"pedagogy" poems
Because i'd rather avoid you, delete you, ignore you
because the last thing I wanted to was to find myself in the middle of the night before a full day of MEChA activities and workshops writing you a ******* tragic melancholic pathetic love poem
which makes me angry and sad at the same time
talk about intersectionality
because it's hard to survive
and I want to live
and feel loved
and I feel you take me for granted
and in order to honor the love I have for you
I need to let you go
until I can love you as a friend
you taught me to love you without limits
and that's so hard to unlearn
because I learned to wait, to listen, to save, to not expect, to serve, to accept
because I refuse to go on and pretend this love doesn't exist
because I can't be your best friend
comadre, sister or whatever the **** you call it
because you make me feel little, ugly, betrayed, silenced, guilty, unwanted, dependent, anxious,
and because you always expect a reason from me
mientras como de tu plato hondo de soledad y silencio
because I want you to cry like I cried
feel what I felt
believe what I believed
know what I once thought I knew
because I need me whole
and you taught me to love me in fragments.
Because I love you, and love like that is so hard to unlearn. Any theories for that?
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 2:55 AM UTC
Inside your little mouth, a crucifix and a hula hoop plant great capers on the short hash marks on your glossy pinkish lips. Like a boardgame I can't win all by myself or a song without a tune, like the melody that chases strangers, or any words that precede goodbye.
The future is coming quickly now, serfs lining up to set fire to their nostrils, take the cue ball and whet their mass wicks for the apostles. Anecdotal anomaly that J-walk over crosswalks whose life then becomes an apostrophe. Morbid fixture on the substrate, creatures limitlessly nodding. A grape-sized egg fills its own unit and erupts to shape the outlet. Your verb-legs may appear demonstratively while you crowd surf, we should play the music louder while we practice all our dance work.
Sunday morning we wake up stiffly, my jowl hurts from mouthing softwords, the nights' adventurous perversity of thwarting dinosaurs with Cobra Starship. Even the back room closet manager gave us enough bleach to see our eyelids, frothy nictitating flitters drop freshly severed lashes that inspire wishes and sultry playlists.
Consecrated mien market of company meals. Underneath the cable cars the dye blunders sores in my eyes. Said I had to go, said I had to die. Said I had an itch but I couldn't get in front of all of this and unwind. Between all of the bees and buttered flies he made it hard for us all to survive, or service this state of our lives. I recall schoolyards where children paid to their dimes for us to see the spaces in the middle of lines, the circles on the circles we liked, stuck in bubble baths with crayon all on their hands. For the price of staying alive I deliver a bribe to sway eyes from the crimes of street dwelling inner-city sinners with stomach contents' upsetted by the rough ********* of heavy petting. She eats red licorice rope with with my fingers rubbing on her tongue. A pedagogy I use to teach, but pretty much no longer have a use.
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 12:28 AM UTC
I ponder of something great on a sonderous level can a man a sentient being ever exist like an omnipotent being
am I just a subsidized being is the vanity of a self-absorbed world
the pneumatic indifferent fascist question my legitimacy so I question the society of a world more cold and more active than an incestuous birdy and the bee
They question an artesian hand slightly smaller than the average man yet the
significance of the difference in that artesian is not the manic who refused me
embarrassed me
rumored me
****** me to a dark inexsistant inbetween
the coldness of a lover never to be
because she is in league but out of reach
like a lion her simple minded pedagogy has left her to everything and everyone
as she is not mine and I am not hers just the birdy and the defective bee
a farce love story the ending of a never beginning trip why o so dramatic
because I just can’t help falling in love with one
a selfish self absorbed vanity in a repugnant world disgustingly this pedagogy stays to me like glue on this dying bee
this is true of our starcrossed unrequited drug induced comatose that put me into this ponderous level
the inevitability of what truly will never be yet for some reason these
sounderously significantly radical thought I ponder just like a pneumatic bot
have you ever felt this lost
this cold dark nonexistent in-between
a limbless sentient rushed in the ever invoking might of hysteric emotion
I ponder this cold and warming toiling notion
The one like a lion can you and will you requite and love me
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 8:44 PM UTC
I have been a therapist, and
I've been therapied
The brightest and the best
Have had a go at me
It hurt like hell, I tried to hide,
I wouldn't run away
The truth would out, for all to see,
All to see, but me
I learned to face my fear,
Be more honest, and more brave
I played a silly game
You see there was no face to save
We're mistaken and mislead
Down the twisted garden path
With the weather and the leather
To the bitter Grapes of Wrath
From the poisoned pedagogy
We recover one fine day
Our long suffering Tsunami
Will finish like a play
Sean Hunt
(Sierra de Gredos mountains, Spain...2015?)
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 5:06 AM UTC
religious trauma
indoctrination
poisonous pedagogy
spiritual manipulation
emotional exhaustion
submission
possession
religious duality
child abuse
psychological distress
isolation
grief
recovery
ambivalance
self-actualization
self-soothing
safety
trust
autonomy
freedom
Feb 6, 2023
Feb 6, 2023 at 12:44 AM UTC
COLOUR OF HOPE
Colour of hope is part of not the rainbow
It has social texture and dialectical motion
Sensitive to dynamics of property relations
Thought patterns and Gnosticism of the sober mind
It is repulsive to cult of personality
Hence generative in the volcanic soils
Of pedagogy of hope
Dec 6, 2013
Dec 6, 2013 at 9:58 AM UTC
In pedagogy's realm, where lessons unfold,
I met her strict gaze, her demeanor austere,
A teacher whose presence both warm and cold,
Her voice a blend of command and cheer.
In Semester Two, my steps hesitant, slow,
Her firm stance loomed like an iron wall,
Yet the seeds of respect began to grow,
When Semester Three softened her call.
Room 49 FOE became my portal to awe,
Her smile disarmed yet discipline reigned,
“Kanishk, come in,” her words without flaw,
Though her sternness at times left me restrained.
Her walk commands the road she strides,
Confidence fused with urgency's flare,
At times in specs, a doctor she hides,
With wisdom glowing beyond compare.
Her knowledge vast, like a boundless sea,
Economics and tech she wove with art,
A motherly guide who cared endlessly,
With wisdom and strength in equal part.
Her life a balance of work and kin,
Two little children and duties immense,
Her strides spoke of purpose deep within,
A journey of hiatus, grace, and sense.
For every doubt, she’s always there,
Even at midnight, her patience intact,
Her soft-spoken words, her thoughtful care,
A bond of guidance and trust compact.
Though scolded once for childish play,
Her affection remains, steady and strong,
I’ll ask about Pahal Horizon without delay,
And hope our bond endures lifelong.
By: - KANISHK
Dec 15, 2024
Dec 15, 2024 at 9:20 AM UTC
In halls of academia, where time drifts slow,
I wandered, a reluctant pilgrim, through paths I did not choose,
Amongst the throngs of souls, a mundane flow,
Bereft of spirit, in a sea of dull hues.
Yet in this grey, a beacon brightly gleamed,
A girl of grace, with tilak on her brow,
Her face adorned in patravali’s gleam,
She stood apart, inspiring here and now.
Her eyes, a window to a soul so deep,
Where ancient wisdom softly made its nest,
In conversations, time did sweetly sleep,
Each moment shared felt wondrously blessed.
With pedagogy subjects twinned with mine,
We walked the same scholastic path with ease,
But her spirit soared where other’s did confine,
Her presence turned the mundane into breeze.
Her roots in dharma, firm and deeply grown,
A conduit of the sacred texts she speaks,
In her young years, so much wisdom shown,
A luminous guide for all who seek.
Through states she traveled, stories she did weave,
Of Bhagwat Gita, timeless and profound,
In every word, a world one could believe,
Her voice a balm, where peace and truth are found.
On YouTube's stage, her light shines far and wide,
A modern sage in digital array,
She bridges worlds, where ancient truths abide,
And brings the past into the bright today.
In her, I found a reason to endure,
This vanvaas of the B.Ed's endless grind,
Her spirit pure, her purpose strong and sure,
Inspiring dreams within my restless mind.
Seasons this tale of admiration’s song,
In her presence, I find a sacred space,
Where soul and heart in harmony belong.
BY :- KANISHK
Aug 22, 2024
Aug 22, 2024 at 7:38 AM UTC
Today I began to hem,
rein in the threads that grow free
when left unstitched
I ticked a set of books
and, though I love my charges,
my heart hurt
My language is another,
my experience of this globe
unutterably different,
though geographically the same
And I want to help them play the game, I do,
but I don’t trust those
telling me how to
My instincts,
honed by humans I trust, unless
I’m lost in my own Truman Show,
show me the right way to go,
divergent from this current shitshow
The pedagogy of care
is somewhere way, way
over there
Jan 4, 2022
Jan 4, 2022 at 11:39 AM UTC
A captured thought thrashes inside my chest,
As the droning teacher drills out his behest.
His lecture lulls us with impervious haze,
As the wandering pupils observe in a daze.
My captive prisoner rages to reach outside,
But I fail to arise, I'm shut up, tongue-tied.
The captain now slowly sails the ship away
Completely unaware of the treasure left astray.
Dec 11, 2021
Dec 11, 2021 at 6:15 PM UTC
here, there is not much to look
at. in this 3 AM tapestry,
the moon cloaking itself
in profound dark, stark and unseen,
stars borrowing their coruscations
from their white mother
in choreographed intermissions.
only a swan-song undelivered
an a dwarf carved in noiseless stone. the bougainvillea casts
its webbed shadow on the concreted canvas. soon, the night will turn
rattling in its black bed, and then clamber back to its resignation
and the identical day of yesterday's inception will revisit
us through interstices of leaves,
forking these illuminations
without allegories nor travails,
just light and its lenient pedagogy.
there is not much to gaze at,
let alone speak to, in this
deepening spectacle. only
this swan-song that remains a secret between i and this indomitable figurine.
the moon stilled in its lulled repose, stars minding their own
saturations, as the day is in close transit, nearly opening the door of this pale fixture, entering with affable demeanor greeting me
through a hundredfold of anonymous eyes heavy with discernments.
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 3:07 PM UTC
We face the new cliches;
Hell is on earth and we keep it here,
we stand in it’s way.
Obstruct it’s path.
I am certain of very few things now
,but if anybody thinks a blank page makes
“4′33″ [John Cage],
they’re a ******* idiot,
because
If you’ve sat in silence in love
and sat in silence with demons,
and sat in silence in the rain,
or just outside it
You learn a little bit about silence.
Nov 29, 2015
Nov 29, 2015 at 11:45 AM UTC
I found how infrequently some points or lines could align with a hyperplane.
It sounds way harder than it was, probably because I used to not know the succession of steps to learn about R^n and the hyperplane.
They are easy to grasp but it used to not be as easy as 1,2,3.
But it really is a simple plane in n-1 dimensions of R^n.
Yet when I first encountered the word some years ago, it was quite mesmerizing.
I think math will always be mesmerizing except if I've encountered it in pedagogy.
With this understanding, I know that all math is stepwise succession within its branch.
But somehow this leaves things undone, probably because I can't cheat true and tried pedagogy.
That's what I really want to do.
Mar 4, 2021
Mar 4, 2021 at 11:13 PM UTC
It is in our nature to create dichotomies,
particularly in the grayest of the gray.
How do you debate en masse,
in the absence of either or?
And so we ask—
for example,
at Harper High School
in the South Side Chicago,
where 29 current and former
students
were shot
in a single year—
we ask, disdainfully,
How do we Learn
when we can’t Breathe?
On the question of need—
at a beautiful school
with 16 security guards
4 social workers,
and more than 15 surrounding gangs—
we refer back to Maslow.
I went once,
to a high school full of
“at risk” students
and discussed dropout rates—
as high as 80 percent in some parts.
We gave them cards and figures,
and asked them to contemplate futures,
for example,
as a janitor or an NBA basketball star!
Questions so self-righteous in their ignorance
my cheeks burned,
asked to faces
six generations descended
from slavery
& six decades from
Brown vs. Board.
Are we not awed by the
logic in their response
to a system with little
historical or contemporary
evidence of their success?
We are sustained more by the
business of answering,
than asking
the right questions.
So maybe the question of
basic needs versus pedagogy
was always a false dichotomy.
Maybe, in fact,
general revenue funding &
destandardization of curricula,
universal prenatal care &
a rebirth of the arts,
do not exist in hierarchy.
Do we dare ask the question,
to everyone,
“What would you do
to make your heart sing,
if you knew you could not fail,
if you knew you could not disappoint?”
Nov 1, 2016
Nov 1, 2016 at 3:11 PM UTC
Do it for the love of thee,
The fatigue and wisdom of teaching,
Vest it to them and let their minds be free.
Hand it through pedagogy,
Though exhausted of standing and talking,
Do it for the love of thee.
Pass the values forgotten by society,
The pearls and artifacts impossible of seeing,
Vest it to them and let their minds be free.
Praise them for practicing courtesy,
But scold until they are breaking,
Do it for the love of thee,
For they should learn that life is tricky,
The truth that people are forever coming and going,
Vest it to them and let their minds be free.
Teach to continue the legacy,
For the future needs more heavy crafting,
Do it for the love of thee,
Vest it to them and let their minds be free.
Oct 11, 2017
Oct 11, 2017 at 9:23 PM UTC
You taught me how to see in the dark.
And when you left for the last time,
you turned on the light.
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 9:19 PM UTC
Meticulous, Prodigious;
Pedagogy, Melancholy;
Sanctimonious, Sacrilegious;
Fallacy, Facetious, Flippant.
Contumacious, Efficacious;
Equanimous, Calamitous;
Sclerotic, Spasmodic;
Fastidious, Feckless, Fecund.
Rebarbative, Pervasive;
Petulant, Redolent;
Wheedling, Withering;
Fulsome, Friable, Factotum.
Jun 22, 2018
Jun 22, 2018 at 7:11 PM UTC
(Ultimately, at least for tonight) math is about how well I can logically uses elements together.
A crow can use a tool to get another thing to use for something else.
I imagine those who have accomplished the full pedagogy of math are the most capable of humans in using elements for "work".
Mar 12, 2021
Mar 12, 2021 at 1:05 AM UTC
Pen on paper, pen on paper
Mouths speak words and words meet ears
All you do is sit and learn, sit and learn
And watch and learn, and emulate
Emulate, immitate, impersonate
And ditto ditto ditto
What difference are you from the rest
When we all aim to be the best
As we play this infinite game
Of question and answer, question and answer
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 3:11 AM UTC
Next to me was this one
and her feet were never still
she twirled and span through contretemps
and likely always will
That one had intensity
but never said a word
from blackened fingered canvases
his voice could still be heard
These two stood in spotlights
and held everyone in thrall
performing other’s stories,
their own a quieted call
And the group raised up their voices
which entwined and fit so well
and the chorus spoke of everything
they’d never usually tell
These memories, these children,
who moved, who drew, who showed,
who sang unguarded clarity
while the emptiness bellowed
Used to have us allies
used to have us care,
now, become statistics
now, are never there
Nov 21, 2020
Nov 21, 2020 at 3:16 AM UTC
Problem solving is about mental checklists:
1. Getting the "groceries";
2. Not getting munchies.
In divine revelation, two explanations go together if they are on the same subject.
If not, they usually are counters of each other in my heart, unifying only in wisdom.
Or, they can never morph their qualities into different ones.
Same for linear algebra.
In Plato's pedagogy of music, philosophy, then physics, math progresses from simple sound differences, to logic, to matter and space, because these mirror denser aspects of reflection requiring greater precision.
Mar 15, 2021
Mar 15, 2021 at 9:31 AM UTC
torpedo ink, some doubts to sink,
another mouthful, bruising to bethink.
without lexical integrity,
they're solecistic towards pedagogy, amusingly distinct.
basking in the blasphemy, armed to the teeth, blameless and bruised,
putting on another comical skit, guiltlessly bemused.
but don't sit next to me at this ball,
i'm pensively perusing the aisles of protocol.
baffled, more putrid than pellucid,
this hobnobbing appalls me, the exclusively reclusive.
a nuisance shindig, conversations far too allusive.
enough with the palaver, and this shallow vernacular,
far too stupid, far too human, forehead now growing vascular.
make way for me to make hastily for the exit, please,
my apologies, but i'm far too pedantic to revel in this cesspit, jeez.
Nov 4, 2019
Nov 4, 2019 at 7:55 AM UTC