I think the memorials for ulookarmless are still coloring my perspective somewhat. The poem I've composed for this 3rd Tuesday entry is about a place where I lived growing up, but it's also addressing an issue: bullying. It's set in Eugene, OR, where my family spent two years and several summers, both before and after those two years, while my parents both pursued additional education. My father was aiming for an Ed.D degree to crown his career as a school administrator; he completed his coursework, but never did get his dissertation done, so he never actually achieved the degree. As I recall, one of the faculty who had served as an advisor to him, or had been involved in his pursuit of the degree in some way, committed suicide, at a later point in time after we'd left Eugene, when he was still trying to complete his dissertation. I think that shook him up some. My mother, who worked full time as a teacher for the Veneta/Elmira schools for the two years we lived there, worked on and successfully completed her MLS degree at the School of Librarianship that U. of O. shut down some years later and no longer offers.
Kalliope
Means "beautiful voice" from Greek καλλος (kallos) "beauty" and οψ (ops) "voice". In Greek mythology she was a goddess of epic poetry and eloquence, one of the nine Muses.
Join us every Tuesday afternoon at the Daily Kos community political poetry club.
Your own poetry is always welcome in the comments.
Bongos, berets & turtle neck sweaters optional.
The keyboard is mightier than the sword.
So, without further ado, here's the poem:
Hurt
When you have to move
From the place you can remember
Having lived the longest in your life,
And you have no say about it, (kids adjust, right?)
It hurts.
When it’s going from a very small town
To a medium city for the state you’re in
And the social stuff going on
You don’t really understand,
It hurts.
When the school counselor on the first day of school
Says over the loudspeakers
Not to cry if you get confused
And you can’t help it, and get labeled a “crybaby,”
It hurts.
When one of your “friends”
Tells you she can’t be
Your friend anymore
Because another friend doesn’t like you,
It hurts.
When your teacher really doesn’t get
What’s going on with kids your age
And wants to know why
You’re making HER life harder,
It hurts.
When your dad tries to help you
With your math homework
And he ends up mad, and you’re crying
And he accuses you of fueling your tears by drinking water,
It hurts.
That’s what I remember of my first year
Of what’s now called “middle school.”
I don't want to think about what it’d be like
To be subjected to a cyber-bullying attack!
Unimaginable hurt.
I’m so glad
I’m not a kid anymore!
(Not that being adult is so much easier,
But you get more respect
And have some resources
That kids don’t have
Even now.)
Can we please stop hurting each other
And start caring about each other
Now?
Readers & Book Lovers Series Schedule
We have a volunteer (yep, it's me, Kit RMP)
for the third Tuesday
of each month.
Three more such volunteers,
and I (bigjacbigjacbigjac) can relax!
So,
aside from any third Tuesday,
such as the 19th of November,
aside from those,
all the other Tuesdays
are opportunities for you.
You have the poetry in you;
I can feel it!