School games

I hurtle, unwilling ball hit with the racquet of contempt. Flying helplessly

towards the past, overtaken by small unkindnesses

I am again a seven year old. Outcast by the playground wall, eying up

confidence with curiosity. Perfect pigtails take wing

in rounds of merriment,

jeers and joking, laughter and lies, merry misery of games without fun

and I play alone. Who talks of the ‘innocence of children’?

Such who do suffer false memory, yet I KNOW.  Set up for mockery,

 humiliation of a tender heart;

wishing invisibility, edging slowly towards cold haven classroom,

I am halted by the sound of my name. She tosses dark hair from honest eyes.

“Would you like one?” Cautiously, I accept a lifetime of friendship.

The Secrets of the School

In the hall
under the eaves
spiders lurk
practising their times tables
They have cracked the 8 times. Pips easy.

In the gym
behind the bars
frogs squat
recovering from
a punishing set of circuits.

In the kitchen
on top of the counters
cockroaches crawl,
scavenging for
sugar grains or forgotten cake.

In the classrooms
next to the noticeboards
worms wriggle,
tunnelling through
paper and posters, stickers and stamps.

In the staffroom
inside the armchairs
mice nestle,
snuggling down for a night
with the newspapers.

In the office,
at the desk,
lizards laze,
neglecting
to answer the telephone.

But in the playground
around the climbing frame
children whoop, whistle
and play
to their hearts' content.

A contradiction in terms

Why is it that, when we’re at school
There seems to be a change of rules?
If you’re a teacher, days are short;
If a child, and you are caught
Yawning, bored out of your skin
Time will never let you win.
The days are dull, the lessons long
The minutes just drag on and on.
“The bell already?” Teacher says
“I’m always short of time these days.”

But then the end of term arrives:
Christmas, the best time of our lives.
Art, singing carols, parties, fun,
No work – it’s great for everyone.
Laughter, shrieks and happiness
Mixed into one glorious mess.
Oh, how time flies: before we know
It’s Christmas: holly, mince pies, snow!
Meanwhile, the teachers, grey and old
Surviving countless hours untold
As days drag on and on and on
Until the final bell has gone.

Why is it that time changes rules
Depending on who we are at school?

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?