TALKING TO THE WALL
by
Lea Knowles
Contents
Page
School of Thought 4
Education 6
Invention 6
Teaching 6
Not a Proper Student 7
Almighty I.T. 8
Atishoo of Lies 9
It’ll be on the Telly 9
Bully 10
Heaven 11
Lunar Eclipse 11
End of an Earache 11
School Play 11
Left-handed 12
The Problem with Maths 12
Invalidity 13
My Alphabet Class 14
Sea Ice 16
Sound of Silence 16
Spaced Out 18
This Table’s Reserved 19
Untitled 20
Value Added 20
A New Term 23
Kipling 23
A Child’s Map 24
Dear Sir 25
Best Days of Your Life 26
Just Sitting 27
Homework Fairies 27
End in Sight 28
Can’t be Bothered 29
Girl with the Pony 30
Examination Blues 31
Height of Ambition 32
More
Ambition 33
Cinderella,
Superman and Miss 34
Ambition
3 36
The
Classroom 37
A Pupil Deflated 38
Recollections 38
School of Thought
overnight snow
pink glee on
young faces
snowman grows
and briefly smiles
bright bright sun
child of winter
trying so hard to please
abandoned
resolutions
pure new year
snows
decay and melt
away
power cut
early finish
darkness conceals our glee
still, no work
tomorrow
and friday
night
is chippy
night
what it all means
resurrecting hopes and dreams
this Easter day
church prayers
cushioned on
aching knees
praying for
quick deliverance
new flowers by the roadside
where it happened
this time last year
sixth of the
sixth sixty-six
just sat in a
classroom
on my special
day.
as darkness draws in
children play ferociously
this last day of summer
star gazing
the holidays
are over
but the wine
tastes good
new bag and new shoes
grand-daughter spills the news
back at school
this musty old
book
who has held
and loved the
words within?
holding my pen as an offering
i place it in the grave
before my mum and dad
nativity angel
the star
that you are
thoughts of the coming day
staring down
deep crevasses in my porridge
freed by a
gong
children burst
forth
to get ‘pure’
water
ragged
children
excited greetings
timeless as dust
crisp and
clean
a small small
lunch box
an angel
shaped hole in my heart
hot dusty trek
pupils run to fetch my bag
carpet the path with words
pouring
through the steel gate
a flotilla of
lemon and lime
sails to greet
me
rumbling
sky
rainbombs clatter the school roof
drowning my voice
midday chokes
and clings
children of
the dust learn
their country
does not love them
in fierce heat
mallam sits on the kerb all day
not begging but believing
wanting to
know so much
follow me to
my place
how do I like
their environment?
shuffling through gloom and dirt
crammed in creaking benches
seats to tear your clothes by
voices from
dark windows
distracted
from lessons
calling mister
lea
gnats swarm in midday heat
chickens seek shade
these classroom walls a cage
goat family
attends our class
sees what’s
going on and
promptly
leaves
drowsy buzzing classroom
a shutter slams in the breeze
waking up the sleepy heads
sitting in
shade
on a gnarled
and twisted root
discussing the
world
the boy with the one eye
only wanted the pen
I never knew I had
grandkids
etching names in the sand
waves disapprove the handwriting
EDUCATION
In educating
the whole child
must one know
the volume
or just the circumference
of the whole?
to gauge the pace and resistance -
and with what to fill the whole! 1987
INVENTION
I invented
something new today -
never seen one
before,
I’m not sure
what to call it
‘cause I’m not
sure what it’s for. 2010
TEACHING
For them and with them
we run the academic mile;
they sit astride our shoulders
we bear it with a smile.
We show the routes and junctions
and set them on a course
which some pursue by motorbike,
others a plodding horse.
Ours is the journey,
and we’ll share the destination,
and hope the landscape along the way
does not lose its fascination.
NOT A PROPER
STUDENT
You say I’m not a proper student,
Not a proper student, you say,
though I rise with the cockerel at first light of day
trek for an hour my hot, dusty way
arriving the same time as you.
I’m not a proper student, you say
though my uniform is my
pride
and from even the hardest work never hide
knowing within me I’ve always tried
and when you ask, I always clap you!
So, I’m not a proper student
though I copy from a chalkboard all day long
risk a beating in getting anything wrong
but it’s hot in here, man – the sun, so strong
it can strip your thoughts from you.
Not a proper student
yet as for absence, I have none;
the homework you set is always done
though outside I could have been having more fun –
Is this much the same as you?
Not a proper student?
With wall to wall distraction
from goats to pupils with classes out of action
their teacher not in today – some business transaction -
so, continue my studies? Could you?
So to be a proper student
must I squat on furniture, splintered and broken,
show some interest but only a token
not make decisions, be anyway outspoken
nor distinguish what’s false from what’s true?
If I’m not a proper student
then why would I care
my progress is slow even when you are there?
I would think for myself but opportunities are rare
I want more of your time but you have none to spare
our books fall apart from sheer wear and tear
and with such frustration I could tear out my hair –
I want to shout out, but I simply don’t dare
So I make do, do
what I can – like you
and like you,
I’m still there. 2011
ALMIGHTY
I.T.
IT is here to
stay, they say, and many are
enthused –
opportunities
for worrrk and play
thuough
sometimes IT’s abused;
some say we’ll
forget It – just a phase for no w
others say “
we’d regret IT and should get a grip
somehow.
FOR MANY it ‘s
picking the tasty bits
leaving the
rest be side your pl ate
with all the
other hi-teCH TH INGS THAT VEX AND IRRRRITATE
BUT this is no
real answer – IT’ll just he served a
again
as a new and
warmed up techno-threat, an other ment als train.
So I curse the
inventor, with IT it seems we are
ssssssssstuck;
Feelslike I’ve
been tarred and feathered and myconfidence been pppppplucked!
IT may be that
your job’s been C U T and NOTHIN GELSE Been Pasted
all your
expertise – D E L E T E D and your working life been wwwwwwwwasted.
No more room
for privacy, some damn machine will CCCCOOOPPPYYYY and WIRE You to the outsized
world and store you on a floppy,
anxieite’s
electric fingers click icons in the brain
a whole day’s
work has n ot been SAVEd,
goodwill begins to D
R
A
I
N;
you’re feeling
rather clammy, brea k I ng out in beads of sweat,
you reach for
the nearest hamMMMer to fxi your lazer jet;
the hard
Drive’s unresponsive to the clicking of your muose
your anger
hits the limits, ricochets round the house;
you’re soul’s
been confiscated by an alien VDU
that’s pally
with the millenniumium bug
and they take
it out on you.
It’S safe to
say you’re not impressed with the potential of IT;
better if it
ironed your shirt or helped you make the tea!
You f eel your
file is closing down, so ENTER the crash team
with all the
latest icons to resususitate you dream
of some
enchanted heaven ,which mayor not deplore you.
Where God has
got it all set up –
the IT’s ALL
DONE FOR YOU!!!!! 1999
ATISHOO OF LIES
First it was a
tickle, he said,
at the back of
his throat
now become
this annoying cough
so an absence
note to his school I wrote
and then all
this sneezing started -
quite odd in
pitch and range
and his eyes
began to water
in volumes
really strange
then some
dreadful snivelling
and
spluttering I believe
for which he
had no tissues
cause it
streaks his blazer sleeve.
But the doctor
saw straight through him -
certainly no
fool:
‘Your son has
feigned his splutterings
to gain his birthday
off school.’
He looked at
me from beneath his fringe
and started
smiling coyly
reached across
to the sideboard
and wiped his
nose upon a doily.
‘Well I’m glad
you think it funny, my boy,
cause it’s
time for your birthday surprise:
a packet of scented
hankies
to absorb your
atishoo of lies!’
IT’LL BE ON THE
TELLY
Is it cold outside this morning,
has autumn yet begun?
Are the birds still singing in the mountain valleys;
have the snows yet melted from the lower slopes?
Does the path feel hard or soft through the pine wood
and does the rain dripping through the needles
taste like disinfectant?
Have the waders started their migration and has the tide
come in?
They say it sounds like the sea washing the sand from
beneath your feet.
Has the summer yet started to fade
dappling the oak and ash in tints of orange and gold?
Shall we just wait to find out –
It will soon be on the telly!
BULLY
They have a
mean streak-
that pokes and
prods
salivates at
the squirming form.
Cold impudent
eyes - matching designer grin,
wind-up
merchant guaranteed to pierce the skin
to see what
comes out and
how fast they
could get in
doc martens to
your ribs,
maximum buzz
from their show.
The hands on
the clock have stopped
heart pounds, dry
mouth, dammed eyes
a tsunami of
hate lies out to sea
while a tidal
scour
crashes on an
inner shore
clinging on
for the signal of retreat.
The receding
waters leave you
breathless,
shaken, chewed,
spat on, spat
out
till next time
–
but it’s not her fault!
HEAVEN
School room hums on its hi-tech mission
to convert; Billy’s playing starships, alien attacks,
unaware of viruses, ROMs and hacks;
he just knows what’s on the screen,
seeing places he’s never been, a fantasy like a
satellite
beaming images that dazzle the sigbt
with oceans of clouds in white streaked hands,
the shape of the shoreline in far distant lands;
gaze on the rainforest dark green coat,
the polar ice caps, forbidding, remote;
But where are the people, sir?
Look at the halo, Billy surrounding the globe,
the dark depths of universe we scarcely can probe,
Ponder the vastness of such space and time
where we have evolved from primordial slime.
Think of the science, Billy; think of the cost!
Yes sir, but it seems to me
heaven’s been lost! 1990
END OF AN EAR-ACHE
So
the end is in sight - this is it-
the
last five minutes of my English Lit!
My
wrist is aching, my head aches too
after
three solid hours dying for the loo.
I
gaze around the sea of faces
that
the tide has brought from different places-
friends
I’ve known five years and more,
cast
upon this rocky shore.
Where
will we be in five year’s time;
what
new mountains trying to climb?
And
will you be there to help me through
when
I move on to pastures new?
Ten
exams I’ve sat this week
of
most of which I dare not speak.
I’m
not expecting grades that high
‘cause
being honest. I did not try.
I
could have done a lot more work
but
it was all too much, I tried to shirk
as
much revision as was poss
and
preferred to catch up on Ihe goss.
Now
I think of the hours I wasted-
the
lands unseen, the wines untasted!
And
so my past has come to haunt me.
The
questions seem to mock and taunt me.
Moments
passing one by one
and
like smoke from a candle
my
chances gone!
SCHOOL PLAY
No, you can’t
be n the school play –
It’s a
tragedy, not a farce!
I’m aware of
the signs
You won’t
learn your lines
And besides,
You’re a pain
in the ARSE!
LEFT HANDED
Words flowed
freely from his pen
follower of
the mainstream
though it
worried him they now grow stale –
a change of
style perhaps would suit a
rebirth of his
prose.
Observing a fluid
interest in others
he wonders if
he learned
to hold his
pen another way
would he too
hold more interest
would words
flow like wine
with life and
colour and spiritual fire
to perfect
this skill
to follow an
unknown path – make it his own
would he not a
different person be?
He halted at
the challenge
to change
hands, point the nib - which way?
Uncontrolled,
the mess and
pressure on
his pristine paper!
This is not
for me, he thought
and settled
down to work once more
resumed his
posture as before
and wrote a
masterpiece.
THE PROBLEM WITH MATHS
If only life
were more simple
and I could
all get it right from the start,
the way ahead
being expertly led
with my head
well in tune with my heart.
|
|
If only my life was more
humble
supporting the
weak when they fall
more
confidence found
built on more
solid ground,
not just
beating my head on a wall.
I wish I could
rework my actions
reset things
on logical paths
so with wisdom
and grace
I would never
lose face
and have much
fewer problems
with MATHS!
INVALIDITY
It keeps
telling me I’m following an invalid path
I need to
exit, go back, restart
which sound
like the same thing – but aren’t.
I try to
recover what is lost - typing for hours.
It was there
yesterday -
straight from
brain to saved document
via the
keyboard, of course.
So why is it
not here today?
And do I want
to update now – or not ?
Should I
choose add-ons or ignore them?
All these
questions demand answers
and what
happens if I press this ….
Why have I
been shut out?
What did I do
wrong – you’re not going to tell me, are you?
I think this
is getting personal!
I try
searching for my lost memory: recall function denied
and now
there’s another ‘up’ which I didn’t ask to pop.
Microsoft Help
– somewhere up near the top.
It just keeps
saying No Results found.
That grinning
paperclip is no use
and I could
shoot that blasted puppy
with its soppy
wagging tail.
I’d show it
what sad and confused feel like!
This PC should
thank its lucky stars
I don’t have a
hammer within reach; it is ruling my life
creating
anxieties where two years ago
there were
white fluffy clouds adrift across my sky.
Now it makes
me wonder if I’ve lost my mind,
a real invalid
– perhaps I can claim benefit on the grounds
I am a damaged
file no conclave of Task Wizards can repair.
Is the
condition short or long term? they will ask.
I can’t
remember! I’ve lost my mind to my laptop.
So I’m saving
everything from now on
while I know I
still can – or think I can. 1998
MY ALPHABET CLASS
A is for Adam,
the cleverest in the class.
He always gets
the questions right -
you never hear
him ‘Pass’.
A is for
Albert too - wants to join the police
so he can see
the Reds for free
and try to
keep the peace.
B is for
Becky, she’s always chasing boys
and C is for
Charlie
who makes a
lot of noise.
D is for
Daniel who loves to be the goalie
he puts his
gloves on back to front
and his
jersey’s rather holey.
E is for Erica
who’s hair is black as night
she likes to
hide in cupboards
and give you
all a fright.
F is for
Frankie who’s feet are often smelly.
He puts then
on the sofa - poooooh
when we are
watching telly.
G is for my
best friend Gill who sometimes irons her hair
and comes to
school in her nightie
and all the
parents stare.
G is for Gemma
too - she’s pretty like her mum.
She always has
baked beans for tea
and has a
tattoo on her bum.
H is for Henry
-he always wears a grin.
You can see
what he’s had for his brekky
coz he’s got
some on his chin.
I is for
Isobel, she likes to catch and draw
all the hairy
spiders
when she finds
them on the floor.
J is for Jake
who always gets here late
coz he somehow
gets his school bag
tangled in the
gate.
K is for Katie
who is bright and nice and funny.
She brings to
school some butties
filled with
chocolate spread and honey.
L is for Lee
who is
something of a twit.
He needs to
lose a bit of weight
coz his
trousers never fit.
L is for Linda
too – such a pretty name
She likes to
hang around in bars,
Isn’t it a
shame.
M is for
Michael who’s dead dead good at sums
and when its
parents evening
the whole of
his family comes.
And M is for
Michelle, she likes to tell a joke.
She’s got a
yellow budgie
who tells you
not to smoke.
N is for Nicky
who loves to go to parties.
She scoffs the
chocolate bikkies
and the cakes all
covered in Smarties.
O is for
Olivia – she’s got a lovely voice
but prefers to
scream and shout and yell
and tells you
that’s her choice.
P is for Paul
who swims in lots of races.
He can stick
his tongue out really far
and pulls the
scariest faces.
And P is for
Patricia who’s good at singing songs.
She’s got a
dog which joins in too
and a cat
which really pongs.
Q is for
Quentin whose nose it always runs.
He blows it on
his pullover
and the snot
comes out in tons.
R is for
Rachel – a bit of a drama queen.
Whenever she
gets an answer wrong
she always
makes a scene.
S is for
Sabrina who talks for all she’s got
and when it
gets to home time
her jaw bones
ache a lot.
T is for
Thomas who’s really kind of weird
coz he comes
to school in an ice cream van
wears a false
moustache and beard.
U is for
Ursula who often falls asleep.
Her dad brings
in loads of videos
and flogs them
to us cheap.
V is for
Victoria who likes to skip and jump.
The boys
sometimes laugh at her
till she gives
them all a thump.
W is for
William, Billy we say, for short.
He does all
kinds of naughty things
and hardly
ever gets caught.
W is for Wayne
as well, who wrecked our Christmas disco.
He pulls out
all the electric plugs
and says
‘where does this go?’
X is for Xavi
who comes I think from Spain.
He learns to
speak in English
and has a
sister who’s a pain.
Y is for
Yolanda who likes to tidy shelves.
She thinks
she’s Cinderella
and believes
in fairies and elves.
Finally
there’s Zoe with two dots over the ‘e’
She wears her
hair in pony tails –
not one, not
two, but three!
So now you
know who’s in my class
and how very
nice we are,
so can we all
come round to yours for tea -
we’ll all fit
in your car!?
SEA ICE
Children of
the Arctic,
when the sea
ice is gone,
I wonder,
what will you
do?
What will our children do,
I wonder,
when the sea
ice is gone? 2000
SOUND OF SILENCE
What’s the sound
of the week now, children? -
it’s one we’ve
met before.
I remind you
of it constantly
as you come in
through the door.
No, it isn’t
‘a’ for apple, John
‘c’ for crisp
or ‘g’ for gate.
No, it’s not
the plop at lunchtime, Ben
of potato on
your plate.
It isn’t ‘h’
for home-time, Kyle
nor ‘w’ for
want a wee
and it’s not
the silent ‘k’ as when
you’re sitting
at my knee – but close!
It’s not the
‘r’ in circle time
rhinoceros and
rabbit
and certainly
not ‘h’ for hands! Sam Smith -
that’s not a pleasant
habit!
No I’m afraid it’s
not, Charlotte
not ‘b’ for
Barbie or ballet or belly
and neither is
it ‘t’ for toast,
tyrannosaurus
rex or telly.
It’s not the
‘l’ for lollipop, Craig,
No, not ‘d’
for dummy or dork
and if I see
you pick your nose once more
I’ll plug it
with a cork.
Nice try,
Amanda
but it’s not
the ‘z’ for zoo
not the oo in
oo’s that man
cause the
proper word is ‘Who’
Lucy thinks
it’s p for purple,
it’s not ‘y’
for yellow either
No, Nicole it
isn’t ‘m’
for mess,
mayhem and myther.
No, Wayne
- and it’s‘r’ for Ritalin, not ‘w’ -
we’ve had that
one before,
remember, when
you showed us
how to shout
and slam the door?
No, it’s
certainly not the ‘f’ sound
for that word
you must not say -
but which I
heard you use Tom Brown
in the
playground just today!
It could have
been the ‘j’ sound
As in ‘Jim, my
bestest mate’ or
‘Jesus! Is
that the time!
Jayne, get up
we’re late!’
Aaron, don’t
call Debbie that again.
Yes, I know it
rhymes with rich
but we’re not
doing poetry today
and the sound
of the week’s not ‘ch’!
Adam, put that
mouse away,
we’re
practising our sounds.
I know you can
make loud rudey ones
but those are
out of bounds.
No, that’s no
reason to be silly
and not an
excuse to burp
and Alex, you
make that noise again
I’ll tell your
mum, (you little twerp).
Yes, that’s
quite right Emily,
twerp begins
with ‘t’
In fact it’s
called a consonant blend
and has the
sound of ‘tw’.
I’m sorry you
find this boring Peter
and get up off
the floor.
You’re not a
mat or mole or mouse!
Yes Leanne,
quite sure.
We still
haven’t managed to remember yet
our special
sound this week and
your teacher’s
getting a headache now -
so its
‘ssssssh’… for ‘we do not speak.’
SPACED OUT
Said the
master to the boy: “You’re not listening!”
Replied the
boy unto the master: “Am I not?”
“Indeed you’re
not!” was the reply,
“Please tell
the class the reason why?”
“Because I’m a
star sailor, man - all spaced out on
pot!” 1986
THIS TABLE’S RESERVED!
This table’s
reserved - as a home for old fogies
to bemoan and
berate who we choose;
from here we
survey the new teachers
and thank God
we are not in their shoes!
Our careers
may be waning – cellulite gaining,
trying to keep
up with the rules,
yet can’t help
but smirk as you plan next year’s work
while we sit
round discussing our jewels!
But graft
isn’t something we ever could shirk -
we hoped it
would keep us all slimmer
but its hard
with retirement the only perk –
and the thought
skills to manage a zimmer!
Sometimes
we’re accused of slagging off kids
who won’t give
their homework priority –
Troublesome
pests who won’t toe the line -
not a few –
indeed, the majority!
But…. Who is
that man? Behind the closed door
when he’s not
in Shanghai or Koblenz?
Some say it’s
the Head – he’s been seen once before
from his
office en route to the gents.
The sub lists
are up – from ceiling to floor
each new day a
carpet of green.
We pray we’re
forgotten, but for others it’s rotten,
Their names on
the new plasma screen.
Isn’t it odd –
in fact decidedly weird
we forget
where we’ve just put our glasses;
and why those
projectors just disappeared
and where on
earth my next class is!
Last day of
term’s on the horizon
each holiday
to-ing and fro-ing
no more AOB or
matters arisin’ -
escapism is
what keeps us going!
Lying back on
a sunbed, enjoying a read
on a cruise or
high Alpine chalet,
a week-end in
Goa is just what we need
to stop us
from going do-lally!
So, if you’re
hoping to sit at this table
you must show
the traits of a cynic
for that’s
what you need to teach the more-or-less able
- and Prozac
and a room in a clinic!
UNTITLED
“I’d like you
to write a poem
In the style
of Roger McGough;
has anybody
heard of him?”
Silence! Not
even a cough!
We read a few
out loud to get into our head
An idea’s
pretty vital
but this time
I can guarantee
all evening
and all night ‘ll
be anxious -awake
in my bed
just trying to
think of a title!”
VALUE ADDED
(for V.F.)
We’ve always
found her firm but fair -
and I’m not
just talking of her bust,
but her manner
in dealing with classroom pests
with whom
she’s less than fussed.
One parents’
night she was attending
many months
into her job
a deputy head
came over and said
‘Can you give
the gents’ floor a good swab?’
Some of you
will have noticed
She’s often on
some sort of diet -
munches her
bunches of celery and cress
and even
cabbage leaves can’t keep her quiet.
Can’t stand
wimps or excuses
which may come
as no surprise;
and because of
the gym she keeps herself trim –
only off when
she’s baking mince pies.
Her assemblies
are clever and subtle -
no tutor group
squabble or quarrel.
We’d all sit
there gripped half expecting a slip
and completely
ignoring the moral.
A crucifix
hung in her classroom
forlornly
hooked on a peg;
it was some
years before Val noticed
that Jesus was
missing a leg!
Rachel was a
model student -
couldn’t ask
for anyone keener,
so when she’d
finished his GCSE’s
Val gave her a
job as her cleaner.
Of the Board
of Governor’s social club
Val was a
founder member -
any school
functions she’d be there in her pinny
serving teas
from the start of September.
She really
looks forward to Sports Day
on crowd
control inside the stand.
‘Pick up that
litter lad! Get down off that roof!
or you’ll feel
the back of my hand!’
Along came the
National Curriculum -
now her
dinosaurs were facing extinction
but then there
were the marvels of new Smart boards
which she rose
to with greatest distinction.
She got down
to doing the training,
approached it
with typical grace
always keeping
a hammer in reach – just in case!
With greatest
excitement her laptop arrived -
no fear of its
bleeping or crashing
but
frustration took hold
‘Do as you’re
told or I’ll give you a damn good thrashing’.
But there were
syllabus changes almost daily -
dictats from
QCA:
‘They must
know where the British Empire was
then perhaps
the USA’.
She prepared
the kids for excursions
‘Got your
clipboards? Right, then, let’s go!
Never mind the
surveys or the traffic counts
There are iced
buns waiting in TESCO!’
Guaranteed to
be wet and windy,
worksheets all
sodden and wrinkly,
kids dripping
noses and frost-bitten hands
‘It was never
like this back in Hinckley!’
Old Willaston
village - a nightmare,
a geographer’s
idea of torture –
two kids
fighting on the village green
then
scratching that effing Porsche.
Yes, two kids
actually fighting
‘Where do you
think you are?’
She said,
‘This is wonderful leafy Cheshire,
Not some seedy
North End bar!
How dare you
disgrace your badge and tie
and beneath
the Commemorative Tree.
What would
your mum say if she could see you now?’
‘Go on son,
give ‘im a belt from me!’
Car park
interviews, a child raps the screen -
Val’s in a
terminal panic -
the car
rocking wildly, there’s steam on the glass
a lot like
that scene from ‘Titanic’.
By the seaside
in mid-July
beach surveys
somewhat absurd
‘Look what
I’ve found, Miss- along the high tide -
three condoms,
two tampons and a turd!’
Big Sarah of
the fearsome gob -
had most of
the lads all aquiver
but one day
they’d just about all had enough
so they tipped
her up into the river.
Every year
when marking her coursework
from a great
height Val watches it drop,
convinced by
the law of gravity
that the
weakest will land on the top.
And when the
year is over
and her spirit
has taken a bruising
she heads for
the Med, some bottles of red
a good book
and gets in some cruising.
But, now she’s
decided to call it a day -
always some
kid spitting sparks
‘I’d like to
restore my sanity now
so I’m going
for a new job in Marks!’
They say
nobody’s indispensable,
not Year Head,
or even Head master.
Run that by me
on our next training day
when
discussing the merits of ASDA!
So, never mind
any dietary disasters,
ignore the
parts worn out or padded,
just admire
the teacher that lies within
and consider
the value she’s added.
A NEW TERM
They thought, hoped,
this day would never come
bitter sweet memories of summer
smothered by a miasma of fear.
A uniformed flotilla drifts with reluctance
towards the mother ship
preparing to sail.
A verbal frontal system forecast –
clouds, squalls and lashings,
sunny intervals with occasional frost.
A bell signals the cargo doors are shutting.
Newly greased cogs and gears
respond with glee
and uncommon alacrity
to remote operations
flexing muscles and joints
sensing anew their power and their gift,
to a tweaking of schedules,
the planing of unkempt behaviour.
With parental crowds still cheering
she weighs anchor
flags unfurling, bearing our future -
till tea-time. 2001
KIPLING
Kipling, my teacher called me –
frequently called me to task;
did he see me as a fruit cake
or a tray of half-baked ideas?
Never the bottle to ask
but like to have known, all the same -
bit of a cowardy custard -
but he’d have simply boxed my ears
and left me sprinkled in exceeding shame. 1981
A CHILD’S MAP
‘Child’s Map’,
the sign read
‘Just nine
ninety-nine’.
I picked one
up and rolled it out -
such a
beautiful design.
Bright cloud
swirled o’er oceans
galleons blown
to shore
white horses
spun from wave tops
where gulls
and eagles soar.
A child could
trace a journey
between places
with magical names,
a finger to
wander the planet
engrossed in
mindful games.
Dublin to the
Kremlin
Alaska to
Niagara Falls
from the
pyramids of Egypt
to China’s
Imperial Walls.
Rivers deep
and winding
on their
journey to the sea –
Brahmaputra,
Shenandoah
Nile and
Zambezi.
Mountains high
where eagles soar,
jungles,
parrots and snakes
savanna where
the lions roar
glaciers,
volcanic lakes.
The feel of
hot Sahara sand
the tastes of
old siam
the scent of
pine from the northern lands
the sounds of
old Japan.
Then a child’s
voice broke my reverie
while we stood
in line:
‘Can I have
one now dad, please dad?
they’re only
nine ninety nine’.
Before his
father could reply
my day was
tinged with sorrow
when the child
added, quite tellingly
‘’cause they
may all be gone tomorrow’. 1984
DEAR SIR…
I’m afraid that my son will be absent from school -
I shall keep him at home though I know it’s the rule
that he ought to attend unless he’s unwell
so the cause of his absence I really must tell:
For a number of weeks I have not been too pleased
at the way that my son has been constantly teased
by some pupils who are very much taller than him,
and his treatment by staff is decidedly grim.
He’s the butt of their satire, an object of fun
and a sensitive person when all said and done.
He can’t sleep at night and breaks out in a sweat
at the thought of tomorrow and the ribbing he’ll get.
his face is now twitching, his whole body aches
and he won’t eat a thing except biscuits and cakes;
he can’t do his homework, he’s in such a state
and the stress he’s been under unreasonably great.
He stays in every evening, he never goes out
and won’t go to school without fear of a clout;
retells me at playtime he just hides away
and counts off the minutes till the end of the day.
The kids seem to hate him, and moan when he’s near
so he stays near the staffroom and won’t face his fear
of the gangs that hang round by the bike sheds and loos
who talk of nothing but fags, sex and booze,
This matter is serious, I hope you’ll agree
but he’s near to break down, between you and me.
for a pupil to suffer so fills me with dread,
but it’s so much the worse when your son is the Head! 1986
BEST DAYS OF YOUR
LIFE!
Best days of your life, young man! - who says?
In my case a missing verb;
‘Were not’, or ‘Could have been’ –
but that puts pressure on me,
‘Should have been’ -
equals it out a bit;
‘Must have been’
- how little you appreciate the
old canvas,
tainted and daubed in
varying shades of anxiety and dread.
For example?
The fearfully ferocious fight for the homebound bus
armed with violin case
- not a weapon of choice –
no chance against the Spartans of the fourth.
Prefects patrolling like Hitler Youth.
the system opaque -
lessons learned through pain and injustice.
Saturday morning detention for suspected defaulters,
or just late.
Silent queuing outside classrooms
to satisfy the cult of vengeance and control –
cane, slipper, gym pump, bat;
silent classes, the cue for negligent masters
to gen up on the news
gain target practice,
hone their skills of dark sarcasm
or just snooze.
Queuing for the dining hall - a frantic scrum
before all that remains are remains.
The savage frontier of the toilet block -
the gauntlet of yocking abuse,
invaded privacy, lashings from wet towels;
I can smell it all now.
Rugby – never explained below the B team,
another frantic scrum,
basic skills and avoidance tactics honed
on incomprehension, humiliation and pain,
as was Latin - a skill-free zone
armed with native speakers,
survivors of the Gallic wars
with their shrapnel voices and metal plates,
random slaps and pokes
twists and jibes
major-generals whose decisions were final.
and as for maths, don’t get me started!
Lumpy, Spew and Old Farty.
Best days of my life?
HA!
Thank God for the sanctuary of the staffroom! 2006
JUST SITTING
I ‘m sitting,
all day I’m just sitting
not thinking why I‘m here,
in this gloom where the air suffocates,
sitting, watching her
- waving arms,
mouth moving to strange sounds.
And I copy the waving arms,
my mouth moves with hers,
strange sounds that mean nothing
‘cause I’m just sitting,
not thinking
sitting and watching – his eyes, his mouth
his wild stick moving
releasing sounds not so strange.
So I sit and copy and learn the right sounds,
bite my pencil to make it sharp
so my shoulders will not sting,
and pick bits from my teeth.
And I watch my friend watching me
both of us not thinking why we are here,
just sitting, watching each other,
our strategies for avoiding pain.
HOMEWORK FAIRIES
I see the
homework fairies have visited us again-
They sure know
all the answers, nothing tasks their brain.
Their
handwriting looks immaculate, always on the lines
No spelling
error nor crossing out and their story telling shines.
Maths presents
no problems, they tackle every sum;
Perhaps they
could join our class, but there’d be thirty – all called ‘Mum’!
So, your
homework for a test next week is relearn all your tables;
Get the
homework fairies to help you, if they’re willing and able!
END IN SIGHT
So the end is
in sight - this is it;
the last five
minutes of my English Lit!
Aching wrist -
head ache too
after three
solid hours dying for the loo.
I gaze around
the sea of faces
the tide has
brought from different places-
friends I
known five years and more,
cast upon this
rocky shore.
Where will we
be in ten year’s time;
what new
mountain trying to climb?
And will you
be there to help me through
if I move on
to pastures new?
Ten exams I’ve
sat this week
of most of
which I dare not speak
I’m not
expecting grades that high
‘cause being
honest, I didn’t try.
I could have
done a lot more work
but - all too
much, I tried to shirk
revision where
poss
preferring via
text to catch up with the goss.
Now I think to
the hours I wasted-
of lands
unseen and wines untasted!
I fear my
youth will come to haunt me.
same old
questions to mock and taunt me.
Chances have
passed me one by one;
and like the
drift of smoke my chances gone!
CAN’T BE BOTHERED
Got to wake up, got to get up, got to get dressed
but I can’t he bothered.
can’t be bothered,
can’t be bothered
got to get up but he can’t be bothered.
Ought to get a wash, ought to comb my hair,
ought to pack my bag but I can’t be bothered.
Can’t be bothered, can’t be bothered
ought to pack my bag but I can’t be bothered.
Ought to have some cereal, ought to make my bed,
ought to wash the dishes but I can’t be bothered.
Can’t be bothered, can’t be bothered
ought to wash the dishes but I can’t be bothered.
Nice and sunny out today, ought to walk to school,
ought to call for Jenny but I can’t be bothered.
Can’t be bothered, can’t be bothered
ought to walk to school but I can’t be bothered.
Ought to put my blazer on, ought to tie my tie,
ought to tuck my shirt in but I can’t be bothered.
Can’t be bothered, can’t be bothered
ought to tuck my shirt in but I can’t be bothered.
Ought to do my homework, revision for exams,
I’d like to pass my GCEs but I can’t be bothered.
Can‘t be bothered, can’t be bothered
ought to do my homework but I can’t be bothered.
I know I don’t work hard enough. I know I could do well,
I want to get good grades but I can’t be bothered.
Can‘t be bothered, can‘t be bothered
He wants to get good grades but he can’t be bothered.
Let’s see his application form!
Spelling’s not too bad;
Pity about the exam results;
What experience has he had?
Let’s see what his teachers say about his aptitude,
How he gets on generally, how his character is viewed:
Year head says he can’t be bothered turning up on time
English says he can’t be bothered - always doing lines;
Maths says he can’t be bothered working out a sum
RE says he can’t be bothered - always chewing gum;
History says he can’t be bothered - never learns his
dates
Science says he can’t he bothered - messes with his
mates;
Geography says he can’t he bothered - can’t remember
places
Drama says he can’t be bothered - just pulls funny faces.
I’m not exactly confident of giving him this job;
- just another
nobody, something of a slob.
If we were to take him on he’d be really too much
trouble.
I think we’d get more work done by employing Barney
Rubble!
GIRL WITH THE PONY
Girl with the
pony
and the bright
orange skin
God forgive me
I almost hope
she’s not in.
Kids call her
names
her hygiene is
poor
so I have to
sit her
near the
classroom door.
Comes in from
lunchtime
reeking of
fags -
within five
minutes
the atmosphere
gags,
refuses to
work
puts her head
in her lap
‘Don’t want no
job’
says her
life’s crap.
I lend her a
book -
she’s got none
at home
to help write
a story
of her life –
or a poem.
Her words
become bitter
no more matter
of fact;
describes when
she caught step dad
in on the act.
Wads changing
hands -
would have
bought a new coat
but she knew
it was going
straight down
his throat. 2013
EXAMINATION BLUES
So it’s
finally here – last exam of the year
Revising all
night with the end in sight
Ready to start
- an uncontrolled fart
Some laughing
and coughing, the room really boffing
That
well-meaning grin: ‘Now you may begin’
First question
is easy – lemon squeezy
The hands of
the clock, my first mental block
The glare of
the lights, the itching of tights
A butterfly
tummy - I want my mummy
Sharpening
pencils, fiddling with stencils
The thump of
my heart as my pen falls apart
The outside
world hum, the chewing of gum
The thread of
my sleeve, the questions I leave
The tickly
throats, vague memories of notes
The sucking of
sweets, the scratching of feet
Illegible
scrawl, a crack in the wall
The pattern of
brick, the feeling of sick
The mascot
array that gets in the way
Soft toys and
Rolos, watches and Polos
The moistening
of lips, the fixing of clips
The
neighbouring swot is something I’m not
The dark
furrowed brow - not long to go now
On the tip of
my tongue - and there it just hung
What idiot
devised it! Should’ve revised it
Someone’s
taking the piss - we never learned this!
Girl in front shoeless,
sitting there clueless
My answers
just crappy, not feeling too happy
Examiners yawn,
someone mowing a lawn
The pain in my
wrist, ‘Don’t fidget’ he hissed
A puddle of
ink, my fingers once pink
The tick o the
clock, a gnat in my sock
A rush to the brain?
Nope – foiled again!
Two whole
hours of grief but signs of relief
Look: my
pencil won’t bend, the imminent end
My passing in doubt
- my pen has run out
The whistle to
stop.
Everyone flops.
The rush to
the loo -hey, I’m before you!
Oh sod it and
blast it -no chance that I’ve passed it
Restraining a
tear – so, see you next year
There’s no
more to say, all the re-sits to pay
Results? Well,
who needs’ em –
The year is
over – a summer of FREEDOM!
HEIGHT OF AMBITION
So, you are
outside my office again –
must be the
fourth time this week.
So what’s the
occasion, just being a pain,
or is it some
record you seek?
Possible
recurrence of your trading in beer?
No, that’s not
the reason at all –
it has to do
with the toilets, I hear,
you, trying to
wet up the wall;
The using of your
ruler to measure the height –
applied
mathematics, I see
but with a bit
more effort you just might
have raised it
an inch or three.
But – a mop
and a bucket – you’re not going to duck it
you most
unfortunate creature,
and before you
say more that pool on the floor
Is no new
geographical feature.
And about the
spitting of plum stones across the gym floor -
I think that
we’re in need of a chat.
If that’s your
ambition, it’s really quite poor,
I’d expect
much greater distance than that!
When I was a
lad I could spit fifteen feet –
champion
world-beater, it was said,
because I
never admitted defeat
and you see,
now, I’m the Head.
I hope not to
see you again by my door -
not for
spitting nor wetting the wall.
You should set
an example to young ones – and more:
Aim higher, go
further, walk tall! 2014
MORE AMBITIOUS
Not again – to
greater things
I’d hoped that
you’d aspire
and I’d see no
further blot nor stain
on your
conduct before I retire.
So, what is it
this time?
Really, guilty
of no crime?
Not cheating
at chess or conkers?
Perhaps let me
guess - you’ll think I’m bonkers,
you’ve been
grassed up, stitched up too -
by someone
downright meaner
and you, a
model pupil through and through –
so in
subversion there’s someone keener.
But what of
these initials etched
on numerous
walls and doors?
Same as on
your books are sketched –
I assume they
must be yours.
Yes, the
writing my friend is on the wall
I’ve seen it
for myself
And if you
didn’t do it all,
Then who did,
Santa’s elf?
Don’t think I
was born yesterday,
I’ve seen it
all before –
wanted to be a
detective once,
in the days
just after the war.
Those were the
days, young feller-me-lad –
no time for
graffiti or doodling;
we were behind
the bike sheds
puffing on
fags and canoodling.
So, tell me,
really what’s the crime, why smirk
You stole a
bike and rode it hard!
Crashed it
into a silver Merc!!
In the Head’s
space on the yard!!!
CINDERELLA,
SUPERMAN AND MISS
I’m going to tell you about my teacher
who’s absolutely brill
she has a really pretty face
and a tan got from Brazil.
Well, one day, doing circle time
we were sitting on the floor
when a new girl appeared at the window
then knocked upon the door.
‘Come in!’ says Miss, dead kindly like.
‘Come in and join our class’.
‘My name is Cinderella’, she said.
‘Have you found my slipper of glass?
‘I lost it going home last night
while running for the bus.
It was almost after midnight
and my mam made such a fuss!
So I’ve come to ask if anyone
found it coming to school.
I’ve been hobbling round the neighbourhood
feeling such a fool.
‘I saw a shoe!’ said Adam,
‘When I was playing in goal -
it was an old and smelly trainer
with dog poo on the sole.’
‘Thanks for sharing that pleasant thought’,
said Miss trying to hide a smile.
‘I’m sure it’ll turn up soon. You’ll see.
Won’t you stay with us a while?’
So Cinderella came inside
to join us for the morning.
We were all having a dead good time
- almost nobody was yawning!
And then, as we were having fruit
another knocked the door.
‘It’s Easter Bunny’ someone said.
‘Nope’ said Jake ‘it’s the Law’.
‘Excuse me Miss!’ a policeman said
‘I’ve got with me this bloke.
He’s found this shoe and he’s asking you
if you know of any folk
who’ve lost a shiny slipper
he says is made of glass
and he wants to see if the slipper fits
any of your class.’
‘Come in!’ says Miss ‘I think we’ve found
the very one for you,
‘cause Cinderella who’s here with us
has gone and lost her shoe’.
She held the slipper daintily
the sunlight through it shone
but when she looked for Cinderella,
like magic, she had gone.
‘Where did she go?’ asked Miss, surprised
‘Has anybody seen her?’
Someone said ‘Perhaps a witch
turned her into a cleaner.’
The PC and bloke with the slipper
were just about to go
when a voice called out after them
‘Please Mister, please don’t go!
Miss hasn’t tried the slipper yet
and though she’s got big feet
you never know cos stranger things
have happened in this street’.
So Miss picked up the shiny shoe
and pushed her toes inside -
the slipper fitted perfectly
and everybody sighed.
At that precise moment
came a great big rush of air.
Everybody gasped to see
Superman standing there.
‘Wow!’ said the class together
‘It’s like in “Arabian Nights”’
except it’s a big guy dressed in blue
with his pants on over his tights’.
Superman goes up to Miss
and says ‘Hiya, honey!
I haven’t come to hear you read
or count your dinner money
but because the slipper fits your foot,
I’ll save you from all strife
and protect you from the hooded claw
and be your bestest mate for life’.
Then the end of lesson bell was rung.
Miss thought she was onto a winner -
woke up sudden from her dream and sighed,
‘Right, you lot, off to dinner!’
AMBITION 3
Yes, Mrs
Beech, please send them in,
I’ll always
assist the law -
especially to
do with enquiries
about that boy
in Junior 4.
If this was
two hundred years ago
we’d have
packed him off to Australia –
now it’s a
caution received in the post –
or worse –
they email yer!
He’ll mumble
he’s really sorry
to have caused
so much distress
and wants to
befriend the victim,
wants to make
redress.
For sure his
conduct’s rock bottom
like last year
in Junior 3,
his home life
chaotic and rotten.
Are you seriously
suggesting he comes to live with me!?
When I have
two aging aunts to look after?
I’m suddenly
not feeling well –
an attack of
hysterical laughter.
No, no, this
is my idea of Hell.
Someone round
here’s lost the plot,
maybe Ofsted’s
got it in for me.
Thank God I’ve
got a pension pot –
I’ll be
retiring at half past three.
And so Mrs
Beech, you can send them in -
always happy
to assist the law;
the boy they
accuse has the shortest of fuse –
but I’ll be
gone by quarter to four.
THE CLASSROOM
Late summer sunbeams sweep the floor
send ghost echoes of tomfoolery
to cower in corners
caught in the white dust of learning,
to hide, though never lost for words,
among the book-stacked ledges,
instruments of torture
awaiting the scholars’ return;
names on the back wall smoulder brightly
waiting for the stars;
names on the chalkboard smoulder darkly,
their ill-considered repertoires
no loss to time.
The wall clock is ticking
a quiet eerie otherness
like a partial eclipse of the heart
refuelling the spirit,
the new start that lies before
which you know will soon grip your life,
soon swallow your mind with
that dull familiar feeling
greys to black – but for now
alone I stand
an island
among late summer sunbeams
that are sweeping the classroom floor,
and can smile.
A PUPIL DEFLATED
He
was quite disappointed in himself –
in
primary colours so cocksure confident
but
on transfer discovered he was nothing special,
indeed
less special as time moved on
and
from this juncture almost invisible, confirmed
as he
sank in the rankings and reports all said ‘only fair’.
If he
were honest – no, more aware –
he
would admit he did not often listen – only hear,
did
not interpret, assimilate, contemplate or question,
his
mind on more important things like
‘when
are we out of here’ and
‘will
my tyres have been punctured?’
RECOLLECTIONS
This
golden morning
full
of children’s feet
skipping
and shuffling school-wards
shoulder
bags stuffed and ready
for
the soft unfolding day
when
mild displeasures may
drift
their way.
Can
they recall when first they discovered
that
war is now and real
when
first they heard the siren
and
the first salutary lessons learned,
when
they saw that blood could flow
and
bodies burn.
Can
they recall when they first found out
that
Peppa Pig was devoured by Skeletor,
the
Twirly Woos shot by the Anthill Mob,
the
Cookie Monster was not really a friend
and
Frankenstein’s monster is alive and well
and
living amongst us
and
that here is Hell.
The
softest eyes you ever saw,
the
ones that find the smallest place to be,
and
the ones hard glazed, hard skin –
they
already know.
PUSHING TO THE LIMIT
It
didn’t do us any harm –
painful
landings
bruised
awakenings to a remodelled world,
catching
bricks till your fingers cracked
leather-bound
dust-covered tomes of boredom
the
sardonic smile creaking connivance at worst
toleration
at least of the
schoolyard
initiations,
to
placate the idols of revolt
the
tyrants of pain and fear
jousting
for the smooth run to retirement
ignoring
the rituals of humiliation and excess
pleadings
on deaf ears that have forced
the
burning of the candle at both ends
that
could end careers there and then.
He
claimed he could handle it
Sleepless
victim beyond the joke
The
noose above the trapdoor
Waiting
to choke the spirit till it dangles
Delivered
to the hangman as a bonus
For
unpicking the rope that holds the damocletian sword.
These
things happen,
Some
people snap knowing that
To
succumb is to fail.
Your
ascent is over.
You
sent me out to cover your back
To
carry that weight and leave me
To
drink the brewery dry
Clinics
doing a roaring trade in the
Human
casualties of management deafness
Negative
response the fear of
Jibes
and sour looks
To
make the statistics look good
With
numbers hidden between the lines
Dancing
with wolves their focus a shattered prism
Thoughts
trailing off into dark corners
Or
evaporating in a hostile breeze.
It
didn’t do us any harm.
WASTE PAPER BASKET
Forbiddingly
large
shamelessly
open-mouthed
catching
the pear-shaped projects
the
scrunched rejects from all the noodling and tweeking,
measuring
lukewarm ambition and imprecision
insufficient
to nurture
the fruit
I’m seeking.
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