the skilled craftsman
he labors pen on page in nights silence
the names and faces of his students
vividly painted to him in small ways on each page

the girl with her flourish of drawings
in the margins of her work
a bird delicately drawn to appear to be dropping
the words onto the page
in amongst her arguments that shakespeare was a charlatan...
the young man from the morning bell
who dose not write as much as he carves and hacks
his words into the dull instrument of the page
crafting it in his way to resemble the angry face he wears within

this quiet man
teacher
he learns too
from the patchwork quilt of humanity
that passes year by year through his world
some shine brightly
others faded away into obscurity's cage
see him sitting in nights silence
pen in hand
a master craftsman at his labor of love

In a hammock
On the eve of final exams
There is a scent of caffeine coursed bodies pacing
the distances of Starbucks and the library,
an unusual sight at eleven at night

There is peace
In the fraternity- I think begins with a Sigma-
running around playing a vicious thirty person game of tag
Yeah, I witnessed that wipeout and it was hilarious

There is heat condensed around the height of brains
Struggling to realize dreams that require
Busy work man! It's just like six hours of nonstop busy work
The guy on the bench behind me whined out cooling breath of brown leaves

There is energy in the fractal jungle above
The towering umbrellas of Palm trees which grant me the magic of hovering
I see through waving leaves Orion's Belt.
The light pollution overpowers his body but
he reminds me that there is more in the astral world

Ibis scour the ground
Some would read the tea leaves
that bravest of birds has crossed my path
And I will survive the tests that I allow to define possibilities in life

There is closure to my left
Two girls in a hammock, bodies combined like a turtle in a shell
Only they know what goes on inside,
and all I witness is the harmony that the trials that students go through that unites

Like a newly formed dandelion, it is beautiful.
Entwined with the glistening rays of the sun.
Such youth, such aspiration, you stand tall and strong.
Though when an unexpected gust takes presence, you fall apart.

Your remains are scattered far and wide,
and they grow on their own.
You're seen, there, there, and there.
You're letting go.

You're re-growing. Into a stronger, more secure dandelion.

- High School Relationships?

Buzz, buzz, buzz
The fly says as it circulates
Around the congested classroom
The sound of pencil to paper
As art is created on the
Corners of failed labs and late assignments
Breathe in the soft pink flakes
Of your neighbors easer
That tickles your nose
And makes you cough
Hear the tapping of a pen
At the edge of a desk
As you silently beg for the teacher
To notice and cease it
Feet shuffle and bags are grabbed
In anticipation of the
Bell

s.a.m.

Here’s to teachers who are different,
Teachers who don’t always teach us the same,
Boring old grammar lessons,
Who learn each and every one of our names,
And who are well-respected men,

Here’s to teachers who are different,
Teachers they call crazy or eccentric,
Teachers that people think don’t do the trick,
With their sense of humor they charm,
And they never mean any harm,

Here’s to teachers who are different,
Teachers with a need to tease,
For every kid is an opportunity to seize,
As history has shown,
It’s their difference that has student’s minds blown

Dear Teacher,
I am not your "Inspiration" nor am I your "Motivation"
Do not use me as an "Example"
They hate me enough already
I do not need to talk to you after class, I am doing just fine
Bs aren't acceptable?
I'm sorry I couldn't complete your assignment
I was mentally ill that day.
No, don't give me an A when I didn't work for it
That's cheating
Me
Out of life
Yes I can handle it
I'm not as Weak as you think I am
Dear Teacher
I know I made you cry at graduation
You didn't think I'd be able to do it
I told you
I could handle it.

I'll always remember
Fifth period, Junior year
Walking in to class on a bad day
To be met with a warm smile
And a first bump from
Mr. Carter.

When I first met you, Mr. Carter
I thought you were a strange bird
You said things that were so absurd
I'm surprised you keep your job

Yet, You always had a way of making me see things
From another perspective
Besides my own
And I would like to thank you for that
Because it takes a lot to sway my opinion.

I remember when Jacob was sleeping
And you broke out the fishing pole,
Stealthily lifted his hat,
And stuffed it under in the light
Yeah, I'll always remember that.

I've never had a teacher that cared so much
That would stick his neck out for students, like you
Always concerned, asking how we were,
Make us smile when we're blue

I would always sit and write,
Instead of doing my work
And you always pushed me back on track,
Yet I don't think you've laid eyes on a verse

So since the end is drawing soon,
And the calender has been marked June
I decided I'd write a poem to my favorite teacher,
A verse from me to you