speed,
As through the savanna I race,
To catch my food and feed my cubs,
I'm always in first place.
What am I?
©2016-Art Belliveau
12 January 2016
Dancing Running Free
In my head I am dancing
even as I sit behind this desk
and quietly take out the paper and pencil
for the next in an infinite series of tests and quizzes
In my heart I am running free
not shackled to your expectations
not weighed down by your disapproval
of my wanting to go to the bathroom for god’s sake
In my soul I am free
free from the corporate controlled curriculum
and the testing companies that see me as
their next subprime market
and teachers who are desperate to keep me here
so that tomorrow they will have a job
and a country,
the Land of the Free,
where we voluntarily chain ourselves to
the drone of consumerism
The questions you are asking me
will never lead me to the answers
that I will need to find on my own
about how to be a good person in a world
where no one cares
©2016-Art Belliveau
02 January 2016
new year 2016
as the year starts
i’m having my nose rubbed
once again
in the truth of life’s fragility
and the truth of its tenaciousness
as some friends await their
firstborn child
and others celebrate birthdays
and one fights a cancer
and one has left this earth
what does it mean?
what does any of it mean?
did anyone “deserve” these things?
does anyone deserve to live or die,
be sick or be healthy?
life
and I really believe this
does have meaning
the hard part
the part i am constantly learning
over and over and over
is that the meaning of life
is what i make of it
and that my meaning
may not
probably doesn’t
equate with yours
and that’s okay
©2016-Art Belliveau
i’m having my nose rubbed
once again
in the truth of life’s fragility
and the truth of its tenaciousness
as some friends await their
firstborn child
and others celebrate birthdays
and one fights a cancer
and one has left this earth
what does it mean?
what does any of it mean?
did anyone “deserve” these things?
does anyone deserve to live or die,
be sick or be healthy?
life
and I really believe this
does have meaning
the hard part
the part i am constantly learning
over and over and over
is that the meaning of life
is what i make of it
and that my meaning
may not
probably doesn’t
equate with yours
and that’s okay
©2016-Art Belliveau
08 May 2015
05 May 2015
Lunchtime
I open my lunch box.
Inside I find a delicious sandwich
Made with a special ingredient.
No meal made by my own hands
Could ever be the equal
To one made for me with love.
©2015-Art Belliveau
Inside I find a delicious sandwich
Made with a special ingredient.
No meal made by my own hands
Could ever be the equal
To one made for me with love.
©2015-Art Belliveau
04 May 2015
seventh graders
seventh graders
frantic, hormonal
talking, laughing, crying
life's a roller coaster
my kids
©2015-Art Belliveau
frantic, hormonal
talking, laughing, crying
life's a roller coaster
my kids
©2015-Art Belliveau
30 April 2015
Rondolet for Heather
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
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
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
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