Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Rachel Keyser Nov 2016
They call it scholar talk. It’s not better than home talk, it’s just different. It’s for school.

Like her, they start saying “goodness gracious” when things get crazy. Like someone else, they continue saying “**** ***** *****” when someone bothers them.

Do you feel like you spend a lot of your time disciplining?  
I feel like I spend all my time disciplining, she says.

One boy tries to jump out of the window of her classroom.
Later he tells her that if he doesn’t get another nice teacher he will **** himself.

But lots of kids say they are going to **** themselves. It’s the one threat that gets them one-on-one attention in a class of two dozen.
The school psychologist tells her she needs to manage her classroom better.

Her first principal is fired for abusing her disabled husband.
Her second principal admonishes her for mentioning that **** sapiens originated in Africa.
There are too many religious parents here to teach evolution.
“Where are you even getting this information?” he asks her with a straight face.

One day, in the fall, she cries amidst the chaos. The next day, one student tells another,
“Don’t you dare make my teacher cry again.”

She picks them up on the weekends and takes them to middle school basketball games as a treat. “You can even meet the coach if you behave,” she says to eager 2nd grade faces.

They read about fairytale princesses, and they ask her, “She’s like you, right Ms. Andrews?”

White ***** is hurled at her as often as chairs across the classroom. But come Friday morning they sit silent in their seats, hoping to earn lunch with Ms. Andrews. She gives out certificates, prizes, and free activities, but kids cry over not making “lunch bunch”.  How am I doing today? Am I doing good today?

There is non-profit prestige in moving to West Baltimore. Fresh fruit, new winter coats, and new laptops for every student. Within days, the new computers are slammed against desks and the dictionary covers are ripped off with bicth scribbled inside.
At least spell it right, her final plea.
New stuff doesn’t matter that much when they’re angry all the time, she says to the one school social worker.

What would be the single most helpful thing someone could do for these families?
Birth control, she answers.

Babies are celebrated, at birth. They are a temporary lighthouse.

Some of her students have multiple siblings who regularly visit Johns Hopkins for birth defects. Some of her students are heads of their households, walking their younger siblings to and from school every day. Another teacher gets in trouble for giving out free condoms to 16-year-old girls, many of whom are pregnant.

I honestly think you shouldn't get more welfare after two children, she says. I don’t think many of these babies are conceived out of love.

It’s painful for her to say that. It’s not what you learn at a prestigious liberal arts college. Not when you’re a progressive liberal aware of social constructs and institutionalized power hierarchies. Especially when you chose TFA because you really are committed to working in education policy.  

But you are beating the odds, because Baltimore has one of the highest TFA dropout rates in the country. Though 72 percent of all TFA teachers leave teaching within 5 years. The five-week training program and lack of connection with the community were not enough. Or maybe it’s because they never wanted to be teachers in the first place.

But, they ask, “No one wants those jobs anyway, so who would be there instead?”

Is that really the right question?

Another TFA friend recently quit because he started having panic attacks and losing weight. I’m pretty miserable, she says, but I know it’s for an end. Still, I go home and wonder,
Am I making a difference?
*Referenced from a conversation with a current Furman L. Templeton Preparatory Academy teacher and TFA Corps Member.
Rachel Keyser Nov 2016
There is no longer any excuse.
In fact, there hasn’t been for a
very long time.

We have seen bloodshed
on soil around the world.  
Over one million lives,
in the name of
freedom,
democracy,
capitalism,
& I can’t quite recall the others
at the moment.

We have connected
through time and space.
We heard and we watched
Bell & Lindbergh
Ford & Armstrong
Gates & Jobs
transform the very fabric of our realities,
uncovering expanding realms
of possibility.

We have healed and protected
our fragile bodies.
Decades ago,
Mr. Salk became part of evening
prayers.
We began having less babies,  
and we marveled for 112 days
at the beating of the first
artificial heart.
Wondering or not
whether new bionic inclinations
had affected our humanity.

We have evolved
collective creeds
through unexpected revolutionaries
and in spite of dragging feet.
While AFL & CIO
became household names,
Ms. Anthony and Dr. King
made us cry
and shake
and question
our very foundations.

And yet,
after 165 years of change,
I say, with a heavy heart,
and millions of people,
and billions of dollars,
and a dream,
that the 1850’s schoolhouse
has been only
feebly & perfunctorily
remodeled.

From their graves,
Mr. Mann & Mr. Dewey ask,
“What will it take?”
Rachel Keyser Nov 2016
Could you ever pretend to understand
living in a world that gave you no shelter
from the coarse wind of history
and the coarser rain of rhetoric?

The shambles of those walls offer no protection.
But, after all, they say
why do you need walls in the jungle?

No one has to tell you
out loud
that you were born
to be thrown away.
The ache of rotting teeth,
the feeble acquiescence  
to raw sewage,
and the 400 dollar offer
to silence the poison in your veins.
They were loud enough.

I imagine there is a moment
between doorless stalls
and postless football fields,
where children, who grow like
wild daffodils,
see the other side of the bridge.
And then they know
until the end,
that it has always been
someone’s choice.
*Referenced from Savage Inequalities: Children in America’s Schools, Jonathan Kozol, 1991. Chapter 1: Life on the Mississippi: East St. Louis, Illinois.
Janine Jacobs Oct 2016
the dutch colony ascended on our shores
replacing traditional african education on culture
with teaching slaves how to pray

we saw the deterioration of black schools
and state-mandated segregated curricula
whites being taught better than blacks
who was only destined for subservient jobs

policies of apartheid birthed the bantu education
and later forced us to learn languages
which was not our native tongue
the youth could no longer be silenced
soweto uprising saw them dying for the cause

we have protested throughout the decades
silenced by the apartheid government
simply ignored

with Mandela’s release we saw liberation, freedom, democracy
and a single education system, we were finally equal
however the legacy of black inferior education left a deep scar
which has still not healed
our parents not able to give us the education they were denied

now students are holding the government accountable
who promised free education for a vote
the movement trending as #feesmustfall

anger expressed by burning premises, striking and rioting
i believe in the cause but who are you really hurting?
why destroy the very universities that you are fighting for?
Brent Kincaid Oct 2016
I remember so much
But how much of it was true.
I remember being much bigger
And the house I lived in was too.
I remember how deep the voices
Of the adults living around me.
I recall them as basso profundo,
Not high, nasal and twangy.

I remember people said things
Like “God bless her” a whole lot
But these days, they still say it
But do they mean it, I think not.
I remember singing at church
“Jesus loves the little children.”
They never once had me sing
“But not if they are little heathens!”

I remember while in school
“All men are created equal”.
They should have told me instead,
“Only if they are white people
And then only if they are Christian
From the same church we go to
On Christmas and Easter, kid.”
Because that was our religion.

I remember being told repeatedly
“Do unto others, as they do unto you.”
Later I found out they didn’t mean it.
For gay people it wasn’t true.
Then it was do unto others whatever,
As long as they stay in their place.
They must not kiss or hold hands
Because being gay is a disgrace.

I remember being taught that God
Created everything on this earth
But somehow that teaching missed
Those born non-white or gay at birth.
I remember some nice sounding things
Being said with everyone watching,
But hatred and bigotry like a virus
Seemed to be much more catching.
Jo Tomso Sep 2016
Dancing with the colors
Each year vibrant with growth
Oranges
Reds
Yellows
Blues
A memory of a beautiful place.
Nature walks and lantern creations
Pumpkin carved candles light up the hall.
Magic capes and fairy tales
Enchanted castles and cardboard houses.
Tea and story time, handwork, circus practice, and theater.
Music, main lesson, mathematics, english, history, all the academics.
Imagination, free play, and singing songs
Advent Candles and the Rose Ceremony,
Magnificent festivals and feeling free.
So much to give and so much to take.
Full with laughter
Full with wonder
Faces curious and willing to gain knowledge
Inside this whimsical colorful place.
Curtain draped windowpanes, comforting space.
A magical kingdom, a magical school.
Where children are allowed to be themselves: body, mind, spirit, and soul.
Welcome home.

© Jo Tomso
To fully understand the beauty of this school, is to experience it as a young child entering the big world. Or, try to glimpse into this world through the site: https://www.clws.org/why-waldorf/
5:32am
walk three avenues if you don't catch the M116 bus
6 train
1 stop
transfer
4 train
3 stops
10 minute walk
deli stop
1 small tea + 1 everything bagel w butter
1 block
"good morning" to the security guards
she won't make eye contact but she'll smile so let that be something
4 flights of stairs
12 of us
in an office for over 6o hours a week
holding each other accountable
holding each other close
Sorry I haven't written any poems lately, I've been extremely busy
it's my senior year of high school and I've been really busy
with college applications, senior events, etc
speaking of college applications, I've been accepted into the
University of Kansas, Wichita State University and
University of Iowa so it's a great year so far
so again, sorry for the lack of poems, I will be back
with new content soon....
On the playgrounds of the future
Children will laugh and sing
And we’ll cross the bridge to real peace
Where the bells of sanity shall ring

Until then we’ll play the game
Which will all add up to naught
“It’s your fault, no, it’s theirs…”
Why some fail at what is taught.

We’ve been given new books and bosses
Numerous regs to do the job
But money flows to the burbs
Inner-cities fair game to rob

Touching the future may seem easy
From a point too far away
One could assume it’s all just ditto -
Then lunch -  then math - then play

If this is your belief
You could not be further from the fact
That success is measured forward
As we have our students’ back

So forward we will plod
Secretly teaching to the mean
We will test, and test and test
From which all congress shall glean

Information in nice neat form
Of bars and charts sublime
Symbolic of teachers and students
Who have been sentenced to hard time

And the monied districts shall rule
Golden in and out
And the bootstraps will appear
Accusing all who doubt

Good will be the words to spread
And many who will eat them
The failures will be shown the straps
But for pity’s sake, don’t beat them

                                                                             G. Davis-Feldman
Touch –
An act that’s been corrupted
Even through clothes -
Your 2nd skin  

Yes,
I am
Presumptuous
Crossing a barrier
Erected by
The tyranny
Of a false decorum

We don’t touch that which
We fear, distrust, hate
So I touch you,
Your smooth unscarred arms,
Hug your broad
Sometimes slumping shoulders
As I tell you that
You remind me of my
Niece, the one in Vegas
Who danced
For her supper;
My nephew,
Kind, clever, innocent,
And dead.

Arrest me
For touching
Your face to allay
My fears; nightmare
Dreams of you sprawled
On some ***** 8X8, gas station
Bathroom floor
Searching your dreams
For the money, the needle,
The power to control
Your future

I can only give you
One key
A book
With hopes
That your 3rd grade
Self has not
Been forsaken and
You can read

I can’t teach you
What my fears
Teach me
Everyday

The news rings out
Pictures of lifeless
Black Bodies carried
From the filthy 8X8s
Potential men & women
Who’ve flunked
Their assignments
In search of ease,
Acceptance and
Painlessness

How strong are you?

My fears fall flat
Against the bathroom walls
That have touched your history
A history from which
Only you can
Draw on
That 8X8 cell

Strength
    or
Despair

                      By Gwen Davis-Feldman © 2016
Next page