A Poem For Those Who Were Not Exactly Enamored with School
This is for those who waited patiently for the teacher to stop talking, the bell to ring, the day to be over. This is for those who got tummy aches so they wouldn’t be shuffled to the dreaded school bus, yet again. This is for those who couldn’t wait for summer.
Clearly, this poem is not for everyone. Some folks just love school.
But alas, this is only for the bunch who couldn’t love school no matter how hard they tried. And interestingly, this is often the bunch who grew up a little off the record. And they became successful, integrated, and happy human beings despite the fact that they may have chosen the road less traveled.
Hats off and halleluyah, if you know what I mean. Life works so many different ways, through so many different channels, in so many versions. It’s good if you can find one that works for you.
Just As The Calendar Began to Say Summer
by Mary OliverI went out of the schoolhouse fast and through the gardens and to the woods, and spent all summer forgetting what I’d been taught — two times two, and diligence, and so forth, how to be modest and useful, and how to succeed and so forth, machines and oil and plastic and money and so forth. By fall I had healed somewhat, but was summoned back to the chalky rooms and the desks, to sit and remember the way the river kept rolling its pebbles, the way the wild wrens sang though they hadn’t a penny in the bank, the way the flowers were dressed in nothing but light.