Poetry for Young Peopleby Edna St. Vincent Millay

The railroad track is miles away,
And the day is loud with voices speaking,
Yet there isn’t a train goes by all day
But I hear its whistle shrieking.

All night there isn’t a train goes by,
Though the night is still for sleep and dreaming,
But I see its cinders red on the sky,
And hear its engine steaming.

My heart is warm with friends I make,
And better friends I’ll not be knowing;
Yet there isn’t a train I wouldn’t take,
No matter where it’s going.


June 20, 2022 at 6:20 am Leave a comment


Transfer_Naomi Shihab Nye

by Naomi Shihab Nye

Where is the door to the story?
Is the door left open?

When he sat by our beds,
the day rushed past like water.

Driftwood, bricks,
heavy cargoes disappearing downstream,

no matter, no matter,
even the trees outside our screens

tipped their cooling leaves to listen.
We swam so easily

to the stone village, women in thick dresses,
men with smoky breath,

we sat around the fire pitching in
our own twigs,

the world curled around us,
sizzled and popped.

We dropped our troubles into the lap of the storyteller
and they turned into someone else’s.


June 19, 2022 at 5:19 am Leave a comment


by William Carlos Williams

The rose fades
and is renewed again
by its seed, naturally
but where

save in the poem
shall it go
to suffer no diminution
of its splendor


June 14, 2022 at 6:14 am Leave a comment

Messages from Everywhere


by Naomi Shihab Nye

light up our backyard.
A bird that flew five thousand miles
is trilling six bright notes.
This bird flew over mountains and valleys
and tiny dolls and pencils
of children I will never see.
Because this bird is singing to me,
I belong to the wide wind,
the people far away who share
the air and the clouds.
Together we are looking up
into all we do not own
and we are listening.

June 13, 2022 at 6:13 pm Leave a comment

Milonga accidental

Cuando miro afuera, cuando miro adentro
Cuando afuera otra vez

De la periferia, hasta el mero centro
Siempre soy testigo y juez

Cuando sabré descifrar mi razón?
Cuando sentiré mi hogar en mi voz?

Cuando miro el agua, cuando miro el cielo
Cuando miro el agua otra vez

De lo más profundo, a este momento
Quiero ser el ave y el pez

Cuando sabré descifrar mi razón?
Cuando sentiré mi hogar en mi voz?
En mi voz, en mi voz

.en translation

When I look outside, when I look inside
When I look outside again

From the periphery, to the very center
I am always the judge and the witness

When will I know how to decipher my reason?
When will I feel at home in my voice?

When I look at the water, when I look at the sky
When I look at the water again

From the deepest place, to this very moment
I want to be the bird and the fish

When will I know how to decipher my reason?
When will I feel at home in my voice?
In my voice


June 13, 2022 at 5:13 am Leave a comment

Lift Off

by Donovan Livingston

Education then, beyond all other devices of human origin,
Is a great equalizer of the conditions of men.” – Horace Mann, 1848.
At the time of his remarks I couldn’t read — couldn’t write.
Any attempt to do so, punishable by death.
For generations we have known of knowledge’s infinite power.
Yet somehow, we’ve never questioned the keeper of the keys —
The guardians of information.

Unfortunately, I’ve seen more dividing and conquering
In this order of operations — a heinous miscalculation of reality.
For some, the only difference between a classroom and a plantation is time.
How many times must we be made to feel like quotas —
Like tokens in coined phrases? —
“Diversity. Inclusion”
There are days I feel like one, like only —
A lonely blossom in a briar patch of broken promises.
But I’ve always been a thorn in the side of injustice.

Disruptive. Talkative. A distraction.
With a passion that transcends the confines of my consciousness —
Beyond your curriculum, beyond your standards.
I stand here, a manifestation of love and pain,
With veins pumping revolution.
I am the strange fruit that grew too ripe for the poplar tree.
I am a DREAM Act, Dream Deferred incarnate.
I am a movement – an amalgam of memories America would care to forget
My past, alone won’t allow me to sit still.
So my body, like the mind
Cannot be contained.

As educators, rather than raising your voices
Over the rustling of our chains,
Take them off. Un-cuff us.
Unencumbered by the lumbering weight
Of poverty and privilege,
Policy and ignorance.

I was in the 7th grade, when Ms. Parker told me,
“Donovan, we can put your excess energy to good use!”
And she introduced me to the sound of my own voice.
She gave me a stage. A platform.
She told me that our stories are ladders
That make it easier for us to touch the stars.
So climb and grab them.
Keep climbing. Grab them.
Spill your emotions in the big dipper and pour out your soul.
Light up the world with your luminous allure.

To educate requires Galileo-like patience.
Today, when I look my students in the eyes, all I see are constellations.
If you take the time to connect the dots,
You can plot the true shape of their genius —
Shining in their darkest hour.

I look each of my students in the eyes,
And see the same light that aligned Orion’s Belt
And the pyramids of Giza.
I see the same twinkle
That guided Harriet to freedom.
I see them. Beneath their masks and mischief,
Exists an authentic frustration;
An enslavement to your standardized assessments.

At the core, none of us were meant to be common.
We were born to be comets,
Darting across space and time —
Leaving our mark as we crash into everything.
A crater is a reminder that something amazing happened here —
An indelible impact that shook up the world.
Are we not astronomers — looking for the next shooting star?
I teach in hopes of turning content, into rocket ships —
Tribulations into telescopes,
So a child can see their potential from right where they stand.
An injustice is telling them they are stars
Without acknowledging night that surrounds them.
Injustice is telling them education is the key
While you continue to change the locks.

Education is no equalizer —
Rather, it is the sleep that precedes the American Dream.
So wake up — wake up! Lift your voices
Until you’ve patched every hole in a child’s broken sky.
Wake up every child so they know of their celestial potential.
I’ve been a Black hole in the classroom for far too long;
Absorbing everything, without allowing my light escape.
But those days are done. I belong among the stars.
And so do you. And so do they.
Together, we can inspire galaxies of greatness
For generations to come.
No, sky is not the limit. It is only the beginning.
Lift off.


June 12, 2022 at 6:12 am Leave a comment



ko o motte

kinjo no inu no

na o oboe

Having a child

The neighbourhood dogs

Names he knows well!

June 11, 2022 at 6:11 am Leave a comment

I was once a Child 

It troubled me as once I was by Emily Dickinson

It troubled me as once I was —
For I was once a Child —
Concluding how an Atom — fell —
And yet the Heavens — held —

The Heavens weighed the most — by far —
Yet Blue — and solid — stood —
Without a Bolt — that I could prove —
Would Giants — understand?

Life set me larger — problems —
Some I shall keep — to solve
Till Algebra is easier —
Or simpler proved — above —

Then — too — be comprehended —
What sorer — puzzled me —
Why Heaven did not break away —
And tumble — Blue — on me —


June 9, 2022 at 6:09 am Leave a comment


Poetry for Young Peopleby Edna St. Vincent Millay

Was it for this I uttered prayers,
And sobbed and cursed and kicked the stairs,
That now, domestic as a plate,
I should retire at half-past eight?


June 7, 2022 at 6:07 pm Leave a comment


by Anne Frank

Dear Juultje,

What shall I write here?
Wait, Dear Juul, I have an idea:
Good health and all the best!
Be good be full of zest,
And whatever fate may be divining,
Remember every cloud has a silver lining.

In memory of your friend
Anne Frank


June 6, 2022 at 6:06 pm Leave a comment

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