For Us, Summer 2015: LEAPing Towards What's Possible
My Annual End of the Invitational Summer Institute Reflective Poem, an Acrostic
preface.
U s. I am me
b ecause of
us, this cohort of
u niversal
knowledge built from trust and
n estled
amongst cattails. We are artists who
t each and
trust new generations to leap and thrust,
u nder the
sun and moon. We
M ake magic
when we find our song
a nd learn
to hum a tune whether right or wrong,
t eaching
one another to remain strong,
t o nurture a music from living, to belong,
e ach of us
better in a sing-a-long, and
r eflecting
on practice and purpose where our
s olos
create a cacophony of existence.
i.
F irst, we
need a model, a way to yodel
r eal loud
about what a composer does,
a nd then we
need another…a sister or brother… to
n estle next
to the first where, as a teacher, we can burst our
n eophyte
scribbler, make them ‘what if’ dibblers, who use
i magination
as an explanation of their contemplation in an
e xhhibition
and exploration of what has yet to be said.
B oston. Where’s the best place to kill someone in
Bean Town?
i mean, after you find your heart at a restart with
t he man you’ll
one day marry? Ghosts? An Apparition?
t he tooth
fairy? And from there, how do we
m ove
forward with dialogue to pace the crime at hand?
a h, the
answers simple, really. Teach Story.
Take a stand.
n arrate
from memory. Dig your toes into the sand. And write.
ii.
P laying is
writing, and writing is gaming,
a dvancing
ahead, reflecting, eggs-plaining, each of
u s, leaping
and waltzing from training to
l ive, laugh, and love.
J umping,
ducking, running, bouncing,
u ltimate
fighting, pouncing, biting,
r eaching,
lapping, diving, driving,
a chieving,
advising, coaching, striving,
s eeing
whatever move we should make next…because
e ventually
we improvise, contemplate, and even surmise, no
k ryptonite
can make, surprise, Tyrannosaurus Rex have sex on the job.
iii.
M any miles
are spent thinking, drinking from
o range and
blue memories, sinking, in the
l aps that
fly by, blinking, from the
l anes of
where we once were – a CNY blur -
y anking us
back into yesterday with curious for tomorrow.
Z en Masters
would tell us to listen to the ideas of others, to borrow
a nswers
that glisten along the proverbial paths…to
r emember a net
always appears when willing to take a chance.
o h, this
dance,
o h, this
dance, the
k aleidoscope
prance of endless possibilities:
i deologies,
philosophies, epiphanies and symphonies
a ll swirled
in simple complexities of complex simplicities,
n estled in
the moments we have. We are all characters.
iv.
L eadership
is action - the willingness to grow an
i nnovative
mind, i find. It’s initiation and
s tanding
one’s ground. Speaking truth to power,
a cting
kind, and getting into one’s grind to fight for what is right.
K ing says,
“Our lives begin to end the day we become silent.”
i nstead, we
should find the voice to speak about what matters to us,
v ocalize
answers important to us, and articulate solutions
e ntrancing
to us through the power of communication and art. A
l eader
demonstrates the possible, takes on controversial, is seldom
l
ackadaisical; instead she’s impeccable and improvisational
i n the
linguistical and indistinguishable way she leads with words.
v.
D issolve
to: A classroom. 10 educators. Beach Pails.
o.c. / o.s.
(panning of I-95 traffic, the Merritt, off camera,
n oise of
school bells, horns honking, the chatter of children
n ear their
lockers, a teacher hugging them good-bye)
a erial
shot. scenes of southern Connecticut. The sound.
S hot. One
image. A woman with a pen in her hand
e ntering
with notebook. Tattooed & wearing a NYCFC Jersey. She
r eaches table and begins a personal narrative: This
Was Yesterday.
p an. Words
divorced on page: pictures of sons, a poetic verse.
a ction.
Bite her bottom lip. V.O.: From a small
seed, a mighty trunk may grow.
vi.
R eally
scary, isn’t it? When
y ou wake up
every morning,
a dding some
caffeine & start exploring the
n ewness
that comes with the unknown. Boo!
P oltergeists.
Monsters. Ghosts. Ghouls. You.
i deologies,
apologies, theories….all of us fools
r
ichocheting thoughts from wisdom’s greatest tools, following
r ules we
must trust but are also written in dust.
o ut, out
brief candle. Life, but a walking shadow. A story. Our only glory.
vii.
R ight now,
I’m watching Good Will Hunting. The
twins are
e ating (she
knows something about food and writing) and I’m thinking
b ryan, you
need a recipe, the right words (Chitunga), to capture
e veryone – humans make humans more human – in
a few stanzas. But then I think,
c rap. fuck. I
want to be a character played by Robin Williams…some
c lown, dull, Crandall…worthy of a story he’d
sign his talent to…
a nd there’s
that Bill guy & Charlie. Am I a wallflower?
D amn. There’s
this poetry and the symmetry of a philosophy where
i can be me
because of who we are together (birds of a feather)
m ining experience, books, relationships and memories, a purpose.
y ou accept the love you think you deserve.
a h, Will. If I ask you about love you’ll probably
quote me a sonnet.
n o. What Will really needs is to hunt for meaning w/ the rest of us.
viii.
M y youth
was spent searching, rehearsing for the
a dulthood
gig while active with the adolescent jig of never
r eally
knowing what I was doing, but proving to the
c haos that
was always brewing that I always had control.
S oul. Part
of the bro-code, you know? The purpose is to grow.
u nusual.
this story. where we age there’s supposed to be glory from
l ove we’ve
lived and lives we’ve lost, the games we’ve won, & the
z illion times our expectations were crossed by disappointment.
y ou only got
one shot, do not miss your opportunity to blow
c uz this opportunity comes once in a lifetime,
yo! Whoa. The
k yclops,
Polyphemus, Odysseus. Feeling like a hero when all
i feel is
like I’m forever 15. Boulder. Hill. Same ol’ routine.
x.
A nd there
was a day in a library where a story began. he and his
b rother
with scars. those wars. I went to the Liberian to check out a book…
u nusual
look she gave with curiosity. Are you a
big brother or something?
B ooks.
Those looks make less sense now that I know more. No,
i am not their manager and they’re not in a
boy band, either. I’m just here to
l end a hand with this American thing. What? What do they bring? An
i nteresting thing. They
bring absolutely everything.
t hey help me
to sing and to cling to what matters most.
y outh. hope. laughter. And history. Love. Shadow. Ghost.
xi.
L aughter.
In the end, isn’t it humor that we’re after?
o h, here’s
one for you. What’s orange and
s ounds like a
parrot? Um. Duh. A carrot.
s o, what
kind of teacher passes gas? Oh,
i give up. A
Toot-er. Knock knock, Who’s there?
n eedle.
Needle who? Needle washcloth to wipe up
your drool?
e very
Captain Stick ‘em needs a sidekick, Splash, you fool.
B ut
strawberry air-freshener is never cool.
i got
another for you. What did the alien say
to the book?
l a la la la
la la la. Ready? Take me to your reader.
Here’s an
I mportant
one. Knock Knock. Whose There?
turnip. Turnip who? Turnip the volume. This is
my favorite song and
y ou, me,
him will always sing along, forever 15.
ix.
J uly does
this to us every year. You. Me. Them.
u s.
Scribbling in double-sided notebooks. Purpose.
l iving as
writers, writing as believers,
i nvesting
in teachers, teachers investing, art of inquiry is
e verlasting
despite those policies continually sandblasting our
R
esponsibility of keeping best interests in mind.
o nward we
fight w/ pen, and sculpt, knowing bureaucratic
n onsense
will make us erupt, reminding us to interrupt the
e gos of
idiots who stand in our way with everything they
s ay (Yep,
it’s doubtful they’ll be on NPR anyway)
o h, man.
The cicadas. Little legs rubbing again. I have the
n eed for
our summers to never end.
xii.
B ecause you
were there and you were there and
e very year,
they disappear, as soon as they arrive.
c aput inter nubilia condo, my head hidden
in clouds
a b actu ad
posse valet illatio, I infer the future from here.
u buntu.
from now on we must keep one another near,
s earching
our doubts with strength and not fear because
e verything
evolves at exactly the right time.
W e are the
warriors of words,
e valuating
our place in the forest like a bird
M aking
magic while finding his or her song
a nd
learning to hum a tune, whether it’s right or wrong,
t eaching
one another to fly and to remain strong,
t o nurture such music, and to belong,
e ach of
creatures are better in this sing-a-long,
r eflecting
on our practice and purpose together.
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