poeticshiine

[poeticshiine]

Student Shadow Experience

“The best teacher is one who NEVER forgets what it is like to be a student. The best administrator is one who NEVER forgets what it is like to be a teacher”

-Neila A. Conners

As an educator who plans to eventually transition into an administrative position, I’ve always wondered how long it took for administrators or other school building professionals outside of the classroom to start losing their true understanding of the kind of work and effort it takes to be a classroom teacher. I say this because I often think about the constant pile up of work that I am required to complete as a teacher that seems unmanageable and overwhelming, yet my superiors constantly add to. I tell myself daily that I will be different in the leadership I will provide. In the same regards, I ponder the time in between our schooling and adulting when we lose our collection of memories other than the fond ones that we talk about when we catch up with old friends. The memories laden with exhaustion, anxiety, and uncertainty.

As a requirement of Columbia’s Teacher’s College Summer Principals Program, I shadowed a student for an entire day and gained three pieces of knowledge to take back to the classroom. Although I initially saw this assignment as unavailing and was reluctant to complete it, I was able to reflect on my impact on the enjoyment of learning and realistic requirements I set out for my students. I realize that I am in charge of casting the shadow. In other words, I am in charge of the trajectory of my classroom’s enjoyment that is either nonexistent or spread throughout my classroom.

My schedule was as followed:

7:30am-7:45am-Breakfast

7:45am-8:00am-Transition to homeroom

8:00am-8:20am-Community Gathering

8:20am-9:30am-Science

9:30am-10:40am-ELA

10:40am-11:50am-Math

11:50am-12:30pm-Social Studies

12:30pm-1:00pm-Lunch

1:00pm-1:15pm-Recess

1:15pm-1:45pm-Social Studies Cont.

1:45pm-2:20pm-Specials: Art

2:20pm-2:30pm-Dismissal

A warm smile makes up for cold breakfast.

The first piece of knowledge I learned while shadowing a fourth grade student was that children and adults are emotional creatures and yearn relationships that are authentic and meaningful. When I sat in the cafeteria eating my bowl of soggy frosted flakes, I observed a difference in students’ actions and behaviors who were greeted by the teachers on their duty posts versus the students who went through the cafeteria door that lacked a warm body. The students who were met at the door with a smile were less likely to be reprimanded in the breakfast line and seemed more satisfied sitting down and eating their breakfast while some of the other students seemed irritable and not excited to be at school. Imagine walking through a building and the first social encounter you had was with someone yelling at you for sitting at the wrong table or for talking too loud. It’s uncertain the kind of situations our students escape from each day when they leave their homes. The least we can do is ensure that each and every student is greeted as soon as they enter the school.

When I made it to class, the teacher asked another student and me to help put chairs in a circle for our community meeting. It was refreshing to see so many students willing to share what they would do in specific situations and how they planned on exemplifying responsibility, the core trait for this month. After playing a quick name game, we were told to gather our things and get ready to rotate to our first core class. I was quickly able to see that each teacher had different procedures set in place to start their class; they all expected silence. Mainly copying down vocabulary words, answering bellringer questions that relate to the lessons they’ve learned previously. We wrote a lot.  

Respect is a two way street and shouldn’t be treated as a one way until a certain age.

Science started off engaging, it started with a brainpop video that excited students and provided us a platform to discuss the topic of electricity and the components of a battery. The teacher told us that we would have an opportunity to try to make a light bulb light up by using conductors and a battery. We were allowed to work with a group that we selected which made students even more excited. About 12 minutes into group work, another group began to bicker about who was going to connect the wire to the light bulb. I observed the teacher irritably approach the students, and simply start to threaten the students with losing class dojo points or their recess. When a child began to explain the issue, the teacher cut him off. As a result, the student pushed his kit away from him and refused to work.

Watching the student being silenced and the effect of him becoming unengaged and upset, I thought about how I would feel it someone silenced me from sharing my perspective, my insight, or my opinion. We, as educators, value time but sometimes forget to exude patience. We value peace and collaboration, but we fail to think allow our students to think through and explore student-created solutions. We demand respect from our students, and strip them of theirs when it’s convenient. We need to make sure that every small instance where a character education lesson is available, we take advantage. We cannot be tricked into believing that silence is the issue being solved.  We must teach our students ways to maneuver through small disagreements, crises, and adversity they will face. We cannot silence our students. Instead we must ensure that we show, teach, and expect respect from everyone.

If you’re bored teaching it, duh they’re bored learning it.

Lunch seems a lot further when you’re sitting down listening. I thought about food numerous times, and how when I go to different training I’m always snacking which seemed to help me focus and move my jaws which stops me from talking, haha! In ELA, we read a story popcorning different students without talking otherwise. When we were done, we were told to answer questions independently. I was so bored. In math, we also completed worksheets after the teacher explained the partial-product method to solve. He didn’t ask any of us to try it or come to the board and show that we understood. He walked around and individually corrected students who seemed like all missed a step. I was bored, and he seemed bored and irritable reteaching students what he just wrote on the board. Students talked and waited until he came around to get help. In social studies, we copied notes about a general of war and filled in a graphic organizer about the declaration of independence. I was starving and my middle finger had an indent from my pencil that I was so sick of holding. Silent work consumed my last three classes and I felt like going back into my adult role and walking out, slowly galloping down a hallway giving my attention to anything but writing. I wanted to talk, scream, jump, color, eat, anything but sit!

When it was time to go to lunch, I felt a blanket of joy wrap me, but it was short-lived because my classmates were noisy going into the cafeteria, so we were required to eat silently. I never realized how much I wanted to feel my esophagus vibrate! The sun was so warm and inviting. Recess was too short; I felt like it only lasted 5 minutes, no forreal 5 minutes! We went back inside, grudgingly and packed up for specials. We walked silently to the art classroom where again, we had to silently try to copy a picture off the board. I thought about my bed and how I wanted to put my head down or how I wanted to yell any random word that came to my mind. When it was time to go home, I was exhausted from silence and I thought about my bed and how I wished I did my homework in class!

This experience was valuable because I realized that giving students the opportunity to talk, laugh, and move enhances the quality of learning, the quality of enjoyment which is what will encourage our students to love learning and seek more knowledge. I was reminded how painful it was to sit and be in silence, and what unrealistic expectations we set for our students daily. Expectations that we as adults have a hard time fulfilling. As I begin to lesson plan for next week, I actively think about moments where my students can engage in meaningful conversations and move bodies and their brains.

[poeticshiine]

Good Friday (4 Years Later)

Good Friday

keeps me believing in Christianity’s worth

bewildered at the thought of never hearing her voice

but when short beeps turned into one long tune

I knew

that this wasn’t permanent

that by Sunday

she would rise like

smoke from the menthols she use to smoke

like heat in buildings with no windows

like balloons not knowing their high will end…eventually

like Jesus

raised from the dead

Sunday school lessons of his resurrection replayed in my head

Four years later

I still look forward to Easter Sunday

believing that she will show up to dinners I cook for her

shout “Didn’t I tell you to stop stirring in that gravy and glaze that ham, again”

As the festivities begin

I light candles

igniting hope that will elevate to heavens gates

praying she will see the light, smell the smoke, and know that

I am forever waiting for her to rise.

[poeticshiine]

Timelapse

Caught in moments of chasing dragons to find out that riding still feels like the first time

all we know is grind

lost between clouds and thighs

between two hour time difference

from my home city to your home town.

I sometimes imagine you and I

blowing dandelions

deciphering each others wishes

standing between state lines

walking hand in hand

to a place unknown

a place untimed

[poeticshiine]

Heaven is Falling

Thunder rips its way through hopes for survival

sounding a fear that is unknown

this will be the last day of earth

because all I can imagine

is that the heavens are falling

parts of gold encrusted walls willow across backbones

of southern homes

wondering …is this war…

sounds of bombing across America’s shore.

But I ponder possibilities of this being one of His children

slamming cloud white room doors

in paradise paying the price for God forbidding

and them doing it anyway

because do we change?

The heavens are falling

As in…

Lifetime Movie Network playing in Mary Magdalene bedroom at 3.

groups of angels huddle around to watch

tears stream until streams and dams reach capacity

commercials

sun rise

white flags

thug angels in the basement, closest towards gates

egg carton along walls trying to settle tremble and bass

children on playgrounds falling off swings

bombing and expanding heaven’s academy

grades pre-k-12

an increase of children checking into this community

questioning the blueprints of the city of gold

hoods beefing over holy water, white linens, and gold wing tips

children fighting over the wait time for cloud slide

In my mind I wonder

what is Thunder

I close my eyes

waiting

because heaven must be falling.

[poeticshiine]

Niggas Be Safe

Hide yo wife

Hide yo kids

we’ve been put on auction blocks

for

cheap labor upstate

making license plates

taxed for time, charged for hours

worked for free

restitutions

paying institutions for “second class” niggering you

livin’ in a world where a bullet through a nigga’s head is up for bids

because black lives forbids facts of innocence

minuscule moments of matter

cause morticians are making time in a half

embalming

black bodies

half past babies, black boys with no facial hair

mothers of three, college graduates

last of a dying breed

shots fired in the dark, on camera, still an acquittal

no information to provide

otherwise known as genocide

not just white on black

but black on black

the block breaks backs and heads wide open

blatantly doing the klans job for them

when we fight back

mothers cry

when we’re silent

we die

The crows are lurking for dark sweet ligaments

we are living in hiding

afraid of our own shadows

and red white and blue

America

This is a PSA

to all niggas

“be safe”

[poeticshiine]

Mississippi Burning

My front yard yields no stakes No bricks through these barred windows Community of beautiful black faces But Instead this state sets fire to its people Hot sun scorched black bodies laid out slain $30,000 salary for police just enough money to wait til the block cools down, to find suits of swine more appealing then black and blue.. A state Glorified in gagging gays to prevent voices Jim Crow may be dead but he was survived by thousands Vehemently preventing protection for all #4 in the USA for HIV yet abstinence is praised to be the only way #2 for diabetes Collard greens, corn bread, pig feet, buffets on every corner Filling a void, a space of emptiness Like rooms in public schools Bodies present but mind stays stuck the the grind Children only saved by the morning bell Back to holes in floor, Foodstamps sold, a house with no walls, no limits to street life When street lives with you At nine My students can vividly describe the sounds of their chest hitting cold ground Bullet rounds Crime scene investigators investing descriptive adjectives in shell casings Sometimes I can feel the heat hovering around my head Whispering directions to hell's entrance when parents tell me " I already know, so and so just don't like to read" An uprooted seed Because growth here seems to not be an option Offering one high number 50 Wait how many states? Last on the list If education is a key Then here there are no doors Just paths to failure, trails to jails tracks to triumphant trees Hanging strange fruit Strong enough to hold secrets of the who and whys 2015 Numbness in toes just before ropes wrap around necks Noosing us all watching this state burn Spitting on its name Hoping I won't go up in flames

[poeticshiine]

Group poem that I wrote for Native Americans

[poeticshiine]

Neighborhood watch dedication to Trayvon Martin

Neighborhood, watch this nigger get lynched Hang 10 feet falling from ground Grounding his roots right along with seeds from trees that bared his fruit Strange….Isn’t it? America fantasizes fondled black bodies Breathless Below borders of hells entrance there’s ghettos Americans love to picnic Especially in forms of pickin’ a nigga and killing em’ Neighborhood, watch your black men deteriorate Like paint 80% of them with beable to chip away in 10 by 12 cell blocks Block the corners of wooden furniture because splinters Seem similar to black underdeveloped fingers scraping away at caskets That were created for them at birth. Neighborhood, watch your daughters dwelling and your sons silent shouting of his blackness. Neighborhood, watch why twitter and facebook are 3 million likes deep. Neighborhood watch Reasoning behind death of 17 year old black soon to be but never to become man Somebodies little boy Chest cracking from bullet found too close to fathers home Glass shattering from ice tea bottles mistaken as weapon Trayvon Martin Honor roll student Chased and gunned down by neighborhood watch captain—Klan Calling police 46 previous times with supposed suspicious Black men descriptions This one must was the ticking bomb… Death of black child that you said was self defense. Zimmerman I just want to know Did he cry for his mother like you cried wolf. Baggy jeans hoodie…charged walking while black. While you walk free Finding home in words like hero and protector But you are a murderer while white—so self defense it is But America, your smart right? So when the fuck does running mean watching Shooting becomes struggling to find street signs When have you ever heard an armed man scream for help? But I have to be asking the wrong questions Because Americans have found Zimmerman less than guilty And found Trayvon worth less than 5 minutes of coverage time. But I can bet you my life, if white skin was found in fearful deceased face and hands holding gun crying wolf was black Best believe chair and arm straps would be polished and prepared for tomorrow. Our neighborhoods are watching…for justice… And shit like this reminds us that we will forever be waiting for change…

[poeticshiine]

Security

As you sleep soundlessly... Your breaths blow life upon...tattoo ink...seeping through open passageways into veins... You lay close to me... Reminding me of what security feels like... The moments you forget to Check Windows and doors... Unlearn how to listen for noises...and listen only to the beating of your heart... I watch your eye and body twitch and your mouth slowly open... Making room for visions of me and tongues sliding

[poeticshiine]

Breathing in fumes found fluttered across state lines Gracefully gleaming through dirt roads, deserts, and city street posts. I am filled with people of various descent Curb my hunger with hoverng souls Constantly on go.... Munching my way through school teachers, college students, transients, babies, and relished relocators. They have came though open doors to my interior Setup campsites inside my womb for days at a time Paying to view the world throughout my souls windows.

[poeticshiine]

Lies

The first time you lied to me my bones crunched crusted into white brittle broken pieces. My ribcage caved into my chest where my heart lied beatless like used drums dusted and weary. We had no title so feelings I kept them behind long faces and even longer smiles.

[poeticshiine]

PAIN

She lives inside passageways of pain past premature prayers that never made it past bloody shoes across street pole. She finds refuge rested upon foreceiving because she doesnt know the release of forgiving. Feet calloused cause shes runs from memory after memory...after memories she falsely creates and force feeds to memorize like continents she may never travel, values she may never practice..prying out resilience, she never truly had... just broken borders painted to make believe it keeps the reality out... but it only makes this front harder while inside she dies over and over again... wondering would it make a difference then...that her pain... pounds across her mind like Mississippi rain before hells embrace... she lives to save others, while she's drowning in her own tears...she writes suicide notes and crumple them up, just until their perfected...replay scenes of her body physically broken to paint the pain she's felt forever...

[poeticshiine]

Poetic souls

[poeticshiine]

If poetry is an art, and art is a crime... let God forgive me.

[poeticshiine]

Destiny

1920's- year the titties and vaJayJay became free

burn bras, house dresses, and the voting office is where I'll be

finding grandmothers using soft soap

ladend ligaments and fingertips

to find forever equal equated in the voice of one

stripped along with bodies 

similar sightings of mine

raped ruptured souls 

singing freedom songs

"we will not be moved" 

refused to be made to be martyrs 

sacrificing temples to house your future fuck ups, jailbirds

caged birds 

singing songs of mother's regret

societies rejects

93 years ago 

womyn in America were granted voting rights

yet our bodies weren't on ballots 

like breaking skins 

open again 

like when my African Ancestors refused to reproduce

to bore babies born with toe tags and labels of less than

field hands 

holding me down 

degrading my ownership of open thighs tied to patriarchy

posts prying me wide open without contraceptive 

conceiving statistics of serial numbers etched into bullets

& my future black son's body

I've always dreamed of motherhood, but not on your time

tears of Brenda's newborn found in garbage shoots

hospital entrances

entangled in foster homes 

housing projects 

steps while mother smokes crack 

more than one million children born into poverty 

unwanted unloved

set up for setbacks 

because YOU…. full of social control 

YOU…. standing in a body

good for fucking nothing 

trying to control me like a machine

but I AM NOT FUCKING BROKEN

you can't unplug this 

Pussy

 I would call you one, but it would only offend mine

Standing behind counters cutting me with snake eyes 

when asked

"Do you have the morning-after pill" 

painfully persecuting me for my choices made last night

either a hoe or a just a female begging for it 

but you will never know the burning of the reflective images of children

bore through predators

faces featured in my rapist's pupils

preaching purity 

prolife

hatred towards homosexuality but walking on your own Jesus's body

in the form of stale fucking crackers 

cracking my backs with whips of 

"look at that jezebel, hoosie, did you know that baby gon' be out of wedlock?"

chains of bastard hood

pray for her 

her soul needs redemption 

conviction to this body because of your prayers 

pro-life 

but you just assisted in the lynching of mine 

I am a lesbian

one who loves bodies 

similar sightings of beauty like mine

we will one day 

bake turkey baster bastard babies but it is my fucking choice, not yours

while my girlfriend and I jump through loops to adopt babies 

left after door closed to clinic 

we pay taxes for foodstamps, general assistance, and my 18 year old's friend third slipups

mistake, "mommy made me because there's no abortion 

You don't believe in FREEDOM

I will stand in unison

paint my temple pink

purifying bodies 

never retiring to burnt hangers 

unsterilized hearts and hands 

hidden in fears...

standing on the shoulders of the womyn forced to sell their children into slavery

the womyn who relive moments of misery over and over again

I will forever fight for life

Yes

my own….

because I can choose my own damn destiny

[poeticshiine]

Bring Home Our Girls

Across lands and miles

over miles of water

grains of sediments 

slaved and afraid

my daughters lie in a shallow pool of tears 

patterns of men's hands painted upon black canvases

"allahu akbar: 

Allah is the greatest

shouted as bullets spray across tin shacks like hoses wiping black bodies off hot southern concrete.

300 hijabs 

unwrapping, unveiling innocence

instituted in sun embraced bodies

My daughters crying for me

for their fathers 

their allah, savior

praying to God

to forgive men who received fair warning

allowing AK's amble along dirt roads  

leading to secondary schools in Chibok, Nigeria

neglecting the thought that their daughters were bull eyes target

three villages

two bombings

166 people dead

300 girls gone

In America ….silence is summoned 

As mother's day dwindle down 

repetitive commercials for jewelry sales

yet no acknowledgement of diamond dug up from roots of our motherland

women wildered, engulfed in tears

terrified to approach militia to mimic beggars 

reaching out for green fatigued cloth

calling out to anyone willing to listen

because as Audre Lorde said 

"Our silence won't protect us nor our daughters" 

so I beat share buttons on social sites like drums of freedom

stand in solidarity over internet servers 

beg to the moonlight to highlight the route 

leading us to our daughters 

who've been stolen in the night 

I will scream across pacific, Atlantic's, and Niles 

Fight with words

let them spread like forrest fires

formulating the knowledge needed to….

Bring Home Our Girls