Day 133 - Happy Birthday

Grandpa

More gratitude with every passing year

for a man with always an open ear.

So many walkings and stories you’ve told.

So many moments and memories we’ve shared.

Here’s to a hero who for thanks never asks.

An angel guarded childhood, performs a million tasks.

Day 114-132 Teachers

-Mrs McGhee-

I, side proposition,

present three main contentions.

First, you filled my brain

with history’s sordid truths.

To light this world’s flaws

and show me what to change

Second, you equipped my mind

to sharpen thoughts on written stones

and fire them in all directions

no matter whom you fear to strike

Third, you freed my head.

Made sure I knew to laugh,

and share a meal with friends

despite the overwhelming ills.

To conclude, you ignited my soul

to burn with passion for change.

I vow to honour you and your efforts

by spreading your knowledge and wisdom beyond.

-Mr Janz-

I will always miss our afternoons,

chats about the literary greats.

It was as if they sat in the room

such insights did you share.

Speaking of books,

how many have  you recommended

that I have grown to cherish as favourites?

An enslaved negro woman hitchhiking across     the universe to find a racing dog.

Speaking of passion,

(there, that one’s more your style)

you’ve nourished my adoration

for the read and written word.

My academic and creative minds

have grown while in your care.

So as I segueway to the rest of life

I can’t forget to thank you

for showing me the way to knowledge.

-Proz-

I thought I had a voice

but it was of another kind.

My admiration holds no bounds

for the beauty of a note.

They’ve always been just shapes upon a page

just dark ink bled on paper.

But now I don’t just hear the voice of God

I finally join the chorus

and it’s you I have to thank.

So thank you

for making me a songbird,

singing in the rain that

you’re nobody till somebody shows you

all you need is a song.

-Mme Bigras-

C’est grace à vous, Madame,

que j’ai decouvert la beauté

de la langue que j’adore, français.

C’est grace à vous, Madame,

que mon esprit a grandi comme petite fleur

et les racines de passion se trouvent dans ma    couer.

C’est vraiment grace à vous, Madame,

que je peut voir la monde

aux yeux de vos artistes.

Je peut lire leurs histories,

je peut écouter leurs chansons

je peut partager leurs vies.

Merci Beaucoup, Madame

pour tous

qui est grâce à vous.

-Rosemary-

Too many people

would call themselves a hero.

Too many people

have never earned the title

Too many people

shy away from recognition.

Too many people

never hear what they rightfully should.

Too many people

forget about those doing invisible work.

Too many people

I’m sure don’t even know your name.

Too many people

ignore the smile that your wear.

Too many people

miss the kindness that you share.

-Ms Durante-

The most important corner

in this most precious school

is protected by a saint.

Your phone may ring

a voice may sing

but you will keep the swing

and achieve it all.

A million little tasks

accumulate en masse.

But you willingly tackle

your job like a jackel

and still always crackle

with lovable laughter

and shine

with a shimmering smile.

-Ms McMillan-

The most important corner

in this most precious school

is protected by a saint.

Your phone may ring

a voice may sing

but you will keep the swing

and achieve it all.

A million little tasks

accumulate en masse.

But you willingly tackle

your job like a jackel

and still always crackle

with lovable laughter

and shine

with a shimmering smile.

-Ms Quackenbush-

A hero hidden behind a counter.

The glue that binds each corner of the school.

Searching for a name you always find.

Keeper of the bank, guardian of the corner         offices.

A goddess architect who plans the schemes

and helps the dreams

materialise.

-Monte-

Director of two shows

director of my passion.

In my arms I held a dream

which you watered into a scheme.

I’d never known what acting really was

but you showed me what it does:

inspires, teacher, entertains,

removes societal stains.

From a defender of vegetables.

to a lovesick Ohio boy,

or a tough soldiers,

I’ll always remember the roles,

the countless crafted souls.

But you I’ll remember most.

-Cave-

Tall, dark, and random,

a woman for the record books.

One of a kind

and kinder than any one.

You’ve taught me so much.

First, about acting,

second, surrounding social conscience

next, relating to right and just

finally, pertaining to purposeful life.

You live with zest,

your tongue spreads jest,

and your mind knows best.

I am inspired by your brilliance

your compassion and your wit.

So here it is, it has been writ.

Cava Flav stay Solid, you Rock.

-Ms Hunt-

These words are my creation

but you, my inspiration.

You’ve helped extract them from my pen

and now they return to you.

From back dark corners of my mind

through dim, firelit hallways

into the sunbright foyer,

where sits a fountain of ink

in which my words revel to swim.

The words that stand attention

at the sound of your name

(honour, humour, talent, brilliance)

form a chain that binds the truth

of how wonderful you are.

-Ms Jelena-

I may be good with languages

but Math is one I’m not.

You made it less unbearable

when equations and I fought.

Your patience with distraction

was a blessing all last year.

Putting up with my inaction

when my sanity was risked.

Your sense of humour was a blast.

I always love a laugh,

so though I’m not a fan of Math

I looked forward to your class.

Thank you for your teachings

those many afternoons

not only about numbers,

but also the three slap rule.

-Ms Brown-

Grade 8 English lacked all frowns

with a rockin’ teacher named Ms. Brown.

Grade 10 Birdie was a blast

a year spent in a year gone past.

Grade 12 Grease, an honour to be in

kept in line by your unique discipline.

Collected memories of many random things

like suggesting ‘Happy Birthday’ when I didn’t    want to sing.

A personality that fills the school

a wicked mad Aussie, anything but fool.

So here’s a cheers to all the years

and more to come I hope.

-Ms Dempster-

Ms Tracy Dempster, strong and true

we would have been screwed if we hadn’t had you

The fetcher of bags and bags of props

Those fab pink swords for solid rocks

The keeper of clothes on the musical’s racks

(“Grease” too literal on shirts and slacks)

Also, of course, your dry sharp wit

Caused a few frights before I caught the swing of it

Please don’t dare change, you’re one of a kind

I hope I’ve stamped your memory as you have mine.

-Ms Waldner-

A merge of passions I fervently admire.

You cause reactions on the stage,

and choreograph chemicals, brilliant and sage.

The art of science, the science of art.

Diversity is proof of purest smarts.

Whether I was memorising chemical symbols

or leaping and diving to find my place

I could always feel the shadow of your mind

protecting me from error

unless it was the helpful kind.

I’m richer for learning all you have taught

and better and balancing body and thought.

-Ms Kluth-

An angel hidden in the back.

A kind, sweet woman, counted on.

The warmth in the room

must spread from your heart.

The brightness of the light

from your permanent smile.

The wall paper printed

with a menagerie of cats.

The promise of laughter

lurks in the shop.

Please keep your great spirit

don’t let it stop.

-Mrs Bushman-

There is no space left in my soul

for any more pride

to be graduating from your school.

It seems you’ve found your calling

a gift your mind controls

which makes you top the best.

Despite the board’s mistakes

the lack of buildings and space

this school is great and strong.

That’s thanks to people like you

people who work and toil to build it

to make it of heavenly stock.

So keep it up and stay as true

all pride in you is through and through.

-Mr Wingerak-

A great wise man

I’ve known for many years.

From the duck I don’t remember

to an Elphinstone farewell,

you’ve been present my whole journey.

You teach inside a classroom

but more so out in the world.

For you I’ve learned to think

to question even printed ink.

I am prepared to sprint through life

but know the value of a walk

and a booming, shameless laugh.

A mentor, humble, you may not even know

the gift that you posess.

But here I am to call you

the smartest one who most will ever know.

-Ms Kobabe-

I’ve searched so long for an image

to encapsulate your soul.

I’ve played around with angel,

since your brilliance soars with clouds.

I’ve compared you to a horse,

majestic and loyal, fierce and free.

I’ve seen in you a mother,

protecting a guiding to shared success.

I cannot settle just on one

you are not that easily containable,

which is what I most admire.

I’ve found a kindred spirit

and I swear to never let her go.

Day 113 Father's Day

-For Dad-
Some people say I look like you
but I so hope I act like you
I pray that I find bravery
when life is piled high with strife.

I pray that I will never cease
learning how to fight for peace
from you, the man who mastered
the art of breaking rules.

Finally I hope to hell
(and also to the heights of heaven)
that I will always be able to be
my father's son.

Days 106-112 Gifts

A few couplets I wrote as part of my IB class' gift to our teachers.

Ms Buljan

In every inch of that tall frame

is knowledge, wisdom, nothing lame

Ms Jelena

Your sense of humour helps us fly

When drawing graphs and using pi

Mme. Bigras

Ta joie toujours nous infecter

une sourire comme le brillant soleil

Mme Cote

C'est tout le monde qui vous adore

Chaque moment nous demandons <<encore>>

Mr Janz

our fearless leader through it all

a timeless god who'll never fall

  

Kobabers

inside our minds you sculpted language wise

we wont' find one like you with million tries

Days 100-105

My Mum and I took a trip to Costa Rica, and so much of what we saw was enormously inspiring. In fact, I've been looking forwawrd to the poems from this trip since I first started the project. So, without any more of this bland introduction, here are the ones that I'm ready to share.

All over the place, right in the middle of cities, are these elaborate, beautiful cemetaries and I found myself struck by the fact that they don't hide death the way we do, with our cemetaries incognito on the outskirts of the suburbs.

-Silent Sunday-
Two marble angels guard the gate.
Soldiers serving God,
they carry lambs to freedom.

Worn white paint
scraped by souls
gripping tight during flight
never looking down,
or looking back,
only up, at eternity.

Fiercely posed, sharply armed
defending Dios' domain.
Any black from sin
must remain outside
and stare through the bars
of the gate,
practicing burning
on the angel's flaming spears.

A forest of stone crosses
and tiled tombs.
Bright colours, not hiding.
Mingle with the departed.
If we want to remember their lives,
we must not ignore their deaths.

-I Stand and Breathe Fresh Sun-
The vine embraces wire,
avoids the barbs with care.
The wire welcomes warmth
a stranglehold with life.

The fernleaf scrapes tough wall
rishing in warm wind.
The wall lets silent groans
it aches, would die for life.

The billboard sprouts from grass
which reaches skyskrape tall.
The grass bows low at wind's
ovation: praise of life.

I stand and breathe fresh sun
my universe is green.
The ground surrounds my toes:
deep home for end of life.

-The Butterfly Man Spoke No English-
The butterfly man spoke no English.
I understood his laughter nonetheless.
So many made temporary homes of hands and arms.
Then wings skittered to life and lifted off.
Serene blues, natural greens, toxic reds.
"Come here baby," the only words that I knew.
A small new girl with a crumpled wing.
He  pinched her legs and plucked at the wing.
She fell.
She writhed on the ground.
But for her tiny voice, I thought I would her shrieks.
He picked her up and tried his tricks again.
I watched him with more focus.
He was not pinching, but stretching,
he was not plucking, but caressing.
She fluttered, she flapped, she flew.
The butterfly man spoke no English
but when that beauty began her second life
I understood his laughter nonetheless.

-Knowing Land-
I float along staring out
at thriving hills green as life.

The thickest cloak ever grown
keeps warm unseen souls within.

While here I sleep not in beds
but underneath ancient leaves.

Have liquid dreams, swimming trees
and wish I knew knowing land.

-On the Other Side of the Hill-
Such tiny legs.
Flailing, grabbing, tugging, struggling.
A pair of withered and wet wings.
Sticky with fluid, pain, and hope.

What she aches for is life
to flap her butter wings.

It won't come easy.
But like a pirate sailing on blood.

Terror's hand on the wheel,
agony's breath in the sail.

A vicious fight will come.
Against death's cruelty sharpened claws.

She may not win
since so many parish.

Even if she fights the hardest,
even if she beats back death.

He may still claim her from exhaustion
for this is a war of attrition.

However, there is a chance of life
A chance that her wing will open.

Then she will take flight
only to climb a grand hill,

where she will face death's army.

-Fireflies-
A million little lights.
Delicate white flicker
that tips the unlit air
to empty out the ink
and bare Earth`s quiet shape.

I detect a faint ruft,
a whispered secret
wafting up the sky
gently lifting truth,
illuminated by
a million little lights.

Day 97 - Happy Birthday

In the Beginning
Here we stand,
on the edge of a new life.
Holding hands,
as we look into forever.

A promised land,
filled with a million tomorrows.
Bold and grand,
shining with your light.

Never bland,
I promise bouquets of excitement.
Like grains of sand,
we are part of a brilliant world.

It must be planned,
this union, you and I.
A perfect band,
our harmonies unite.

Here we stand,
ready to begin our life.
Holding hands,
for the start that never ends.

Day 96 - Ah the good old days

I was reading through the whole blog looking for poems to read at a Slam I'm performing at on Monday and as I read my extreme panicking about being a day or two behind I laughed. You know the kind of laughter that almost turns into crying without you noticing? Yeah, it was that. Well... not really, I didn't cry, but I did roll my eyes a lot because now I'm... well.. I don't even know how many days behind. Anyway here's a poem inspired by Beyonce because that's what I'm listening to right now.

-The Revolution-
Break all the rules
Knock down the walls
This is a revolution.

Raise a hand
and your voice.
Look in my eyes
and hear my sighs.
This is a revolution.

See my smile
know that I love you.
Never doubt,
never cry,
forever mine,
This is a revolution.