A Eulogy? Nah :P

We teach students to accept failure as constructive criticism.

Yet when this failure is imparted on to us

(By senior observers)

We cannot so easily digest this,

At least not constructively.

In fact it gets lodged,

Lodged in our throats...

And although comfort beckons us to know

The superficial nature of these ever-changing OFSTED gradings

We still can’t help but feel a devastation.

A devastation SO magnanimous

It sets ablaze the very core of our teaching identity –

You think I’m being dramatic, right?

Heck I’m a temporary contract holding teacher of four years,

Can you imagine the dramatic dialogue

That takes place

If I were longstanding member of a teaching organisation?!

But wait,

Academia teaches us to be objective,

That insightful felicity can not

Be hitherto epiphanised

At least not if we do not question an observer’s motives.

So why when you grade me must I accept your opinion,

When you have just told me that you do what I do

With a similar class?

Yet your 'Outstanding' - Hmph!

BS Politics

Government

LA

School Departments

Its all BS

So watch me pack my bags

And traipse on over to the private sector!

Cloaked Dishonour

One loose string was pulled And it all began to fray. All that remained in her left hand Was fallen silk from Whence she had spun a garment That this Uggo had cloaked himself in. As they parted She was still hesitant, Insisting she could spin another, It would just take time Patience, She would of course have to do all the hard work. And so She returned to the spinning wheel and began the laborious task. Nothing but the finest Would do for her beloved, So she grabbed her iPad And ordered fabric From a distant land. Maybe chain metal around the chest Would prevent a frayed catastrophe! Oh and a helmet! And a lance, No wait – she hesitated That was getting too costly… After all fortune was hardly Easily comeby for this maiden. But since she believed in this investment She was willing, Hopeful, The chain metal would be worth it, Shiny, Honorable. Yet as she waited for the precious material to arrive, He began his ‘spiritual’ retreat Believing he was better off He was not... As he stood bare chested He basqued in his chumphood, His ego inflated… He knew how much she had invested He knew she was still clinging to hope Yet he would not let go To his macho bravado Deciding to set his sights A simpler garment One that would never have the intelligence  To pull away at his weakness again, At least not prior to betrothment… And if she did, well then He would present this past anecdote, To shed some light. Coward.