No Unnecessary Testing

No Unnecessary Testing

For investing our time
Into minds that are already on overload
Instead let’s decode
Let’s start teaching to learn
Instead of teaching to test
Where the rest of the information
Is lost in translation
Somewhere between science and math
We forgot about poetry and dance
That is actually a stimulant
To prevent and circumvent
A student who is discontent
With their own performance
Because a test told them so
That they have no achievement effort or growth
Let’s try using assessment that’s authentic
Move past the standard
Of the standard deviation
Of the bell curve that prevails
Whether a student passes or fails
Let’s push them all to the left side
Of the curve and their brain
Drop the acronyms
That tear us limb for limb
These exams have been tried and acquitted
While the rest of us have been committed
To the asylum for grades admitted and resubmitted
Let’s break the chains that bind us
And for a minute try to find us
Within this process that is called testing
The entire person to begin assessing…

… Cause the brain gets tired sometimes.

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Wednesday, October 19, 2011 Posted in | , , | 1 Comments »

Senses


I cannot hear you
I cannot see you
This darkness is deafening and sentencing me to a life of silent obscurity
Where my only security is in my fingertips
That is the point in which the world enters.
My sensory is etched into my memory
Because for me, only my hands define space and time.
My lifeline is only as far as my arm can reach.
My entire world is night, there are no stars, no moon
Not even a city light.
I don’t take joy in listening to city life
Since I don’t know what a car sounds like.
As I lay in bed I don’t know if I’m asleep or awake
And I don’t know when the pigeons wake.
Though my sight and hearing are hit or miss,
I’ve always been more of an optimist.
When my ears that can’t hear any my eyes that have no sight
Those senses have been slighted
But my other three have been heightened and I’ve been enlightened.
I may not know this from a dresser or a desk,
But I could never mistake the beat in my chest
As every 8-count pierces my ear and makes my heart rip pound, opening my ribcage.
My hands have been more places than most people see in a lifetime.
Have you ever traced a face and felt the lines that make a smile?
You can feel every bit of joy that they let you steal some of it.
The heart has no eyes, it cannot hear,
It only knows the tenderness of another’s touch.
I may not know much,
But I know that my soul has felt that much
And so much more.  

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Tuesday, October 18, 2011 Posted in | , , | 0 Comments »

You and I

you said loving me is like inhaling oxygen, its essential to the bones in your body... well watch out baby because I'm about to leave you breathless... Even if you never see me when you're sleeping i'm always watching over you like the moon in the sky when it collides with the sun on the rise on the horizon. I am always by your side as the summer wind blows and carries a heavy weight of summer rain. I will carry your weight on my shoulders whenever you need me to hold you... I promise to be the fire that fuels the desires of your innermost self, and hear you whenever you call for help, even across the mountains and valleys that span your chest and back I will risk my heart so that we can bridge our bodies and connect the societies of our ancestors.

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Wednesday, October 12, 2011 Posted in | , , , , , | 0 Comments »

Ghost

I don't know when you exist.
Maybe it was just to show me you were okay.
But why make it harder to let you go?...
You were almost real.
I heard your voice.
I watched your shoulders twist in the wind.
If I close my eyes, I can see you.
Did I touch you?
Did I gauge the temperature of your body with my hand?
In fact I never did.
Stood as a bystander and watched.
I was powerless to transmit this feeling that I had,
That was so deep my subconscious carried it.
I thought you were just a fleeting memory.
Believed you existed in a time and place
That was from over a years past.
Why do you still sit in the corner of my  mind?
I can still feel the breeze coming through my window,
And I wonder if it's touched your skin.
If you're not coming back,
Please don't stay here.

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Wednesday, August 17, 2011 Posted in | , , , , , | 0 Comments »

A Letter to Beyonce



Dear Beyonce, I love you, but I loved your thighs more. They gave me a reason to believe my thighs were just fine. I believed that they were worth the time it took to get my jeans on or trouble when I found a dress that fit the rest of me perfectly, but finding another because my thighs were making it too short. I was under the impression that the pressure on his lap from my thighs was just fine and that if he couldn't handle them, he couldn't handle me. 
My thighs were supported by calves that were the pillars that support me that is almost too much for the eyes to handle.  It was okay that my thighs jiggled 'cause my muscles were chiseled from my lumbar to my heels when I walked in a pair of heels, revealing marble stone that Greek statues envied. 
Where did they go?
Now I'm told that I have to cover them from the summer sun and they can't wade in waves that crash on them when I stand in water that's just below my waist. They can't be mimicked by a pair of jeans or contoured verbatim by a pair of leggings. They have to be lonely and never be reminded of one another's presence because they can get lost with increased degrees of separation. 
But I will not eat the lies that media, airbrush, needles, and people feed me. My legs have walked a thousand miles and have carried others along the way. I will not doubt them because they have never failed me.
I think I've made my decision, Miss Bey,Thank you.


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Tuesday, August 9, 2011 Posted in | , , , , , , , | 1 Comments »

(For Everything) There is a Season

I could stare at you with the video on mute all night,

Just to watch the smile come across your face
Like an autumn breeze on a Sunday afternoon in October. 
I stare from the window and watch 
As the leaves change colors and get carried away by wind. 
The sun reaches past the glass and sets the amber and brown in my eyes aflame. 

I want to be there with you through the book of your life. 
Help you write pages that turn into chapters,
Falls that turn into winters. 
Light my fire, and shelter me enough without putting it out. 
When everything melts into a lovely spring, 
Pale rose will settle on my cheeks when you come around. 

Help me to understand you the best way I know how. 
Not expecting flowers to bloom in spring when every year that wait for summer. 
Rain will always come and go,
But that just means that the lilies will grow later
And set the hillside on fire
In the middle of the summer. 

And as the sun sets on an August day
That we spent together under golden skies,
Hold me close by,
I don't want this summer to end. 
Just promise that you'll be there when the time has come
To show me another Autumn. 

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Wednesday, August 3, 2011 Posted in | , , , , , | 0 Comments »

Before You Go*

If I had one minute
I'd tell you how you got me caught up in it at the sight of your face.
If I had one minute
I'd tell you how your kiss took me away and felt safe in your embrace.
If I had one minute
Put sixty seconds up on the clock and I won't waste no time.
I only got one minute
To throw everything to the side and ask you if you'll be mine.


I don't possess the lyrical perfection
Only got words that describe to you my love and affection.
Find the rhythm of the world through my many articulations
My punctuations might better describe the situation.
Why don't you sit down and let me talk to you for a minute
I gotta say what's on my mind before I get caught up in it.

When I look in the mirror
I still see you right behind me
And when I'm layin in my bed
I can feel you right beside me
Boy I don't know what you did to get inside my head.

I don't wanna let you go
But I gotta let you know
You're the greatest thing that's happened to me

And I can't help but smile when I think
Of what we could be.

It was something I can't explain,
you're in my brain now.
You loved me so good and it's a shame how
you been been gone for almost three hundred and sixty five days now.
and I'm still missin you.

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Tuesday, July 19, 2011 Posted in | , , , , , | 0 Comments »

The Right Thing. Love, Mom

This is not a piece of poetry, but a piece of writing from a class that I am currently taking. We were told to think about a time when we were of service to another person. The story is about my job as a server at a restaurant and how it relates to service, charity and virtue, as the class is reflection of our community service. Being that this job is based around serving others, there is no doubt that 'service' in the very literal sense is a part of my job. But I thought of a time when 'service' signified giving my time and effort to another human being.
 This story emulates my mother's age old saying "Do the right thing." It answers the question of why I do service and why I do things that I don't necessarily have to do. Let us not question what we do for the sake of it being a bother, but because it helps another people that we have no obligation or responsibility for. Let us not have just sympathy, but compassion for another human life and take a little time out of ours to make a difference in theirs. And let us never hesitate to do the Right Thing.

I have performed service for many years, even before entering college. I possessed the capacity and compassion to help others. Countless hours have been spent tutoring younger students, spending time with the elderly, feeding those who are hungry, watching children through a church program, and the list goes on. After reading about philanthropy and charity and how they have both been defined through time, societies, religions, and other various categories, I would not say that they are one in the same. While philanthropy takes private initiatives for public good, charity is the giving of goods, time, or money to those in need. Both are to improve someone’s quality of life.
Charity is seen as some as virtue, which I believe is true. Because of the modernization of society, the essence of virtue has to some extent been less of an attribute to charity. Some see charity as one person having pity on another, and therefore performing a service to them. Others can see charity as someone less fortunate asking for help and others being forced to do so. If I had to categorize the service which I do, I would place it under charity. With that being said, I do not see the service that I do as charity or philanthropy. Rather, as my mother would say, I do service because it is “the right thing.” I do not perform service as a means of redemption because I have done wrong in the past and hope to make up for it, nor is it out of pity for another person. I do service because I know that helping others is the only way that humans can coexist and progress in life.
I could expand on the aforementioned list of service that I have performed for others as a way to describe how I have been of service to others, but I prefer to describe a single experience. I work in a buffet that is located in a casino. People who come in are sometimes elated because of a large sum of money that they have won, or can be a complete wreck because they have bet away their life savings along with all of their family’s assets (no, I’m not kidding). People of many different levels of ability come into the buffet as well. There was a man who was middle aged who came into the buffet one Wednesday with another younger man in a motorized wheel chair. The man was clearly physically impaired and had limited mobility of his arms and legs, hence the automatic chair. Wednesday’s are the busiest day of the week at the buffet (Senior Citizen Special… You could imagine how that is), this being the reason that the men are quickly sat and told to wait for their server, as if they were a bother to the hostess who had to clear a table for them to sit at.
 Their server was less than happy to serve them, as it took longer than usual to get a drink order from the man in the wheel chair. The server came back mumbling and complaining of how they were “going to take up time and money by sitting at their table forever” since the man in the wheelchair was unable to feed himself. I told my coworker to let me have the table, and that she could have one of my tables when it opened up (we all had full sections in the restaurant), so that she would be less stressed (and the rest of the workers and myself didn’t have to listen to her incessant complaints). I brought them over the drinks that they had ordered, introduced myself with a smile, and told them that I would be serving them. The man who walked in pulled me aside.
“I’m sorry that you had to go out of your way for us.” The man said to me. “This happens a lot. My brother isn’t mentally disabled, but people always think he is. He just takes a little longer than normal, and people get uncomfortable around him.”
I realized at that moment that both of them knew what exchange happened between my coworker and I. “Don’t you worry about it” I said, “you take all the time you need. If you need anything, please let me know.”
“Thank you” he responded. He sat back down at the table. His brother mumbled something. I didn’t say anything because I thought it was probably none of my business. Then his brother looked up “He says ‘Thank you’. My brother’s name is Phil, and I’m Jim.”
“It’s nice to meet you both” I responded. I smiled and walked away. I continued to check up on them, asking if they needed anything, brought them extra napkins, as I do with any table that I serve. It was clear that Jim and Phil had a wonderful love and bond with one another. Jim never left his brother’s side, taking him up to the buffet from time to time to get something else to eat. Phil only ate one thing at a time, so getting a full plate wasn’t very practical. Jim would alternate between feeding himself and Phil every few bites, and giving Phil some juice or water. I went up to the table nearing the end of their main courses and asked if they would like coffee or milk with dessert. They Jim politely declined and asked about my life- what I was going to school for and such.
As I was explaining, the straw Phil was drinking out of came out of his mouth. His brother didn’t see it because it was on the opposite side of his body. At first, I wasn’t sure what I should do- tell Jim, ignore it, or help Phil get the straw back into his mouth. Phil looked at me. It wasn’t a helpless look, but one as if he was trying to tell me something. I touched the cup that was at the side of the wheelchair. It was empty. “Would you like more juice, Phil?” I asked. His face lit up as he began to smile and his eyes widened as he mumbled again, but this time I understood “Apple juice, right?” Phil’s head began to shake rapidly as the smile stayed on his face. I went and got the juice, and put the cup back in the holder on the wheel chair and put the elongated straw in the cup. I smiled and looked at Jim. “Thank you so much” he said. I looked at Phil, still bent over from situating the cup. Phil looked at me and smiled, “Thank you” me mumbled, and I put the straw in Phil’s mouth so that he could drink.
When Phil and Jim were done, I walked from the back kitchen to say goodbye to them and wish them luck on the machines in the casino. Jim shook my hand, “Oh, thanks, but we just come here for the food. We’re just on our way home. Thank you so much… For everything” I smiled as I nodded and said “Anytime”. Phil spoke up, and said “Thank you” as loudly as he could speak, his face still stuck in a smile. “You really made his day” Jim said. I leaned over, took one of Phil’s hands in both of mine and said “You’re very welcome; you come back anytime you want”
Jim and Phil were gone, and I was back to my regular routine of being looked over by my customers, spoken at instead of being spoken with, and holding myself back from smacking the old ladies who think I’m not going to notice them stuffing three plates worth of cookies and cake into their mothball-infested purses. But all in all, I was okay with it, because I knew Phil and Jim were going to have a good day, and that Phil was actually smiling.
It is clear that I served Jim and Phil, and even my annoying coworker that day. I went out of my way to help them, to serve them. What may not be so clear, though, is that Jim and Phil served me. They gave me the opportunity to get to know them and see them as people, not just as customers. They left a lasting impression on me, one that I will never forget and will carry with me so that the next time when I see someone who needs someone to talk to, or help, I can be the one to be there. Jim served me by accepting my offer to help, without angst or bitterness, but with humble graciousness. I was humbled and allowed to reflect on as much as I hated my job, I was lucky enough to be able to be there: walking, talking, and feeding myself. I served them, but they did such a service to me, probably without intention.  I do not consider this an act of charity by contemporary means, but an act of charity because it was out of love. Just because I am receiving money and a paycheck by serving them doesn’t negate the fact that service was performed.
At the end of the day, I didn’t have to switch tables with my coworker, or help Jim, or speak to Phil. I performed an action that was outside of my responsibilities as a server not because I wanted to relieve anyone of their responsibility or get extra tip money (Jim left me $15, which is a pretty penny when the norm is a table of 5 leaving you 3 bucks.)  I didn’t even do it because it was the “Christian” thing to do and because God would be happy with me if I did. I simply did it because of my mother’s words: “Do the right thing” I know that no matter where I go or what I do, that the “right” thing may not always be the easiest thing to do. It may take up time and even a little bit of money (when someone on the train asks me for some spare change), but in the end, I know that it will be the best thing, and in the interest of a human life, that life not necessarily being my own.
But don’t get me wrong, I’m no saint. I still get tired of my job at times and when a customer is hounding me for more napkins as if it’s a state of emergency, I still respond with my mother’s other words, “I’m dancing as fast as I can.”

                                                          I love you, Mommy. I always want to make you proud.

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Thursday, March 3, 2011 Posted in | , , , | 0 Comments »

Inspiration (Stars of the Lid)

Only words will keep my head above water as I drown in my thoughts and feelings. When does the vicious cycle of words turning into wounds turning into spears that stab your heart and your voice then retaliates with words that turn into wounds... when does it end? I keep these feelings of defeat to myself because they need not be spoken in order to be heard. Just look into my eyes and you will see behind the tears that my heart has been robbed of the love that it has given so selflessly, never to have gotten it back in return... For love I would not give my life but for the one I love would my life be turned in for.
I would lay down my life if only my words would be heard because they are what give me my life and had I not have words with which to articulate my heart, so I would not have any life worth living. If my words were as lost as I was, I would be nothing, but it is because I am lost that my words have merit. Should I be found and in my words find myself, then my words and therefore my life will be of worth.
But if nothing comes of it, then I know that I still did my best to convey the messages that pass my mind on a daily basis and the fact that I even transposed my thoughts onto a piece of paper will be worth something. So if something that was lost is now found to never have been lost before, it only simply needed to be discovered, then these words will find purpose and break that cycle of the ones that constantly get caught in the whirlpool of water and broken glass and be arranged in a stained window that the sun will shine through and give just a little bit of clarity among the chaos.





This piece was inspired by The Stars of the Lid album entitled "And Their Refinement of the Decline".

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Tuesday, February 22, 2011 Posted in | , , , , , , | 0 Comments »

Faded

You left for too long. My memory of you dimmed with the feeling in my heart. It laid there- dormant for months. I erased your voice from my thoughts and the feeling of your arms around me was replaced by a spring breeze. Your habits became forgotten, your face- a picture tucked away. I tried to find equivocation of the joy I felt from being around you.
Something about you stayed locked in my mind, and was awoken the day that I needed to find you. The scent of your shirt when I wrapped you in my arms as I hid from the world in yours. Words only come slowly now. Like the words of a Gregorian chant, they are few in number and ring on long after the voice has stopped. Fatigue of my body has led to words to come in only small quantities, but there will be strength, something will give. The moon will stay out a little longer to provide for more sleep and for more words to be dreamt onto the paper of my mind.
My mind gropes at the darkness for a fleeting memory of you as the lights go down. My eyes search my subconscious as my body moves me in my sleep. I can almost feel your arm around my waist and your hand in my hair when I come to the realization that you're not there, it was just me tugging on the sheets. The moisture of your kiss was nothing but tears on my cheek. Your chest was just my pillow and your voice was just the rain at my window.

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Thursday, February 3, 2011 Posted in | , , , , , , | 0 Comments »