Quiet and low
Steel eyes trapped behind metal car door
Glass window mocking
No view to the street
A world crisscrossed with yes and no
violence and peace
He lies there
On his back
Thinking about his family, his life, his choices
Circling to this moment
In an unmarked car
Followed from the crime scene
An old-school mafia hit
From another time
Only one commonality
The dark looks that placed him in harms way
His wife, his children
Clinging to a backseat
A tale papa may one day tell his grandkids
His ears are his eyes
The men are closing in on the car
He steadies his service weapon
What story will this be
this is a work of factual fiction
you and me
explode through our mothers’ thighs
the same year
It is 1963, Jill
you and me
surrounding ourselves with winged creatures
clutching word and song
wisdom and farce
eyries we construct, yes Jill
you and me
where they belong
up high so our children can observe the world
before they depart for earth
It is 2017, Jill
you and me
we are fighters
protecting all those shadowed beneath our extending wings
we spar, laugh, punch, caress, comfort
we are educators
you assist students
I create teaching tools
It is 7 am, March 27, 2017, Jill
“fought a long hard battle…carried husband and family with great courage…love of her husband’s and children’s life”
It is 7:05 am, March 27, 2017, Jill
you and me
we have just met
I promise you, my dear friend
to keep loving and supporting and cherishing and fighting
to live up to your amazing life
God bless you, Jill
the dearest person, I never knew
I spoke to her today
Her face a wrinkled veil protecting the child beneath
I heard her today
Her words dancing in the room with blazing jazz shoes
I saw her today
Her spring-loaded instincts fidgeting with blanket resolve
I noticed her today
Her fervent green pen pushing aside yellow chalk dust
I admired her today
Her devoted dream as crisp as a new binding
May you dream of the world’s children having access to education.
As a substitute teacher, I have the honor and privilege to observe bonafide teachers work with children of all abilities. Many of these dedicated professionals are nothing short of miracle workers. This post is dedicated to caring teachers everywhere.
Wurd Warrior, acrylic on board, created back in the 1990’s for an illustration course I took at New York School of Visual Arts.
What can I say about this sketch. Today I subbed as a teaching assistant in an English class. I had the privilege of listening to an intelligent teacher discuss, William Golding’s timeless masterpiece, Lord of the Flies. And since listening only requires ears, my fingers kept a pencil and paper bizzzyyy.
This past friday, I had the creative fortune of subbing as a middle school art teacher. The sixth grade project was conceptualizing a new brand of juice/sport drink. Besides designing the can – a catchy slogan was asked for.
Just for giggles while on my lunch break, I created my own version of a dream drink. But I must warn you my friends, I get superbly corny and overly sentimental this time of year (not too cool for an art person 😉 ). I present my beverage idea for your drinking entertainment –
Thank you. May you dream of bathing in your own magic drink.
We grow. We sometimes have children. We involve ourselves with other things other than ourselves. And we learn, sometimes.
As life has its ironies, mine has been no different. For the last four years, I’ve been a substitute teacher. I spent eleven years designing and developing textbooks. I’m a strict parent (though I do love fun and goofiness). I do this because my children must be smarter than I was at their age.
I was a willful child. My kindergarten teacher recommended that I repeat kindergarten. Her reason, “She doesn’t follow directions at all. She doesn’t WANT to follow directions at all.” I remember thinking, “But my way is better. The piano can be played from underneath.” My parents told Mrs. H, “Absolutely not. Our daughter is simply creative.” My parents gambled. They really couldn’t know if I was creative, only that I had great difficulty following directions. In truth, they didn’t want me to have the stigma of being in my younger sister’s class.
I recall my willful behavior put me into the classroom corner, and I think I remember a pointy hat. Could be with the passage of time, I dreamed the hat…or not…
I often find myself fighting against my inner-child. Funny, how these things stay with us. Now, I get quite annoyed at some students when I’m subbing – they don’t follow directions! My way is best 😉
Thank you. May you dream this eve of brick buildings made of marshmallows, licorice chalk and smiling teachers.
Dunce Cap drawn August 20, 2014 while wearing a childlike smirk