Teaching Poetry
April is National Poetry Month (and Library Month!) and this year I kicked off my rockin' poetry unit on April 1st. YAY! In honor of the wonderful student writing I've seen in just two short days, I wrote a poem to capture the joy I feel in knowing I've helped them on their journey of discovery as writers.
On Being an English Teacher
Mostly I feel as if
Teaching were my destiny.
It’s pulled me since I sat my brothers
In bright plastic chairs
(one blue, one red),
handed each a paper and pen,
and ordered them to write.
Now my style is more circumspect.
I guide students down paths
they might not have taken,
lead them to unknown sweet waters
to drink long and deeply.
We linger in places
where we’d be uncomfortable…
if we were alone.
But we travel together.
Each exploration with writing
helps them discover
who they are or might become.
I make writing real,
give them an audience,
teach them the joy of creation.
I still hand out paper and
Supply many pencils, but
the blue chairs in my room are
not always occupied.
They write on the floor, standing, or
gathered in groups.
We roam the building, trek outside,
discovering together.
Their words are stapled on boards,
bound into books, taped to walls,
stuffed into lockers, pressed into palms,
posted to blogs, and read aloud.
They see how they impact, provoke,
change, reach, and touch.
Powerful things, these written words...
Original creations. Just like them.
On Being an English Teacher
Mostly I feel as if
Teaching were my destiny.
It’s pulled me since I sat my brothers
In bright plastic chairs
(one blue, one red),
handed each a paper and pen,
and ordered them to write.
Now my style is more circumspect.
I guide students down paths
they might not have taken,
lead them to unknown sweet waters
to drink long and deeply.
We linger in places
where we’d be uncomfortable…
if we were alone.
But we travel together.
Each exploration with writing
helps them discover
who they are or might become.
I make writing real,
give them an audience,
teach them the joy of creation.
I still hand out paper and
Supply many pencils, but
the blue chairs in my room are
not always occupied.
They write on the floor, standing, or
gathered in groups.
We roam the building, trek outside,
discovering together.
Their words are stapled on boards,
bound into books, taped to walls,
stuffed into lockers, pressed into palms,
posted to blogs, and read aloud.
They see how they impact, provoke,
change, reach, and touch.
Powerful things, these written words...
Original creations. Just like them.