Fare Thee Well

It's been a year unlike the years
We've ever known before;
Set adrift by changing tides -
Normal? - A distant shore.
The rules that filled our Saintly sails,
Temperamental winds at best,
Made ev'ry course correction hard,
Put our mettle to the test.
Still, you gripped the rigging tight,
Held fast with fortitude;
Adapted to the elements,
Youthful spirit thus imbued.
Exhausted from exertion,
Whether class or stage or court,
You've traversed the 7th sea
And found refuge in summer's port.

Somethings I hope you learned this year,
Nautical motif aside:
Integrity is paramount,
It works each time it's tried.
A perfect score is meaningless
If you've cheated, stolen, lied.
Reflection is a mighty tool
If honestly applied,
And giving up on oneself
Is opportunity denied.

Like Ponyboy, lean on your friends;
Make new ones, keep the old.
When life offers you Right or Wrong,
Have the courage to Stay Gold.
Should you stray (I hope you won't)
If things are nothing like you've dreamed,
Remember, even the worst of us - 
Ebenezer - was redeemed.
Find solace in the little things; 
The world is yours to form.
Leon showed us a better way:
Be grateful and forgiving and warm.
Jin learned self-acceptance,
Monkey King was born of stone.
When other mocked his righteous path,
Wong stayed the course - his own.
Ender's life was not his own;
He left comfort for cold space.
He suffered lies (and persevered)
But found purpose in their place.
Five genres of literature
With plots widely disparate;
From their themes and characters,
Wise treasures to inherit.

After this topsy-turvy year
May your summer be the best,
Filled with friends and family,
Sunshine, good books, and rest.
I offer you, one final time,
As English 7 is now done:
No matter where your future leads -
Work hard. Get better. Have fun.

- Mr Wilson, 2021

The End of a Crazy Year From a Distance

May you face, intrepid, your next challenge.

May you step, confident, upon novel shore.

For as long as we're here, should you need a keen ear,

Please know you are welcome at my door. 

May your summer be rife with adventure.

May your reading breed new thoughts galore.

May the next time we meet be a reunion complete

with more happiness than ever before.

© Mr. Wilson, 2020

Opening Day 2019

in which I present classroom philosophy and encourage all the mistakes as opportunities and provide a clue to the first puzzle of the year...

Greetings and salutations!
Welcome to a brand new year.
You may have mixed feelings,
But I’m really glad you’re here.

English 7 is a sandbox,
Mr. Wilson is my name.
We’ll treat our classmates with respect
And learning quite the same.

Let’s dive into the deep end
Unafraid of getting wetter,
And let’s make errors and mistakes
In pursuit of getting better.

Let’s take chances, accept the stakes,
And risk an infrequent zero.
If we keep our eyes Endgame-bound,
We all emerge in May the hero.

Along the way we’ll read good books,
Study stories, words, and grammar,
And polish up our writing until
It shines with proper glamour.

Some of this work will come easy;
Existing skill may smooth some nights,
But it’s the days that seem a struggle
That help you reach new heights.

Let’s PLAY and laugh and stretch and grow,
With full heart and clear head.
Here’s a puzzle to kick things off;
Find the syllabus and get it read.

© Mr. Wilson, 2019

Upon Rising to the Eighth Grade

Another year has come and gone, the end arrives so soon;
What started back in August, has reached its pinnacle near June.
We’ll wrap it up for summer and go our separate ways;
I hope you’ll take some meaning from the last 300 days.

The lessons of a class like this go beyond the printed page
And for the rest of your career, as a learner, set the stage.
I don’t just mean the grammar, or the vocab, or Wuzzle candy.
While those things are important, there are others perhaps more handy.

Each novel that we read this year offered a trait from which to glean
The basis of the humanity you forge when you’re a teen.
Leon’s is a cautionary tale: where the path of ignorance leads;
Jin’s acceptance of himself is how he ultimately succeeds.
Ender is mistreated, betrayed - but still a better future he dreamed.
Scrooge is proof that even a lifetime of mistakes can be redeemed.
Mattie’s strength and perseverance in the face of odds severe
Mirrors Pony’s understanding and intent to be sincere.
Education, acceptance, fortitude – tough lessons, but well-learned.
Generosity, persistence, empathy – how true relationships are earned.

Of course you should continue to strive for excellence;
Be mindful of how and what you write, speak with eloquence.
When the world treats you unfairly, show resolve in vast amounts.
It’s not enough to want success, it’s the work that really counts.

If you’re thinking, “Yes! Sixth and seventh graders…next year we’ve finally got ‘em!”
Remember to stay humble: one year you’re at the top, the next you’re back on bottom.
You’ve seen middle school from two perspectives; now it’s your turn to lead.
Be the class with character, in thought and word and deed.

Be kind to yourself when you make mistakes; you are a work in progress.
Aspire to lift up your classmates, even as you strive for your own success.
The years will take you down the hall, ‘cross the Quad, to parts unknown,
I hope the lessons of seventh grade will remain your cornerstone.

You are in charge of your effort, your demeanor, and your attitude.
You have been gifted with opportunity, and you are with free will imbued.
There’s just one more piece of advice to impart before my time with you is done.
You’ve heard it all year, may it guide you forward: work hard, get better, have fun.

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Revised 5/28/19

Flutter

An in-class writing assignment based on a picture from The Mysteries of Harris Burdick by Chris Van Allsburg.

            “What?! Where did she go?!”

            I felt an unfamiliar twinge of…something…oh, what do they call it? You know, that feeling when you know something is wrong, terribly wrong, but there is nothing you can do about it. That feeling you get when the world is closing in on you…and  you…afraid of small spaces.

            Panic. Yes, that’s it. Panic. It was gripping my throat, keeping me from calling out, keeping me from screaming.

            She had been there by my side for as long as I could remember. She was constant, like the sunrise, like the breeze. I would gaze upon her, in all of her splendor, relentlessly day and night and never once did she disapprove or cast aspersions. She remained by my side as a companion and friend for nearly twenty years.

            And then she was gone.

            I blinked and she was gone. Emptiness filled the space she had occupied just moments before. It crept into my heart. No, crept is the wrong word…the emptiness thrust its way into my heart, opening a gaping wound, threatening to swallow me from the inside.

            She had discussed freedom often over the past two decades as she gazed upon the heavily wooded mountains through the window. She had lilted on following the breeze over and into the forest, allowing a zephyr to take her to places of dream and wonder. She had wished for the end of monotony, for adventure far beyond the patterned, paper-thin existence she believed she was living. She dreamed of more, and she finally tore herself free from her decorated prison and floated into the vast unknown.

            And I decided I could not live without her. I would not subject myself to a world devoid of her presence and imagination. I would not live in two dimensions when there was something deeper and more meaningful out…there.

            I dreamed of more.  I dreamed of freedom. I dreamed of her.
            The panic subsided. A light flutter, as tissue gently pulled from a half-empty box or wrinkled parchment smoothed by eager hands. And then I was gone.

Ilustration from The Mysteries of Harris Burdick
by Chris Van Allsburg

The Funnel of Chaos

The first day of school means learning new things...like squeezing a student body and faculty into a space slightly too small for them all at once. Credit "funnel of chaos" to a new teacher witnessing this procedure for the first time.

Nine hundred bodies
spread across sunlit lawn;
Excitement only dampened

by dew and random yawn.

An early morning meeting,

after days of summer burn;

eager students and teachers

present, ready to learn.

A solemn pledge is taken

as stars and stripes are raised.

Request for wisdom, kindness,

the Lord invoked and praised.

At last, ceremony concluded,

School in session once more.

Now head to the auditorium -

welcome announcements galore.

Just give us a few minutes, please.
Nine hundred bodies. One door.

© Jeff Wilson, 2013

Book Spine Poetry

"The Tiger's Tale"

"Reversal of Fortune"

"Built from the Bottoms Up"

Jeff Wilson, 2013

Do as I Say, Not as I Do

A quick little ditty after today's advising activity, meant to inspire classmates to keep our campus looking respectable. The poster reads, "Pick up after yourselves, you little piggies!"

 

Irony

The classroom

stands empty;
Homeroom is done.
The doughnuts
are eaten;
C Day has begun.
The poster
half-finished;
Twelve little dears,
have left
behind remnants
for next-hour peers.
The message,
my darlings,
meant to inspire,
meant to ignite
a campus-wide fire...
The lesson,
apparent to
all but my crew -
Take pride in
your campus!
Oh...not us...you!

- Mr. Wilson 2/28/13

Student Poems

On January 15th, I blogged about a student assignment using Frost's "Nothing Gold Can Stay" and themes from The Outsiders as inspiration for original poems. Students were also to pair their poems with a visual element. Here is a sample of the art they created:

Truth in the Face of Loss

Upon the loss of a wonderful friend. Sometimes the knowing doesn't help the hurt.

This pew uncomfortable is,

however cushioned it may be.

The plan, unknowable, all His;

Slight solace to a heart heavy.

Conflicted so, the spirit cries,

bruised by mortal tragedy;

Pained queries hurled at Paradise -

returned to sender, quietly.

There is no ease in this release.

Cruel misery finds some relief

Knowing that her hurt has ceased.

Yet, bound we still by racking grief.

How do I sing to thee, O Lord,

of your greatness, through this pain?

This suffering seems no reward

to those still tethered to this plane.

Love left behind surrounding us,

Questions from the heart at hand…

Unanswered. Told it must be thus -

His Will we cannot understand.

Inconvenient. Be it so,

A truth we must humbly abide;

To live - to deal with all life’s woe.

To die – in Heaven’s grace reside.

And this, a chance to celebrate

Daughter, wife, and mother; His.

But even in her reborn state…

This pew uncomfortable is.

© Jeff Wilson, 2013

And...

I have games to play

and dragons to slay

and friends to make

and rules to break

and lessons to learn

and respect to earn

and a penchant for tomorrow.

I have chances to take

and giants to wake

and bills to pay

and truths to weigh

and calories to burn

and corners to turn

and a smile for every sorrow.

I have children to teach

and castles to breach

and flavors to marry

and secrets to bury

and tests to fail

and fences to scale

and a story of flesh and bone

I have mirrors to face

and monsters to chase

and poems to write

and doubts to smite

and choices to choose

and nothing to lose

and a journey to call my own

© Jeff Wilson, 2013

Working Title

Two more octaves about revision stemming from something completely other...

Tempered ink of first draft written
Has us anything but smitten
Dictionary and thesaurus
Scheme to underwhelm ‘n’ bore us
Hand besieged by manic pen
Yet, Truth demands we start again
Only thoughtful alteration
Can improve nascent creation

Foregone made is this decision
That we take up said revision
Strive to make each poor word better
Pay attention to the letter
Of the law that writers follow -
Misery in which we wallow –
Even when we think we’re done
A writer’s job has just begun

© Jeff Wilson, 2013 

Frost Inspired Revision-ary

I am trying to model a new assignment to use "Nothing Gold Can Stay" as the inspiration for an original poem. Students are to explore one of the themes we've discussed from The Outsiders with the poem's structure and rhyme scheme as their guide.

As it turns out, the assignment may end up being a lesson in revision. The first eight lines are the original "rough" draft. I abandoned it and came up with another eight lines that "sound" better to my ear. I'm looking forward to seeing how this lesson plays out over the next week.

Nothing Originally Written Can Stay

Full of naïve youth
We quest for thorough truth
But growing up so fast
Aside the search is cast
‘Til lifetime thence we learn
Truth we cannot spurn
And in our waning age
We earn Truth’s honest wage

Searching for direction
Seeking the right connection
To prove, somehow, our worth
For time spent on this earth
Our quest is incomplete
Until the One we meet
And even then won’t start
‘til we know and share our heart

© Jeff Wilson, 2013

The Strength It Takes

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For my friends, The Ilardos, whose light beats back the shadows...

To bear the cross

Of mortal fears;

To know a wish

Cannot change Will;

To show gratitude

Despite the tears;

To remain in motion

When all else is still.

To plow forward

Through perilous doubt;

To forge solid steel

Of a broken heart;

To dive straight in

When instinct cries, “Out!”

To live holy, wholly,

When life tears you apart.

To give of yourself

When nothing’s left to give -

To sense when that

Is all that is needed;

To beat back Death

In order to live;

To grow in defeat

And not be defeated.

To play your cards,

Even those poorly dealt;

Not lamenting losses,

but counting your blessings;

With the love of your God

And for each other heartfelt;

Your strength inspires…

Thanks for the lessons.

© Jeff Wilson, 2012

Helping Hand

Written to model an assignment: Write a poem based on the elements of horror as discussed in class using the unit's vocabulary. Boo-yah.

Marvin was an affable lad, a kind and friendly soul,

But quirky in a palpable way, not just a little droll.

When asked one day to lend a hand, he vehemently agreed;

Marvin was profoundly glad to help a friend in need.

A pragmatic plan ascended from his reason’s deepest trough;

He hoisted up his sharpest ax and cut his poor hand off.

He zealously presented it, for it was none too hefty;

He never understood why they, thereafter, called him “Lefty”.

In Response to a Friend's Raps

Definitely impressed when you put your skills to the test. So blessed. Words from your head that well up from your chest. All heart from the start. A man apart. Like Good Will Hunting, my boy's wicked smart.

Providence, please. You spit lyrical with ease. Yours words buzzing and swarming my mind like bees. All honey, no impurities. Keep rhyming for real until everyone agrees. You're no fad, hotter than 98 Degrees. A vision and a plan for all societies.

Upon Waking Up Free on 5/27/12

I do not fully understand what it takes to serve -
The dedication, willingness, sacrifice, and nerve.
I can make this post because you stood your own
and when you fell the good Lord called you home.
Posthumous appreciation and thanks to you today
God bless the fallen soldier. God bless the U.S.A.   

-Jeff Wilson, 2012

Spring Break

When a teacher's thoughts wander...

a glorious thing

this Break in Spring

when the flowers bloom

and the new birds sing

when the children sneeze

and whine their pleas,

“Less homework! Fewer tests!

More eeeease!”

a wonderful thing

this Break in Spring

when dreams of lying

on beaches are king

when lo! it is strange

to adjust to time change

an hour lost but eve’ning gained

a delightful thing

this Break in Spring

when the second-hand drags

and the minute-hand stings

the air a little sweeter

the desk a little neater

air-conditioner instead of a heater

a magnificent thing

this Break in Spring

when a phoenix season

hatches fledgling

refreshed and renewed

with energy imbued

and flaunting a new attitude

© Jeff Wilson, 2012

 

The Lost Verse from "The Cremation of Sam McGee" by Robert Service

in response to the 6th graders' homework tonight...

I was at first relieved that my eyes, not deceived,

            saw Sam McGee well and alive;

But my anger did surge and I fought off the urge

            to punch him with closed fingers five.

“You scoundrel, you lout!” I yelled with a shout

            over the din of the raging flame.

“You’re warm here within, with that dopey grin,

            while I toil…this isn’t a game!”

He looked awfully nervous, “You’ve done me a Service,”

            he said as his breath it did bloom.

“No need to be glum, Cap, my old chum.

            C’mon in! There’s plenty of room.

©Jeff Wilson, 2012

Prison and Pane

The light through the window splashes the office wall.

Photons crash against and melt into painted cinder block

revealing imperfections - bathing, softening, dreaming.

A siren’s song. A bright reminder of what lies without.

But, the vertical blinds cast shade

                        thick, cold bars against the warmth.

Segmenting the sea of sunshine,

                        the wall forced to realize its purpose.

A fantasy shattered by shards of shadow

                        A stark reminder of what lies within.

© Jeff Wilson, 2012