Thoughts

I submitted this poem awhile ago for consideration in a poetry magazine. It was denied. I have submitted several now, and although none have been accepted, I will try again! I believe the magazine favors free verse poetry. This poem is not free verse poetry. It is called Everyman. I once heard someone sigh That you shouldn’t waste your time That a pallor weighs the idle Down with languid lack of rhyme This speaker must have known What men of burden do That the urgent call of days Blurs once vivid dreams Out of real and rounded view Fits us into hollowed shells Of every tree On every hill In every wintry clime I heard a man once stress That extremes will shorten lives That four disharmonious humors Breed a man with stingy drives This medic must have felt What practice leads men to That a need to breach frontiers Stirs once tepid streams Into rivers surging new Thrusts us out of swallowed hells From bended knee From broken will Where precious little thrives ...

Following is an idealistic picture of teacher development over years of teaching, as told using the metaphor of an ocean journey. Were the school year an ocean, and each day a wave, then the end of the year has in the past produced swells that can carry one away. As one embarks from shore on the first day of school, that one looks out onto the blue, glass-like waters and sees calm days ahead: students are focused, paperwork is in order, and expectations are high. Such one places confident grip at the helm of the classroom and peers into a hopeful future. Still, the waters grow rough rather quickly. A lack of experience fosters growing surges in the waters as uncertainty about curriculum leads to equal uncertainty about the value of what is being taught. Clouds descend onto a bright-lit day to dim one's sunny outlook. Then, by years' end, confidence returns at having navigated the classes through the waves onto the opposing shore. The sun returns, but the intensity of the wa...