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
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