Sig Boloz Poems

These selected excerpts come from Sig's books as well as
never-before published archives and brand new material. Enjoy!

If you would like to share your poetry, please visit the Boloz Community page.

Old Favorites: Poetry for Children [ Top ]

GRANDPA'S WATER

Grandpa was feeling awfully thirsty
But no one else was around,
Except his young granddaughter who was watching television,
While laying upon the ground.

"Be a dear," smiled Grandpa,
" Fetch Grandpa a drink.
Go and fill Grandpa's glass with water
From the kitchen sink."

But granddaughter was too little,
Much shorter than the kitchen sink,
So she had to find another way
To get water for Grandpa's drink.

And she remembered the water
Left out in the white bowl
Next to the paper
That comes out in a roll.

So, off to the bathroom
Young granddaughter took a stroll
To get Grandpa a glass of water
From Grandpa's old toilet bowl.

TWENTY LITTLE MUNCHKINS:
A DAY AT THE ZOO

Twenty little munchkins, an assorted little crew,
Hopped off the bus for a day at the zoo,
For a day with the animals, an endangered species review,
A little theme study, their teacher had planned to pursue.
" Now hold on to your partner, while we're here at the zoo.
And don't wonder off!" He reminded. " You'll get lost if you do!"

Then twenty little munchkins with name tags secure,
Stepped through the gate and began their tour
With one brand-new teacher leading the way,
Carrying his plan book in full display.

Down through the big cats and past nesting birds
Into beautiful exhibits with lots of big words.
Back to the monkeys and across a large ridge,
Through numerous displays, past the elephant show,
Mingling with others munchkin groups, as munchkins do go.

With the teacher all the time pointing and clearing his throat,
Leading while talking or making some note.
Then finally, exhausted, he had them sit upon the grass,
When suddenly he screamed. " Holy cow! I've got the wrong class!"

And off he went running down throughout the zoo,
Back up and over and around and through.
But to his distress, he found not a one,
And spent his time crying in the hot noon sun.

So he went looking for a policeman, not knowing what else to do.
He had lost twenty little munchkins in but one day at the zoo.
When suddenly twenty little munchkins, all in a row,
Came marching his way, as munchkins do go.

"Where you been, teacher? We've been looking for you.
You don't wander off, while we're here at the zoo!"
Then twenty little munchkins with their teacher in tow,
Went marching out as munchkins do go.
And twenty little munchkins with his name tag secure,
Stepped through the gate and went home from their tour.

THE WEREWOLF AND THE BULLET

Mountains in the moonlight.
A werewolf howls.
Up in a tree
Sits a yellow-eyed owl.

A terrified woman
Runs as fast as she can
But in the moonlight
She sees the werewolf man.

She screams out loud
But no one hears,
Except the bloody-faced werewolf
With the long, pointed ears.

The werewolf jumps high
From his mountain top.
She shots her silver bullet
And there the werewolf drops.

HOW DO VAMPIRES SOUND

Horses neigh.
Cows go moo.
Cats meow.
Owls say,"Whooo!"
But how do vampires sound?

Dogs bark.
Lions go,"Roar!"
Wolves howl
And there are many more.
But how do vampires sound?

Monsters yell,"Raaaa!"
Witches laugh,"Hee,hee,hee!"
Ghosts say, "Boo!"
And they all scare me.
But how do vampires sound?

IN THE DARK

Stormy night.
Fat raindrops fall.
The wind is screaming
Like ghosts might call.

Screen doors slam.
Windows seem to crack.
The hair stands up
Upon my young back.

Storm clouds rumble.
Lightning bolts crash.
My skin breaks out
In a sweaty rash.

My heart beats fast
As mean dogs bark,
While in my own house I sit
Afraid of the dark.

FRIED TURKEY

There once was a crazy, young turkey,
Who did some very strange things.
He dreamed of flying to the moon
And practiced by flapping his wings.

He'd tried jumping off the rocks,
And the tallest pine tree he could find,
While the other turkeys just shook their heads and said,
" My Gosh! He must have lost his mind.

Then one night he had a better idea
And shot himself out of a big gun,
But he travelled right past the moon that night
And landed fully fried on the sun!

THE HALLOWEEN MOUSE

Across the floor,
Along the wall,
Quietly, quietly
Then down the hall.
Stopping to glance
Once left, twice right
Then scurrying, scurrying
Throughout the night.

And then quietly, quietly
Down the hall,
Across the floor
And along the wall
The Halloween mouse
Scrambles here and about
Gathering treats
As she goes in and out.

Across the floor,
Along the wall,
Quietly, quietly
Down the hall.
Assembling goodies
To keep treaters fat
While all the time watching
For the hungry cat.

And then quietly, quietly
Down the hall,
Across the floor,
And along the wall.
Stopping to glance
Once left, twice right
Then scurrying, scurrying
Throughout the night.

ACT LIKE AN ANIMAL

Join in a circle
Round and round,
Reach to the sky,
Touch the ground.
Act like an animal
Laugh and play,
Choose an animal
And move the other way.

Now, move like the elephant
To and fro
Stepping proudly
Wherever you go.
Act like an animal
Laugh and play
Choose another animal
And move the other way.

Now, soar like the eagle
In the sky
Flap your wings
Low then high,
Act like an animal
Laugh and play
Choose another animal
And move the other way.

Now swing like the monkey
Through the tree
Swing to every branch
That you see,
Act like an animal
Laugh and play
Choose another animal
And move the other way.

Now, you pick the animal
Proud and strong
Move like that animal
And sing this song,
Act like an animal
Laugh and play,
Choose another animal
And move the other way.

COLLECTING INSECTS

Three girls on a hillside,
Sitting on a rock,
Looking so very closely
In the jars that they stock.

Collecting insects
On the side of a hill
Stopping to examine
The jars that they fill.

Big incests, little incests,
Incests that fly,
Incests of all sizes,
Some that hop by,

Red incests, black incests,
Insects that fight,
Green incests,brown incests,
Incests that bite,

Round incests, flat incests,
Incests with dots on their sides,
Shiny and dull incests,
Incests that like to hide.

Three girls on a hillside,
Sitting on a rock,
Looking so very closely
In the jars that they stock.

Collecting insects
On the side of a hill,
Stopping to examine
The jars that they fill.

FERGUSON!

Ferguson! Ferguson!
Don't eat my book!
A book's not for chewing,
It's not something you cook!

A book is for knowing,
For learning to read,
Not for licking the paper,
Not for your tummy to feed!

A book is for enjoying,
I know that is true,
But Ferguson, Ferguson,
They're not meant to chew!

RAINY DAY PIGS

Two little pigs
Playing their silly games,
Rolling in the mud,
Calling each other names.

Their fat, little stomachs
Hanging to the ground,
Splashing in the water
As they roll around.

Mud on floppy ears.
Mud between their toes.
Mud! Mud! Mud!
On each funny nose.

Two little pigs,
Laughing as they play,
Rolling in the mud
On a rainy day.

THE THANKSGIVING PIG

Ever wonder what would have happened,
How we would all feel,
If a pig had been chosen
For the first Thanksgiving meal?

If the gobbler had been more clever,
Had not been so slow,
If a pig had been roasted, ever wonder how
Thanksgiving might go?

Would classrooms be decorated
On those cool Autumn days
With pictures of porkers
And with sounds that pigs say?

Would pilgrims be drawn hunting
Following funny little tracks
As curly-tailed pigs
Hung from their backs?

Would pork chops or ham
Have become our traditional meal,
Or how might
Thanksgiving bacon and eggs make you feel?

TINY HUMMINGBIRDS

Tiny hummingbirds zooming
From here to there
Tiny hummingbirds zooming
Across the air.

Then stopping in a second
At a flower to drink
Choosing a red, a blue,
A yellow, or a pink.

Then zooming off again,
The tiny hummingbird flies,
Zooming so fast,
Almost faster than my eyes

Then stopping in a second
At a flower to drink
Choosing a red, a blue,
A yellow, or a pink.

He zooms so fast
That I am thoroughly confused
With so many different flowers,
How do tiny hummingbirds choose?

TWO BUTTERFLIES FLY

Two little butterflies
Dancing in the sky,
Higher and Higher
Two butterflies fly.

First this way then that way,
Then up and down,
Jumping and skipping,
They fly all around.

Dodging and dipping,
Across the blue sky,
I wonder what butterflies see
As butterflies fly.

BEASTIES

Many a fine meal
Was eaten here today
As thousands of beasties
Flew this way.

As they climbed and hovered
And pounced in attack
Upon my neck,
My legs, and my back.

As they bit and chewed,
And sucked and spit,
And left their marks
On each part they hit.

Oh, what fun those beasties must have had
As they buzzed and zoomed in play,
Those thousands of tiny beasties,
Who ate a free meal here today.

BONDED AT THE HEART

True friends,
Unlike bookends,
Are impossible to part.

No matter what the weight,
They never separate,
For they are bonded at the heart.

SANDRA SLAUGHTER

Sandra Slaughter
Sat in the water
Until her bottom turned pink.

But old Mrs. Slaughter
Got after her daughter
And pulled the plug from the sink.

WON'T YOU HAVE SOME

I hate cows!
They act so dumb
But I love to eat them.
Won't you have some?

They have plenty of flies
And those big runny noses.
Why, they've been around
Since the time of Moses.

They munch old grass
And they swallow old snakes.
They slobber and sneeze...
Won't you have some steaks?

Yes, I hate cows!
They act so dumb
But, I love to eat them.
Won't you have some?

WATERMELON

I love watermelon,
Yes, I do!
I can eat it all day
And the whole night through.

Squishy and squashy,
It runs down my face
While I spit seeds
All over the place.

With its rind so green,
And its pulp so red,
Sometimes I even find seeds
All over my bed.

I just can't get enough,
So, I'll take just one more bite,
But I promised my mom
That was all for the night,

But then I lose all control
And I explode with a pop!
And what use to me,
Mom now cleans...
With a mop.

A WONDROUS RIDE

I stepped on a tornado, this morning, outside,
And there, in that instant, began a wondrous ride.
I whirled and twirled through worlds and times,
As I sat by the library reading stories and rhymes.

THE KING OF THE BASS

I hooked my first fish
As it swam my way,
And we fought the fiercest of fights
That I had fought to this day,

As I pulled and I reeled,
And he tugged and he lunged,
While I countered and struggled,
He rose then he plunged.

But as he broke water a second time
And he spun high into the sky,
My line fell limp
And I began to cry.

Until my little brother
Screamed with delight
" Oh man, did you see him!
Did you see him fight!"

"It must have been him,
The famous King of the Bass!"
And I stood up straighter
As my disappointment passed.

"Yeah, I almost had him,
The noble King of the Bass!"
And while I lost a fish I gained
A memory which will last.

IN MY BED

While I'm alone
In my bed gently sleeping
Shadows and monsters
Are awake and creeping.

Sneaking all around
My bed in the night,
They bid me awake
In a terrible fright!

But I don't want to see them!
I'm afraid to look!
I know I shouldn't have read
That last scary book!

So I close my eyes tight
And pull the blankets over my head
Cause I have no wish to see
The ghosts of the dead!

So I just lay here alone
With my bed wobbling so,
But of what I'm afraid,
I'm not sure that I know!

WRITERS WRITE EVEN WHEN THEY ARE WRONG

You find yourself sitting
With nothing to say
As you edit every word before it reaches
The page that day.

Write.
Write whatever comes to your mind.
Write.
Write the words that you find.

You worry about finding the right words, the best words
And you get no words instead
So why are you surprised when just any old words
Refuse to flow from your head?

Write.
Write whatever comes to your mind.
Write.
Write the words that you find.

Learn to trust your words
For you can not polish what you do not write
Learn to trust your ideas
Before you value them wrong or right.

Write.
Write whatever comes to your mind.
Write.
Write the words that you find.

What separates writers from readers
Is the writer's lack of fear
Of the words that find the writer
Of the words that may appear.

So, write.
Write whatever comes to your mind
If you want to be a writer
Then write the first words that you find.

DREAM SWEET

Dream sweet.
Dream sweet
My little one,
But dream
With all your might.

Dream sweet.
Dream sweet
My little one
But sleep
Throughout the night.

THOUSANDS OF LITTLE PUMPKINS

Thousands of little pumpkins
In a pumpkin patch
And no two little pumpkins
Will ever exactly match.

For no two little pumpkins
Will ever be the same within.
Even though they may appear to match
In the color of their skin.

Yes, thousands of little pumpkins
Even from the same pumpkin batch
And no one can find two little pumpkins
That will ever exactly match.

And no two little pumpkins
Will ever be the same,
Even if they carry
The same last pumpkin name.

Sigmund A. Boloz

WORK IN PROGRESS

We are all works in progress
Never really complete,
Changed evermore
By each day that we meet.

We are all simple sketches
Of a more complex design,
And we are all works in progress
Being built line by line.

We are the loosely laid plans
Of our time in space,
We are part of a larger work in progress
Called the human race.

AUTUMN TIME

Evenings seem shorter.
Breezes blow cold.
A time for mittens
And warm hands to hold.

Long strolls through the orchard,
A colorful blend,
As the last ripe apples beg picking
And young saplings bend.

Rustling, warm-colored leaves
Struggle to be free,
Then settle gently upon one another
All about me.

A season of harvest,
Another Autumn day,
As thoughts of pie and cider
Flood my way.

Geese wing southward.
Scarecrows shiver in the early frost,
As I wander among brown grasses
In moments easily lost

On long strolls through the orchard,
A colorful blend,
As the last ripe apples beg picking
And young saplings bend.

A HOME IS A HOUSE

A home
is a house
where you are loved,

A house
is where people
live,

So, the real difference
between
these two little words

Is
the love
that people give.

FLIES

Flies, flies, flies
Each with two wings
And those big, bulging eyes.
Buzzing around whatever I eat,
Or other smelly things
Like my big, two feet.
Flies, flies, flies,
Just one little prize
Sit there still...
SPLAT!

SO PLAIN FOR ALL TO SEE

It always starts on a Sunday with a series of low whines and begs,
And it continues on into the morning with a gentle tremble in her legs.

"I don't think I should go today.
I just don't feel very well.
I don't think I'll make it,
Past the first recess bell.
I just don't know what's wrong with me.
Something's just driving me mad.
I don't feel like school today.
This time, I'm really bad!"

Each day it is the same, as sick as she can be,
Young daughter is ailing, so plain for all to see.

"Oh, it seems to start in my stomach,
And it works it's way into my head,
But I'm sure I'll feel much better,
After another day in bed.
I feel kinda faint, you know.
There's this echo in my head!
I'm sure I'm really sick this time!
I can't understand what you've said!"

Oh, it is her stomach on Mondays, or her legs ache really bad,
And on Tuesdays and Wednesdays, it's probably something she has had.

"Mom, do we have any cough drops?
Anything for this running nose?
Oh, I do hope I'm near the restroom,
When my lunch up and goes!
I've got this problem with my ankle!
It would benefit from a rest!
And what's this spot on my arm?
Could chicken pox be next!"

By Thursdays its usually the flu, or at least a severe sore throat for sure.
But by mysterious Friday afternoons, there's always some miraculous cure.

And every day a mother's hug, a kiss, and send her on her way,
And somehow poor little daughter, will survive another day.
A prescription of sympathy, of love, a caring mother is no fool,
So plain for all to see, for poor daughter's just... allergic to school.

THE WITCH'S SNACK

Boiling,boiling,
Boiling pot.
Boiling, boiling
Nice and hot.

Green and yellow,
Purple and black,
Snakes and spiders
For my snack.

Frogs and slime,
Flies and bats,
Fish and mice
For my cat.

Boiling, boiling,
Boiling pot.
Boiling, boiling
Nice and hot.

CHRISTMAS COOKIES

Christmas is just hours away,
And it's getting awfully late.
Hurry, and bring out some milk and cookies
And place them upon Papa's plate.

For Christmas is just hours away
And before you know it he'll be here,
Driving his sparkling, spangled sleigh
With those tiny, tasseled reindeer.

And when he comes a draggin' in,
Shaking his old, tired back,
He'll probably be carrying a ponderous load,
Several mighty heavy sacks

Full of fun and fancy favors
And lots of exciting toys,
For gramps and grans and moms and dads
And for all the girls and boys.

And when he's done his work,
He may want to rest his weary feet,
To sit in front of my television for a spell
And chew on some sweet and tasty treats.

Perhaps he'll sit somewhere by the Christmas tree
Or in Papa's soft, well-used chair,
And, so he might even appreciate some milk and cookies
While he goes on relaxing there.

And next Christmas while he writes his lists
And checks notes about his long and exhausting trip,
He just might be considering some little extra things
For those who remembered his favorite chocolate chips.

So you kids just go and run along now
Cause Christmas is just hours away
And just drop the milk and cookies next to my well-worn chair
And I promise that the they will eaten before the holiday.

I'M A CITY KID

What do I know about cows?
I suspect they go, "MOO!"
And that's about it.
I'd tell you more if I knew.

But I'm a city kid.
What can I say.
I haven't met too many cows
Along the way.

Mostly it's been dogs
And pigeons and cats
A few parakeets in cages
And that's about that.

The only real cows
That I think I've ever seen
Were on the front cover
Of some nature magazine.

As far as I'm concerned,
Milk comes from a can,
Squeezed into the container
By the local grocery man.

Hey, I'm a city kid.
What can I say.
I just don't meet many cows
On the streets everyday.

ARE WE THERE YET?

Are we there yet?
How long will this take?
I've got nothing to do
And nothing to make!

This is BOOOORING!
And I'm getting mad!
I think I've done more sitting
Than anyone else has ever had.

I've been sitting so long
That my butt's starting to hurt.
And I can't open the window
Cause I might let in some dirt.

I've got no one to talk to.
Nobody wants to play.
Have I got to sit in this seat
For the rest of the day?

Are we there yet?
How many miles did we make?
How many more hours
Is this trip going to take?

Come on, take the short cut
Will you please dad,
I'm BORED to death
And I'm getting mad!

Are we there yet?
How long will this take?
I've got nothing to do
And nothing to make!

This is BOOOORING!

GOD'S LITTLEST ANGELS

When little children are in trouble
There is no reason to fear
For God's littlest angels
Are always flying near.

Whenever children have fallen
Or are having a terrible day
God's littlest angels will look over them
And take their bad thoughts away.

For the angels are always close by,
Perhaps standing by their side
Ready to hold and to protect them
Until they are satisfied

That a child is no longer in danger,
Is no longer in need
And then each littlest angel
Is once again freed

To look for other little children
Who have fallen along the way
And who have stopped for a moment
Bowed their heads to pray

So don't ever worry a little child
For the angels will be there
Whenever children are in need of comfort
Whenever they need someone to care

So if a child has fallen
Or has had a miserable day,
Tell them to call the littlest angels
To help take the bad thoughts away.

CAN I READ?

I can so read,
Just ask my dad.
He says that I'm the best four year reader
That he has ever had.

I take him to the library
Several times a week.
And I make sure that I remind him
To be quiet when we speak.

I help him check out books
That I think he might need
And I willingly turn the pages
When he wants to read.

I sit in his lap
To remind him to stay on task
And when he doesn't understand the story
I answer every question he might need to ask.

I help him predict the words
If the words start getting hard.
Then when it's time to go home,
He even borrows my library card

Can I read? That's the craziest question
That I have ever heard
I read lots of books
I just don't know all the words.

THE HAIRCUT

You shouldn't have asked her.
You should have listen to what your dad said
Before you asked your sister
To trim those shaggy hairs upon your head.

For she started at the front end
And headed straight up toward the back
Leaving not a single hair standing
In that one-inch-wide track

"BrrrrrrrRRRrr," groaned the electric clippers
" Ooops!" Your sister did sigh.
" What's wrong?" you asked, when your mother lamented
" Oh, you poor little guy!"

So, next time you might listen
To what your mom and dad have said,
" Clippers are not toys
When your sister puts them to your head."
Next time you might listen
Before you let your sister cut your hair
Or at least have the sense to make sure
That she doesn't start cutting there.

Or you can go ahead and wear that silly cap again
To cover up her next mistake
To hide that funny bald spot
For as long as it might take.

New Poetry for Children [ Top ]

PAPER, ROCK, SCISSORS BOO!
(A poem for two voices)

Two ghosts were playing
a game today,
“ Paper, rock, scissors!”
I heard them say.

They pounded their fists
In just this way,
“ Paper, rock, scissors!”
I heard them say.

They screamed and moaned
As is their way,
“ Paper, rock, scissors!”
I heard them say.

“Paper, rock, scissors!”
“ Paper, rock, scissors!”
“ Paper, rock, scissors!”
Boo!

THE WALKING REFRIGERATOR

The cake was delicious,
The pie, mighty good,
And the pudding, so creamy
That I ate faster than I should.

The watermelon was succulent,
The ice cream, a delight,
And whipped cream, so smooth
That I ate it all night.

And then come the morning,
When mom witnessed my gluttony,
Too late to say,"Out of the refrigerator,"
Cause the refrigerator was me.

New Poetry for Educators [ Top ]

CONSIDER THE CHILDREN

Consider the children, nearest to you,
about whom you worry. Can we continue to brood only
about bell schedules,
the next grade,
the next test?
What will these children, nearest to you,
about whom you worry, need to be like ten years from now?
These children, nearest to you,
about whom you worry, depend on you, and me,
to prepare their literate paths,
to ready them with dignity,
excellence, and equity
for the world in which they will live.
Can we continue to speak to only ourselves,
to do what we do, only because we always have?
Consider the children, nearest to you,
about whom you worry.
Our standards cannot remain stagnant.
We cannot continue to operate on a 1950's mentality of literacy,
to thirst with Cadillac appetite on a Volkswagen budget,
where attendance is mandatory but learning is optional.
Consider the children, nearest to you,
about whom you worry. The time is right now to change,
to get off the dead horse,
to do the right things,
to find the right things to do.
Consider the children, nearest to you,
about whom you worry. Let us then lead with our best foot,
keep teaching simple yet passionate,
keep learning rigorous yet relevant,
to each child,
to every child, nearest to us,
about whom we worry.
Can we continue to brood only
about bell schedules,
the next grade,
the next test?
Consider the children, nearest to you,
about whom you worry.

BASIC COMMITMENTS

We all owe this to another,
To be the best that we can,
To learn from our teaching,
To be thoughtful as we plan,

To be consistent in the quality
In every endeavor we undertake,
To be, above all else, professional
In the decisions that we make,

To share our knowledge with all others,
To beg others enter our door,
To share and assist one another,
To take care of ourselves a little more,

To contribute to our personal learning,
By seeking whatever answers we might need,
And finally, to be the most enthusiastic model,
To read and to read and to read.

WHO WILL?

Who will accept the opportunity,
The challenge that is laid,
The responsibility given
For the adjustments to be made?

Who will steer the course,
Illuminate the way,
Who will people the gates
Stand sentry night and day?

Who will offer the sympathetic ear,
Donate the compassionate heart,
Support genuine reflection,
Practice this most empowering art?

Who will champion their causes,
Step out into the lead,
And then once planted,
Who will teach them how to read?

For aren't they all our own children,
Those who answer to our bell?
And if teachers of reading do not step forward,
Then who will teach them well?

THE TEACHING TREE

Stand tall for children.
Spread your offshoots wide,
As you shelter, those emerging readers, from within
The shadows you provide.

Anchor your roots deeply,
So that readers may do the same.
Stretch your hopeful, searching branches
Extending our influence and domain.

Stand tall for the children,
Casting your protective literate canopy,
Always reaching, teaching skyward
As the beloved, teaching tree.

THE GREATEST SPORT

Reading is not a race
But a life-long event,
Not measured in laps
But in enlightenment.

Reading is not a sprint
To the end of periods or of years,
But the fulfillment of self
By of traversing frontiers.

Reading is not a chase
But a search of sorts,
A life-long event,
And the greatest of sports.

WE NEVER KNOW

We never know within our teaching
Which reading lives we are really reaching,
Or which lives we may touch today
By some simple comment we may say.

We never know within our teaching
Which reading lives we are really reaching,
Which lives are ripest, most ready to rearrange,
Or which are best prepared for chance.

We never know within our teaching
Which reading lives we are really reaching,
Which children are truly, clearly there,
Or which beliefs brew beneath each stare.

We never know within our teaching
Which reading lives we are really reaching,
Which crippling doubts each life embraces,
Or which dreams hide behind blank stares and faces.

We never know within our teaching
Which reading lives we are really reaching,
So, therefore;
We must teach . . .
To reach them all.

BE BRAVE ENOUGH

Be brave enough
to love and to be loved,
to listen, to guide and to excel.
Be brave enough
to respect and to be respected,
to learn and to use what you know well.

Be brave enough
to laugh and to forgive,
to be counted and to belong.
Be brave enough
to speak up, to stand up and to step up.
Be brave enough
to touch the lives of children,
in only the most meaningful ways.
Be brave enough
to choose to be a teacher of reading
for the rest of your days.

WORKERS, HARD WORKERS

Not simple hirelings,
Compensated to serve.
Not domestics, who get
Only what they deserve.

But workers, hard workers,
Laboring none-the-less,
Striving and sweating
To guarantee success.

Not menial laborers, employees,
who profit by toil,
Not unskilled, minimum-wage earners scraping by
on scraping the soil.

But workers, hard workers,
Always struggling none-the-less,
Grappling and straining
To ensure each child's progress.

Quite a profession,
This teaching field,
Full of rocks, boulders
And stones concealed.

But full of professionals
Enablers of distinctive dreams,
Magicians, facilitators,
And directors of genius-like themes.

But most of all, workers,
Hard workers, yes, indeed,
Exceptionally hard workers
Who teach our children to read.

THE TOUGHEST JOB, A READING TEACHER'S JOB

Some teachers might not want
such a child in their day,
for he was always underfoot,
forever in their way.
Many might even see him,
as best viewed from afar,
at any point within the school
farthest from anywhere that the teachers are.

For this is the type of child
who some teachers might wish would go away,
a troublemaker with far too much energy
to unlease out at play.

But in our lived-reality as reading teachers,
dropped deep within our souls,
we must remember why we became teachers of reading
as our original, primary goal.

For this is exactly the type of child
that reading teachers should want in their day
for he can be under their supportive influence,
forever within their positive sway.
And every child is our child,
A child who should never be viewed from afar,
rather, close, at some point within your classroom,
closet to anywhere that we teachers currently are.

The type of child who we teachers
should wish would stay,
an emergent reader with energy that could be redirected
within a good teacher's sway.

For we are also the ones who need him,
And we would benefit from his stay,
For he would remind us why we, teachers of reading,
Are called to teach every day.

Classic Poetry for Educators [ Top ]

THE TRUE READING WARS

I have watched the eyes of children who are having difficulty learning to read, and I have come to the realization that the teaching of reading has a critical, life-shaping importance to each child’s emotional being. Reading can be taught in ways that are sensible and sensitive, or punitive and destructive. Reading can be taught in ways that make children feel confident, competent, and capable, that encourage children’s self-motivation to seek new discoveries, and that cause children to be life-long readers. However; reading also can be taught in ways that destroy a child’s self-image, which makes otherwise intelligent children feel stupid, helpless, and powerless; that alienate them and make them bitterly, openly hostile; and that deprive children of the emotional foundation so essential to healthy development. And yet we know that how children think of themselves will dictate whether more learning is urged or whether future learning seems next to impossible — whether children will become enamored of the printed word or engage in a war against reading.

CONSIDER THE CHILDREN

One Mind At A Time
inspired by Armida G. Bittner

Perhaps it is when I am most tired
that I tend to forget that each child matters,
regardless of haircut, lice, or home circumstance.

Perhaps it is when I am most tired
that I tend to forget that each child matters,
that these children are not here
to meet my requirements;
rather, that I am here to meet theirs,
one child, one face,
one set of eyes, one mind at a time.

Perhaps it is when I am most tired
that I tend to forget that I also matter,
and that while I am only one person,
that I am, still one person,
an agent of change,
essential,
powerful,
capable of influencing one reader’s world.

Perhaps it is when I am most tired
that I should reach inside and summon the courage to remember
that each of us must also matter to the other,
regardless of haircut, lice, or home circumstance,
one person, one face,
one set of eyes, one mind at a time.

STARTING OVER

All educators have had at least one experience of starting a career in a new school. We have had the experience of not knowing exactly what to expect, of not understanding the rules-- written or unwritten-- and of not recognizing whom to trust and whom to avoid. There is little strength in starting over when it is not your choice. There is little effectiveness in bridging from the obscure to the unknown. Few principals would choose to face each and every year with an entirely new staff. Few teachers would wish to begin each and every year in a new classroom, in a new school, with unknown materials and unclear procedures.

Why, then, do we not question the effectiveness of asking most students to face each and every year with a new teacher?

ORDINARY TEACHERS

It takes the courage of an ordinary teacher to dig ever deeper,
to live through the difficult, the complex and the controversial
challenges, dilemmas, and frustrations of their everyday lives
and yet to keep searching.

It takes the courage of an ordinary teacher to dig ever deeper,
to endure the immeasurable inventory of reforms,
the newest fashionable curricula, the broken promises of many educational solutions,
the countless costly silver bullets, the endless list of easy answers
and yet to keep searching.

It takes the courage of an ordinary teacher to dig ever deeper,
to be pushed to the limit of human endurance
by unimportant and irrelevant workshops,
by information and paperwork overload,
by the flood of tests and standards,
by curriculum committees and team meetings,
by the ever shrinking clock that leaves no time to care
and yet to keep searching.

It takes the courage of an ordinary teacher to dig ever deeper,
to endure the troublesome parents, the troubled children,
To outlast the frustrating days that come too often
in the real world, in real school, in real classrooms
and yet to keep searching.

It takes the courage of an ordinary teacher to dig ever deeper,
to serve so many masters
and yet to strive to be purposeful and thoughtful,
to be excited by change,
to find joy even in the light of one student’s eyes
and to remember to pay attention
to the fundamental reason that they went into teaching
-- the students and the learning
and yet to keep searching.

Yes, it takes the courage of an ordinary teacher to dig ever deeper,
the extraordinary courage of an ordinary teacher.