Poem 3

For your unfettered consideration
and undoubtedly refined thought,
tell me how you interpret
all of these changes

that have come unexpected,
unannounced, and unwanted
into the lives of everyone
who manages to pay attention

and notice what wrongs have
been done, ignored, and
tragically encouraged with
the enthusiasm of

a two year-old child
and the recklessness of one
who knows nothing of struggle,
heartache, and loss.

Mighty 5 … in fifty minutes Workshop Margaret Pettis Poem 3: Goal to write on sentence (about 20 lines) that is one perfect sentence. Showing that I can control language syntactically, grammatically, logically. with 5 words per line.

Linda Pastan The New Dog that is one sentence that is grammatically perfect. See below.

The New Dog
Linda Pastan

Into the gravity of my life,
the serious ceremonies
of polish and paper
and pen, has come

this manic animal
whose innocent disruptions
make nonsense
of my old simplicities--

as if I needed him
to prove again that after
all the careful planning,
anything can happen.

An off topic bitch fest brought to you by me.
Being told to give a survey to my students to find out how to make my class more fun is really just absolutely fucking ridiculous. Never mind that 12 year-old kids have no idea what they should do. They only know what they want. They want to be on their phones and they want to play mindless video games and get constant positive feedback for no effort.
Sure, give them a survey. Make it more fun. The only focus for teacher’s for the several years has been us to make everything more fun. Easier. Bullet points and no reading. And certainly no homework. They’re too busy for homework. Too busy.
Did you study? No, but I played Call of Duty for 10 hours.
You play Call of Duty? Your parents let you play Call of Duty?
Obviously, the problem lies with me. I’m not fun enough.

Now, I’m bored of complaining. It’s always the same. Poor performance and blame the teacher. Nothing to do with parenting. Nothing to do with screens. Nothing to do with kids being exposed to violence earlier and earlier in their lives. Nothing to do with any of that. Just me and my boring hands-on, lab filled, inquiry-based, interactive class.

Why Write When All This Shit Is Happening?

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I haven’t been writing. I’ve actively avoided it.

Because

Writing, focusing, fretting about little things in my life when all of this horrible shit is happening seems to me to be a waste

Of TIME

I tell myself, “write. write. write.”

Why?

“It keeps you sane.”

But it isn’t important when so much hate has been released from so many.

“The hate was always there.”

Was it? All of these people were faking all this time? They were kept under control and now that we have a leader that condones bad behavior, they’ve let loose their feelings? I don’t believe it. It can’t be true. People are better than that. I can’t write about personal struggles when there are people being persecuted because of their beliefs.

“That’s been happening since the dawn of time. Never stopped you before.”

It’s stopping me now.

“Is it?”

I feel paralyzed. Helpless. Terrified. What can I do?

“Don’t be distracted. Make the choices you’ve always made. Continue to send out love and connection and compassion. Be who you are. And write.”

It’s selfish.

“Is it?”

Please

More than 10 people died this year. I wish you’d pay attention to that instead of someone that was in a movie that you liked when you were little. Countless moms, dads, brothers, sisters, friends were lost to us. People who loved. People who mattered. People who changed the world. People that deserved more. Deserved better. The constant bitching at 2016 as an entity makes me crazy. Yes, shit happened this year. But we did it! We put Trump in office. We destroyed the earth.

Allowing yourself to be distracted by garbage perpetuates everything your raging against.

Quit bitching and do something.