Psalm 23: a paraphrase

I will have just what I need
'Cos the Lord is taking care of me.
When I'm tired He lets me rest
When I'm thirsty I'll be refreshed.
He helps me know just what is right
Since His names mean Mercy, Truth and Light.
When life turns out to be quite hard
And Satan comes with His calling card
I won't be afraid that I'll go wrong
For You, O lord, are with me all along.
You'll give me a push when I don't know
Or can't decide the way to go.
When I've been wronged, you'll put it right
In front of everyone in sight
You'll show them that I'm an okay gal
You give me riches 'cos I'm your pal
There won't be anything else I need
As long as there's room in your house for me.

A cautionary tale: Don't Mess With Your Mother

There was a boy whose name was Chris
I'd like you to remember this:
That from the very earliest age
He used to fly into a rage
When his poor mother combed his hair
He used to shout: "You'll make it bare!"
His mother laughed, and said: "I won't -
Just look at how much hair you've got.
It's thick and bushy through and through.
The wind has tangled it, so you
Must keep it tidy, as you know
Because Mr Morris likes it so."
(Mr Morris was Chris's teacher
Who knew that hair is a boy's best feature
And should be washed and combed at least
Lest a boy be taken for a beast.
And as you are quite well aware
A chap must take good care of hair.)
So Chris's mother pulled and tugged.
Chris wept and screamed, yet still she lugged
The comb right through his luscious curls
As beautiful as any girl's.
Chris had enough: and with a shout
He grabbed the comb and tore it out
His mother's hand, but with it came
A chunk of his amazing mane.
She snatched it back, but with a yank
He grabbed again: this time a hank
of long black hair stuck to the comb
And war began in Chris's home.
So tit for tat they grabbed and pulled
until at last there came a lull
in the hostilities: peace reigned.
Chris and his mother stared, amazed
At Chris' head. There was no hair
To be seen still growing there.
They were both indeed appalled
To see that he was almost bald.
So let this be a careful warning:
Don't fight your mother in the morning!

Exam fever

Impossibility

Read the question
Do the question
Turn the paper over.
Read that question
Check that question
Check your answer over.

The question says…
‘It takes 2 men to dig a hole 4 feet deep.’
I don’t read any more.
2 men.
Why 2 men? Why not 1 man on his own? Or a gang of labourers? And why does it have to be men anyway?
Maybe it’s boys.
Digging a pond or looking
For buried treasure
Or
Just for fun.
In which case it certainly wouldn’t be 2 of them.
There’d be at least 4, because that’s how boys hang around together.
In groups.
Big ones.
I’m a girl. Most girls wouldn’t dig a hole.
Not one four feet deep anyway.
We might dig a small hole, and turn it into an ornamental lake, with miniature trees and houses around it made out of twigs and moss and flowers and pretty little pebbles. And then make up stories about it, with handsome princes and pretty princesses begging to be rescued.
So I just don’t understand why two men would dig a hole four feet deep. What would be the point?
Sir, I can’t do this question.


Exam fever

Oh no! It’s that time of the year again
I’d much rather stay here in bed.
My stomach’s all wobbly, my eyes are in pain
And my arms feel as heavy as lead.

My stomach’s all wobbly, my eyes are in pain
And my arms feel as heavy as lead.
My throat is on fire, my tongue tastes like a drain
There’s a sledgehammer pounding my head.

My throat is on fire, my tongue tastes like a drain
There’s a sledgehammer pounding my head.
Who is it who’s stuffed cotton wool in my brain?
Is this what it’s like to be dead?

Who is it who’s stuffed cotton wool in my brain?
Is this what it’s like to be dead?
Oh no! It’s that time of the year again
I think I’ll just stay here in bed.

Exam fever

Oh no! It’s that time of the year again
I’d much rather stay here in bed.
My stomach’s all wobbly, my eyes are in pain
And my arms feel as heavy as lead.

My throat is on fire, my tongue tastes like a drain
There’s a sledgehammer pounding my head.
Who is it who’s stuffed cotton wool in my brain?
Is this what it’s like to be dead?

The thought of the sitting, the standing, the waiting -
The walking around in the gloom,
The watching, the listening, the prospect of marking
Just fills me with feelings of doom.

The pens and the pencils, the numerous papers
Piled high on my desk with a scowl
The squinting, the marking of young expectations
Are turning me into an owl.

Which means I’m not sleeping, and hardly am eating
There just seems no end to the task
Of checking, correcting, trying to be understanding
With no other adult to ask.

For being an examiner is lonely, destroying
It’s only me and the papers and all
My desperate existence is just filled with marking
With backbreaking, eye watering toil.

The thought of all this has now filled me with pain
And my eyes are already quite red
Oh no! It’s that time of the year again
I think I’ll just stay here in bed.

Staff room rant

Rescue Remedy?

Musings in the staffroom. A pantoum, for Nicola.

This day has been dreadfully long
My head hurts, I'm tired as can be
There are so many things going wrong
I wonder, can YOU rescue me?

My head hurts, I'm tired as can be
I've had such a horrible week
I wonder, can you rescue me?
Dear choc'lates, let me take a peek!

I've had such a horrible week
There's only one thing that will work
Dear choc'lates, let me take a peek
I promise you that I won't smirk

There's only one thing that will work
It's choc'late and truffles and fudge
I promise you that I will smirk
If I spot any candy or nuts.

It's choc'late and truffles and fudge
Vanilla and ginger and mint
If I spot any candy or nuts
I'll scoff them as fast as you blink.

Vanilla and ginger and mint
The answer to so many ills
I'll scoff them as fast as you blink
Instead of those potions and pills.

The answer to so many ills
'Cos this day has been dreadfully long
Instead of those potions and pills
It’s chocolate stops things going wrong.

Staff meeting

Meetings that go on, on and on
Are dreadfully boring you know.
It’s amazing how awfully long
They can go on and cause endless woe.

I’m so bored as I sit here and fret
I’d so like to up sticks and go
Please, isn’t it time to go yet?
Won’t someone say, so I may know?

The sun’s shining down on the grass
The flowers smell exquisitely sweet.
Oh how slowly the time’s going past
I’m dying for something to eat.

I could rush out and jump on my bike
And whizz down the hill fast and quick
I could put on my shoes for a hike
And find an ice lolly to lick.

I could go out for a coffee with friends
I could go for a swim at the beach
I’ve got quite a few letters to send
I’d really just much rather teach.

I could even get on with my marking;
Assessment for learning and stuff
Put energy into preparing:
My lessons should not be too tough.

Cause I’m really just thrilled to be teaching
I get such a buzz from class
There’s nothing to beat that great feeling
You get from the questions they ask…

The pleasure you have when they ‘get it’
The laughter, the jokes and the fun
Seeing them smart in P.E. kit
When all of the written work’s done.

So am I just wasting my life
In a meeting that won’t ever end?
I’m all for good constructive work
Not have to go right round the bend!

School poems

Staff room poetry

Longings
Sit down in hope
Avoid the grope
For the sweets and chocolate which lurk in hidden corners of my handbag.

Something Wrong
The cups are on the bookshelf
The coffee’s in the sink
The milk is in the oven
There’s something wrong, I think.

The spoons are in the rubbish bin
The sugar’s on the floor
I really feel there’s something wrong
Oh, who can tell me more?

It’s appearing pretty simple
It’s obviously quite plain
The solution’s just so obvious
I’ve lost my marbles once again.

Dreams
My thoughts are in the marketplace
My attention in the fields
My dreams have hit the ceiling
My spirit sorely yields.

Wandering
I left the room
Fully intending
To go outside
But
Forgot my mission
And
Ended up
Wandering the corridors in silence.

Time to go home
Isn’t it time to go home yet?
Isn’t it time to be off?
Isn't it time to go out in the wet
And pick up a cold and a cough?

Isn’t it time to finish?
Isn’t it time to end?
Isn’t it time to pick up my bag
And leave to go off round the bend?

Isn’t it time to be sensible?
Isn’t it time to be calm?
Isn’t it time to completely cool down
Before I can do any harm?

Isn’t it time to just stop, now?
Isn’t it time to leave?
Isn’t it time to chuck it all in
And give this malarkey a heave?