Thursday, April 09, 2026

NaPoWrMo #9 and #10: A poem about love and one about the love hate of being a teacher

 Poem #1 tonight comes out of lots of rambling thoughts about all the kinds of love that drive a person. I watched a sweet movie titled IF that gave me all the feels about lost creativity, loneliness, missing people that have died, what is that thing that fuels us when we are young that gives us courage, and many thoughts about love. I appreciated a tear or two of such a sentimental romp to get my feelings primed and ready!

Poem #2 comes out of the intangible, tangible, and real feelings; it is to be an educator of any kind today. It was a hard day, and there are days I wonder if it is worth it, but then I see where the child could go and learn and do just like when my son was tiny. There is a madness of love wrapped up in teaching, too.

 

Love Comes Round

What makes love die?

That glow inside

That is overwhelming

Where we are delving

Deep into subjects, sonnets

Making mice little bonnets

Because it makes us happy

To spend hours getting tappy

Find lost horizons

Around every bend

Love plants the seed

Finding the need

We didn’t know calls us

To get on a bus

And just go somewhere

Because it is there

It is the unknown

We’re in the zone

Until we’re not

We feel caught

We lost that bet

Tangled in our net

We long to be set free

Now! Now, we plead

To a heart that stopped

That time’s forgot

Can it be revived?

So few even try

Only by love

Which never shoves

It is a tickle on the ear

Whispered still and clear

Come here, come here!

Love is always near

 

The Lesson: Daedalus’ Design and Icarus’ Lament

Criss-crossed wires that inspire

Are the same ones that strangle me

I teach those who run away from education

The same lesson that seems endless

To my students, it is doubly so to me

As they flee the building with an expiration date

That is clear and nearer than mine

People praise me as divine

Because I spend my days

Figuring out ways of tricking students

Into learning the stuff that they label boring

And I know it is essential

It is as practical as picking up a utensil

And feeding yourself

Which most folks don’t remember learning

But they lean on that every single day

It is as a proud parent

I pick up that fork off the ground

And hand it back to the petulant child

Who likes the sound of it hitting tile

Or seeing me bend over, exasperated

In wanting the meal to matter

I give that child the nutrients it needs

By learning how to feed

With the tool, it is handed

So, they won’t starve

Or crudely have to live hand to mouth

I teach them to carve

Out a place or on that plate

And I lift that to them, too

When it flies by full of good food

And the student toddler giggles

Then cries demanding more

I have them help clean up the floor

And I replenish sustenance

Improving our moods

As they begin to chew

They use the fork

They cannot cork their bark

As they bray at the moon

Longing to know how soon

They can travel there

Because of me, they’ve discovered how to

Education leaves a mark

Eventually you breathe

As a student concedes

There is life after school or class

This teacher unplugs and sags

Glowing with pride

The turmoil of the hour subsides

I am paid with more than I spent

Undone, no turmoil

Flying close to the sun

Wings intact, ready for another attempt






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