Okay, I was wrong (one for the list!!!). My understanding of what Beatnik meant was not quite right. Chocolate, coffee and poetry does not a Beatnik make (click here for a definition). So call it what you will, my favorite things this week are reminiscent of coffee shops, black-turtle-neck-beret-wearing artists, and cryptic poetry readings. …
It’s Sunday evening. I want to post a mentor text, but my brain, she be empty. I tumble through my thoughts, flip through my mental card catalogue, scroll through my Twitter feed, and… nothing. And then I remember–books! I read books, own books, and display said books in an easy-access shelving unit otherwise known as…
Hope Hope is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul, And sings the tune–without the words, And never stops at all, And sweetest in the gale is heard; And sore must be the storm That could abash the little bird That kept so many warm. I’ve heard it in the chillest land, And…
I am tired today. Foot-dragging, eyes-drooping, body-fighting-every-step-of-the-way tired. This tired makes me feel like I’d prefer each one of my chicken-heads to be silent and do all of their work. I know a serious lack of realism when I see it, so I tried. The end of first period came, the chillins’ were working, and…
Today we started on some poetry. My theory is that kids like my little muffin-heads should love poetry since it breaks all the rules. Why hit them with rhyme and meter and stanzas when they can just go hog-wild and make stuff up for once in their lives? For this reason, I assign Found Poems…
